“You offer wise advice, sir. I will remember.”
Guy decided to broach the topic fully.
“Drago, have you considered the publicity shit-storm that may be coming?”
“You think there would be much?” he asked. “I reasoned there would be little more than a mention.”
“I'm betting there will be more than that. Be prepared to have your motives questioned, her motives, hell, even my motives. The entertainment culture can only thrive if they've got a story to hook folks. Mixed martial arts competition is becoming more popular, and while I could be wrong, I think the industry will look to capitalize. Derek Sloba is a businessman. He'll encourage the attention, even the negative sort, if it draws attention to the AMMAO.”
“How do you see the negative turn?”
Drago's mind was already imagining the possibilities, and he did not like the implications.
“Oh, they'll feast on the fairytale, true love and all. Then they'll catch a photo of you or Grace alone, and from there they'll begin supposing all sorts of explanations. You married her for a piece of team Anto-Engage, or money. She married you to ensure you would remain with Anto-Engage. Every relationship you have will be speculated about. But none of it matters, it's all bullshit. What matters is your commitment to Grace and your ability to remain so under the stress of the media attention, the fame, and the pressure to win in the ring.”
The young fighter absorbed everything and replied, “I accept all these things, and I intend to marry Grace.”
“I expected this, too,” Guy noted with a satisfied look on his face. “Well, go ask her, son. Better to have it all settled before we leave.”
He noticed the sliver of doubt in the Slovakian's eyes with a bit of compassion, but mostly with amusement.
“Relax, Drago. She'll say yes.”
Grinning, he got up and walked out, leaving Drago alone in his office.
With the day before him, Drago headed for the locker room. He would be alone with Grace in less than an hour.
* * *
Finishing the schedules for the upcoming week, Grace sent her work to the printer. The invoices were up to date, orders placed, and realizing she had nothing to occupy her afternoon, she informed her father that she was going to St. Cecelia's to complete some office work before their departure. She volunteered a few hours of her time each week in the secretary's office, and this week, Grace was hoping to find enough work to keep her busy.
The sun shone brightly outside, edging out the bleakness that shadowed her - bleakness over Drago's leaving - as she drove along the busy streets. Once there, Grace quickly handled the messages awaiting her on her desk and wrote out Father Paul's list of engagements for the upcoming week. After filing the treasurer's report and running the weekly backup on the computer system, she discovered nothing further to accomplish. Sighing, she sat, with nothing more left to divert her from her thoughts, and moments later, she wandered the hall seeking the sanctuary.
Solemn quietness greeted her upon entry, the wooden pews standing in uniformity before her, lining the aisles like sentinels in vigilant watch. Passing each row, Grace pressed toward the front, and kneeling, made the sign of the cross before taking her seat. Alone, she stilled herself. Her heart ached thinking of Drago's departure.
The months since Drago's arrival had slipped away in the blink of an eye. Six months had seemed distant when she met him, now it was at an end, long enough to cultivate love in her heart, but not long enough for permanency. If only he weren't leaving in less than two weeks. She could find no comfort in the thought of these remaining days, for they would not belong to her. Interviews, meetings, and business would keep him. She knew she was being selfish, and inwardly she chastised herself, but to no avail. She must find the strength to be cheerful, to enjoy each minute left with Drago. The memories would have to sustain her. Fear that he would forget her once he was again in Slovakia lingered in the recesses of her mind, and Grace forced it away defiantly. At least for now. There would be time enough to worry about that once he was gone.
The stained glass glowed sky-blue as it filtered the sun's rays through its heavy lens, bathing the chapel in aqua light, inspiring Grace to praise God for its created beauty. The gleam of sunlight filled her with such peace and happiness, yet it was only the mirrored hint of the Almighty, who was light. This profound thought compelled her to imagine the joy to be experienced at basking in the light of Christ when one day she would be united with Him. The wonder of the idea loosed her tongue, her prayers spilling out as a pitcher overflows its brim. She praised and thanked, recited the poetry of Scripture, confessed and wondered. Her doubts and cares were unburdened upon the Good Shepherd with faith that He knew her heart and worked for her good.
“Lead me in Your Way, Lord,” she whispered aloud. “I accept Your will, Amen.”
Raising her head, finally empty of words, Grace remained in solitude, the muted rays of light soaking into her through the blue-green glass. The shadows of the altar lengthened, marking the passage of time, and tucking away her daydreams she gathered herself, slipping from the pew.
In the stillness, Drago occupied the back pew. He had come in search of her, and finding her in the sanctuary had left her undisturbed. A smile of surprise showed on her face as she closed the gap between them.
“Your father told me I may find you here. I was looking for you.”
“Anto let you out of the gym? He must be getting soft.”
Her lighthearted words took effort.
The grin on Drago's face hinted at boyish charm before it faded. He stood, and they fell in step together back toward the offices.
“You said you were looking for me...,” she more asked than stated.
Drago didn't answer right away, opening the door before her. Thick July air pressed upon them the instant they stepped outside. Along the outdoor walkway, salmon and white impatiens' blossoms topped their deep, green stems, encouraging passersby to follow the circuitous path to the parking lot. Intersecting paths offered a longer stroll, and each path converged in a center garden. A rather small fountain and pond marked the center of the modest garden, and curved limestone benches edged the water feature on the four compass points. Large urns rested beside each bench, filled with pink geraniums, and tall hedges grew up behind, creating the illusion of a secret garden. The sounds of summer buzzed in the background as the bubbling fountain water trickled into the pond beneath.
“I have not come only to share your company for the afternoon. There is something I wish to speak to you.”
Grace's throat went dry as she instinctively knew that whatever Drago said next would bring her the answers to her heart's questions, and the prospect that, with a word, her hopes may be dashed left her unsure of her desire to hear. At least in ignorance she could dream. Drago took her hands in his, guiding them to a simple park bench under the shady canopy of a towering maple.
