She reddened at hearing the word dates come from her mouth.
“I didn't mean dates, dates. I meant that I eat with you a lot. I mean, …”
“I think I understand, Grace.”
He stared at her, amusement showing in his eyes.
“You have not had many dates?” he probed.
“Not exactly,” she admitted awkwardly. “There's not much time for it. Besides, you have to get asked first. I don't meet people easily.”
Drago grabbed their lunches from the fridge and returned to the desk. Offering her the sandwich, he brushed against her, and for Grace, the simple touch sent warmth shooting up her arm.
“Would you accept a date if someone asked you?” he questioned further.
Grace fidgeted in her seat, averting her gaze from him.
“I guess it would depend on who asked.”
“I see,” Drago said before changing the subject. Picking up a book on the edge of her desk, he steered their conversation to a lighter subject. “What is this about? Do you read much?”
“Actually, yes, I do. Right now, I'm caught up in a novel about a family of women who have eerie encounters with the supernatural through their generations. I've been reading it the last few nights. Can't you see the dark circles under my eyes?” she jested. “Not only have I stayed awake half the night, unable to put it down, but when I do, I'm too scared to sleep!”
“If it frightens you, why do you read it?”
“Well, it's fun to be scared. At least sometimes – when it's not real. It's like going to an amusement park. Being scared is part of the fun. You are safely strapped in, you've seen a hundred people ride before you, but when your turn comes you get scared anyway. It's scary and fun at the same time.”
Drago's laughter filled the office.
“I understand this fun, Grace. I feel this way when I make a fight with a good opponent. Now, tell me the name of this book, and I will see if it is as scary as you say.”
Drago worried that he questioned Grace too much, but he wanted to know everything about her. He could not help himself.
Chapter 5
The days fell one after the other, and Drago's training grew more intense with each passing week. He could feel the improvements this grueling pace was producing. Quicker in his striking, his leg kick speed was nearly as fast as his hands, and his endurance had increased as well. The price, rising before dawn and working until darkness fell, was worth it. Drago had eighteen weeks remaining before his fight, and so he pressed on, certain Harrison was doing likewise.
His favorite training day was Saturday, when he had Guy's uninterrupted expertise. The workouts were exhausting yet exhilarating. Guy relentlessly worked Drago's timing on strikes, foot and head movement, controlling the octagon space, and throwing combinations while creating unexpected angles. This instruction would prove invaluable, Drago knew, and he therefore repeated the motions until he moved without thought.
Outside of training, the highlight of his week was Sunday. Grace had asked him about his faith after spying the cross he wore around his neck, and being outwardly pleased at discovering their shared faith, invited him to attend weekly mass at St. Cecelia's. Drago needed the encouragement that worship offered. And he could not deny that the promise of spending the day with Grace was more than a small part of accepting her offer each week.
The church was an older building, and its golden dome gleamed in the early morning light. Teal and blue stained glass surrounded the sturdy wood constructed doors. Tall, apricot hued steel supports angled from the top of the newly added two-storied entryway outward, giving an updated appearance to the house of worship.
Inside, the atmosphere was solemn and reverent. The eternal flame burned in its red glass, suspended by the triple gold chains near the altar, which was now draped in purple as the Lenten season was observed. Familiar rites of faith reminded Drago of home, and he was happy to be sharing them with the Antolinis. At times, his mind wandered during the services, and more than once Grace caught him looking at her. But she only smiled in return before looking away. He suspected that she was as affected by him as he was by her, and if his plans came to fruition, he would have an answer one way or the other in the very near future.
Each week after service they would return to the house where father and daughter spent the afternoon together, talking or simply reading side by side. Drago had been invited from the first. Guy insisted on a day of rest, and after spending time with the pair he would retreat, reading his books while Grace and Drago conversed. It was Guy's belief that soundness of body began with the mind, so he exercised both halves of himself religiously. These lazy afternoons were a treasured respite of peace from the busy schedule of the gym. They all enjoyed the calm deeply.
It was not the surroundings but Grace's company Drago enjoyed most, and he found himself looking for reasons to be near her. Drago had decided to speak with Guy about Grace this Sunday, wanting her father's approval before pursuing her beyond friendship. When Guy stood to retreat to his study, Drago followed.
“May I speak with you?” Drago asked as they entered the dark crimson room.
“Of course, Drago. Come in,” Guy answered.
The man settled in his favorite overstuffed chair. He donned rectangular reading glasses and glanced at the pile of books he was currently working through before clearing his throat and raising an eyebrow at the younger man.
Drago remained standing, carefully selecting the words he would speak aloud. Guy watched him, wearing an expression that conveyed a sense that he understood the importance of what he would hear, and Drago was inclined to believe that the man expected it to concern his daughter.
Guy was no fool; he had been conducting his own observations. He had seen Drago's eyes following his daughter, noted as the man invented reasons to be near her. This young man was quite different from the other fighters he trained. He was smart, strong, and dedicated, but more importantly he was a man of faith and treated everyone with respect. For these reasons, Guy had stood aside and allowed nature to take its course. Leveling Drago with a penetrating stare, his pale blue eyes stood out against his deep complexion and coal-black hair.
Drago met his gaze, addressing Guy in a metered tone.
“I would like to pursue your daughter, sir. Before I will do this, I ask for your blessing. If you deny my request, know that I will abide your wishes.”
Guy leaned forward, his face unchanging.
“Sit down, Drago.”
Drago took the chair opposite Guy without a word, waiting for him to continue, desperately hoping for the man's consent. He said a silent prayer, knowing he had found the woman he wished to marry, aware that his future happiness as well as his relationship with his mentor hung in the silence.
Finally Guy spoke, not yet offering an answer, but posing a question of his own.
“You think that Grace feels the same?”
“That is my hope, sir.”
Guy was amused at the Slovakian's discomfiture, for it showed the importance he placed on the answer. He waited, prolonging his silence long enough to satisfy his fatherly protectiveness, but the fact that Drago had asked him made his decision easier.
“We'll soon find out, Drago. You have my blessing.”
Without another word Guy selected one of his books and began reading. Drago might have supposed the man was angry with his abrupt end to the conversation, but the grin on his face was unhidden. Relief washed through Drago's body, and he realized he had held his muscles tense while awaiting Guy's blessing. Thanking Guy, Drago exited the study, hoping to speak with Grace privately. Unfortunately Ike, Yves, and St. Clair had all arrived and were animatedly entertaining Grace in the kitchen.
Ike's wife, Rita, had passed away unexpectedly a few years earlier, and the man hadn't begun dating until recently. He was in no hurry to marry again, but missed the companionship at home. Yves was still a bachelor at the age of thirty-five, and St. Clair was between wives at the present moment. St
. Clair loved the ladies, and they loved him in return – for a time. He had earned four fortunes and lost three to ex-wives. As if that weren't enough, he was on the prowl for a fourth Mrs. Davis.
Grace knew the instant Drago re-appeared. She had been watching ever since he had followed her father into the study. Curious as to what the men had discussed in private, Grace suffered some disappointment when their guests arrived before Drago's re-emergence from behind the closed door. Secretly, she indulged the hope that they discussed her, for she had waited patiently, each day thinking Drago may reveal feelings harbored for her. He hadn't, leaving her to wonder if she imagined his interest, if her own feelings caused her to see signs where there were none, if she deluded herself into believing what she wanted - instead of what was.
“Grace, are you okay there?” St. Clair poked her. “Heck, girl, the Friar's been talking at you non-stop. Where's your mind?”
“Oh, I'm sorry Yves. I'm out of sorts today,” she apologized.
“I was complimenting your work with Henner. He's made startling improvement since we brought him in to work with you. Well done.”
“Thank you,” Grace responded warmly. “I really can't take all the credit. Jeremy's an amazing student, following my instruction exactly.”
“Bah! You're a fine teacher, Gracie.”
The Friar regarded the young woman in front of him. Something, he decided was bothering her; she hadn't been herself for weeks. Grace was like a younger sister to him, and a hint of concern was growing in the pit of his gut. He noticed things others did not. She hardly touched her food over the last weeks and was often lost in thought. He would discover what troubled her in time.
Heaven help who or what it is, he thought as the group gathered for the evening meal.
Leg of lamb with garlic, roasted potatoes, and salad was enjoyed and cleared from the cherry dining room table. Still sitting around it, the group talked shop while St. Clair and Grace worked in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and packing each man a meal to eat after they put in one of their long nights at First Strike.
St. Clair Davis often helped her clean up and sometimes even cooked. He was an excellent chef, truth be told. At six-feet tall, with ebony skin and eyes like melted chocolate, it was no wonder that women flocked to him in droves. He possessed a heart of gold, and Grace felt a pang of sadness for her friend. His professional life was well ordered and successful, but he had a disastrous private one. Wanting nothing more than to settle down with a beautiful woman to love, St. Clair was overly susceptible to their charms. When he fell in love, he fell hard and fast, and at forty-three years of age, he had three ex-wives. It wasn't that he tired of them. No, they tired of him. His dedication to the sport, his love of his job, was ever a contention in his relationships. Grace wished he would find someone who would understand and share his zeal for the art of fighting and spare him any further heartache as she listened to him speaking of his newest love interest.
“We're set to have dinner next weekend,” he informed her.
“Be careful, Saint,” Grace chided him with a mischievous smile. “You can't afford any more alimony payments.”
His rich voice filled the room with laughter.
“Always on the lookout for me. You sound more like Anto every day. Don't you worry that little head over me any. You've got your own situation, I'd say, to worry on.”
His raised eyebrow and sly smile dared her to answer.
Grace's silence only encouraged him on.
“The Saint knows what he sees, and what he sees is you're half in love with the Slovak!”
The worried look on Grace's face prompted him to add, “Don't get you knickers up in a bunch, Gracie girl. It can stay our secret if you want.”
“St. Clair Davis!” she threatened in a hiss of exasperation, “Don't you speak a word of it. I'll not be thought of as some silly girl making cow eyes in the gym.”
After a small pause, she asked in a much smaller voice, “Is it that obvious?”
Leaning his head closer to hers while still chuckling, he soothed her ruffled feathers.
“Only to me Gracie. You know I've got the eye to spot it.”
St. Clair closed the dishwasher and turned it on.
“Has he told you he loves you? 'Cause he does.”
The telltale grin on his face was vexing to her. She didn't need any encouragement of her feelings, especially from a romantic like St. Clair.
“No!” she exclaimed. “We're friends, St. Clair. He's never said anything else.”
“Then maybe he's a fool. But I don't think so. Mark my words, Grace. He will.”
Turning to hang the towel he held, St. Clair wondered at the shyness of the pair. When he loved a woman, not hell or high water would halt his declaration.
“Come on, Gracie,” he said, picking up the coffee pot and heading for the dining room.
He jumped, for as he rounded the corner, Drago appeared from the opposite direction.
“Excuse me,” Drago offered. “Is Grace in the kitchen still?”
“Yeah, yeah. She's in there, Zadrovec.”
Shaking his head, St. Clair continued into the dining room, a knowing smirk plastered on his face.
Drago didn't notice. It had been a long afternoon for him. An afternoon of wanting to be alone with Grace. He wasn't willing to wait any longer. She stood, staring out the window into the dusky horizon as he neared, her scent, soft and light, luring him closer. Being next to her, Drago longed to wrap his arms around her, to touch her as he did in his dreams every night.
Grace's skin tingled at his presence, every nerve humming in awareness. Towering next to her with heat rolling from his body, he reached to touch a stray, silken lock of dark hair, sending a shiver from its roots to her toes.
“You have beautiful hair,” he complimented.
Grace was afraid to move or speak, for fear she would break the spell of enchantment, afraid she was conjuring the daydreams in which Drago touched her.
“Will you walk with me, Grace?”
Her heart hammered, flooding her ears with the rush of blood, knowing in some odd way that they stood on the edge of her dreams, wanting to take a step forward in the hopes that his dreams were her own.
“I... yes, I'd like that. Let me grab my coat.”
Her reply came out breathy. She moved to gather her coat and hat, safekeeping in her heart the questions that she hoped to have answered.
Drago followed, grabbing his navy Carhartt and knit cap. He helped her into the black wool Pea-coat and waited as she wrapped the lavender cashmere scarf around her head and neck. A few dark tresses spilled out the bottom, and to Drago, she couldn't have looked lovelier. Opening the back door as she pulled on shiny, black rain boots, Drago held it for her.
“I thought we could walk to the near barn and look in on the lambs,” he suggested as they strolled.
For a few moments they each shared the sights they admired in the landscape, the purple sky against the black edge of the horizon, the first stars in the cloudless dome of night.
“I have seventeen weeks remaining before the Harrison fight.”
“Yes, I know. You'll be ready.”
Grace knew that her father and the Friar were very pleased with his progress. He had a solid jujitsu background, and Antolini technique would make it great. Drago's striking, St. Clair often relayed, matched the best he had seen in his years of coaching. Add in his legs, and the members of team Anto-Engage were confident that Drago would be a top contender for the light-heavyweight title.
“I must return to Bratislava then, Grace.”
“Yes...,” came her resigned sigh.
“I am asking, Grace, would you have me return for you?”
He continued to walk, looking down at his hands that held a long, dried stem leftover from the previous Indian summer, awaiting her reply.
“Return for me?” she half whispered, not certain of his meaning, not able to allow herself to think he said what she wanted him to.
“Grace, do you remember when I asked you if you would go on a date if you were asked? I am asking you. I am asking you for many dates.”
“I thought,” her voice was pensive and hesitating a moment, then she laughed softly, “I thought you'd never ask.”
“You are saying yes, I think,” he said, joining her in laughter.
“I am saying yes,” she assured him.
She stayed in step with him, their ascent up the subtle grade to the barn leisurely.
Drago took her hand, squeezing with gentleness, and they continued in silence. Grace's heart sang within her. The cold's nip went unnoticed, and it seemed her feet did not touch the ground. His large hand encased hers, sending warmth spreading up her arm, and she wished the contact to never end.
Drago contemplated the repercussion of her words. He had less than eighteen weeks to woo her, to gain her heart completely. He would not leave her with only a promise to return. He would leave with a promise of forever.
Rolling back the weathered, gray barn door on its track, the smell of fresh straw permeated the air. A soft light bathed the stalls, and the broken quiet by their entrance brought the bleating of ewes to their ears. Grace leaned over the rail to admire the lambs curled together in the soft bedding, and a ewe neared, nuzzling against her hand. Drago joined her, giving the same attention to another curious animal.
“I have spoken to your father,” he said. “He knows my intention.”
Grace listened as she stroked the soft fleece under the ewe's chin. Mirroring her actions, he continued.
“In my time here, I have enjoyed coming to know you. You understand the life I lead; it is yours also. We compliment one another, being both private people and sharing our faith.” He paused, regarding her with his dark eyes. “And I find you beautiful, Grace. Know that I say none of this lightly. I have remained single, hoping to find someone to share my life with, to love and have my love returned.”
Grace's heart swelled within her chest. She could not find her voice, her throat too thick with emotion. Tears of happiness filled her eyes, glistening in the glow of golden light, and she reached to cover his arm with her hand. It was all the encouragement Drago needed. Pulling her into his arms, he held her, resting his chin on the top of her head. She wrapped her hands around his waist, laying her cheek against his chest, the action sliding the scarf down over her shoulders.
Claiming The Prize Page 5