“We leave tomorrow,” he stated, “And we may not have much opportunity to be alone until we return.”
“Yes, I know,” she said in acknowledgment.
“I am happy you will be there, Grace,” he paused long enough for her to raise her eyes in expectant regard, “But I will be happier if you are wearing this.”
Between his thick fingers rested a princess cut diamond perched upon a platinum band, the gleaming square surrounded by petal shaped sapphires. Voice heavy with emotion, Drago uttered the words that Grace Antolini had dared hope to hear.
“I love you Grace. Will you become my wife?”
Grace tucked this moment away in her memory, never wanting to lose the sublimity of emotion captured in her surroundings, in his words. Dappled sunlight sifted down through the gently fluttering leaves, the soft, warm currents brushing loose wisps of hair over her skin as she drank in the masculinity of the man she would marry. The proud forehead, strong nose, and firmly set jaw were the physical manifestations of the strength, integrity, and wisdom housed within his soul. His eyes, still, deep po
ols, promised calm and peace amid life’s storms. His form, powerful and lean, offered the security of protection. Drago, out of his deep respect for others, commanded respect in return. With love's eye exposing the man before her, Grace loved him as he was, and tears welled in her dark eyes as she accepted him.
“I will.”
Gently taking her hand, he slipped the heavy ring onto her finger and pulled her into his arms.
“Milujemtá, moj milovany,” he husked against her hair.
Without translation, Grace understood.
“And I love you, Drago.”
* * *
Guy Antolini paced the length of the drive outside his home, anxious to get on the road. As he did so, he went over the checklist in rapid fire succession with Yves, who lounged on the rattan furniture, which sat under the shady, wisteria laden pergola. Yves reassured him for the umpteenth time that all was in order, chuckling to himself at his longtime friend's meticulous attention to detail.
Carson had not been seen since Guy had suspended him, and as far as Yves was concerned it was for the best. Rumor abounded that Carson was self-destructing. Anto and his team did not need the trouble, nor the publicity that would follow. Naturally, Guy had since focused all his attention on Drago. After last evening's quiet announcement of his daughter's engagement to Zadrovec, Yves understood the man's higher than usual pre-fight agitation.
Fate, it seemed, agreed that Guy had waited long enough, producing Drago with red duffel in hand at the same moment that Grace bounded out the front door. Each man stared, for she looked lovely. The simple cotton dress, a stonewashed denim hue, rested mid-knee. It gathered at her waist loosely, held by a thin, chestnut, leather belt, and the sleeves tapered slightly just above her elbows. Her tan legs were bare, and open-toed flats covered her dainty feet. A loose knot of dark hair at the back of her head threatened to spill down, creating a stunning casualness of appearance. Grace's thought had been to keep cool and comfortable in her selection of dress, but as a result, Drago would be less than comfortable.
Loading their things into the back of the vehicle, the foursome departed. Yves drove as Guy read over First Strike business matters, leaving Drago and Grace to themselves. They spoke at times, but mostly enjoyed the scenic views. Vast expanses of farmland, heavy with growing corn, rose and fell over the rolling hills. Other crops striped the gentle slopes in varying degrees of green, from minty to pastels to deep evergreens. Knowing he should take in the beauty around him did not stop Drago. His eyes returned to the beauty sitting beside him often.
Her slender hand rested on the book in her lap displaying the ring of their promise, and Drago studied, again and again, the way it snugly wrapped her finger. Just yesterday it had been bare – now it bore the sign of their future. She was his. A long engagement was not something he could endure. He would arrange things as quickly as possible; they would marry in the fall.
He had been apprehensive about asking Grace to follow him to Slovakia, knowing it would be difficult for her to leave the only home she'd known, to leave her father, but she had agreed without hesitation. He would have relocated to the States if she had asked him, but a part of him was glad she hadn't. Slovakia was his home. He loved the city of Bratislava and wanted to show it to her, to experience with her its beauty and wonder. Success in his career may necessitate a move to the States in the future, but for a time, Drago wanted to be afforded the privacy of newly married life nestled in the close knit community he treasured.
When she gestured for him to take in the sight of a quaint farmhouse, or explained that a housing development had just a few years before not dotted the horizon, he listened intently, enjoying the soft lilt of her voice and the long line of her exposed neck. When silence returned, his thoughts drifted to weightier matters.
In marrying, he was assuming responsibility for Grace. Marriage was a covenant relationship, and by taking her to wife, he was agreeing to be held accountable before God for providing for her physically, attending to her emotional needs, and leading her spiritually. He took his beliefs seriously. For months he had prayed, asking God to prepare and equip him to fulfill the vows he would someday make. He studied the Scriptures faithfully to grow in his own relationship with his Savior. He had prepared for this time; soon, he would live it. The sheer scope of its implications was humbling, yet its practice was almost juvenile in its simplicity.
No greater love has he, than he who lays down his life for his friend.
Of course, Drago would protect Grace if needed, even to death. The real application, Drago had been taught, was in laying down one's life in the everyday.
“Lay down pride to admit when wrong and ask forgiveness. Lay down wants to satisfy another's need. Turn down a day of relaxation to ensure one's friend knows they are cherished. Take on extra tasks to ease another's burden, and do all these without expecting anything in return,” Father Svalina had explained to him. “My son, this is love.”
Drago was ready to love.
* * *
Having checked into their lodgings, Guy took Drago to work some technique, and they left Grace to relax before the morrow's activity. Grace took the time to map out a few places of interest she thought Drago would like to see if time permitted in the days after his bout. Philadelphia boasted many historic sights in relation to the founding of her country, all of which she knew would interest her fiance. Once finished with the task, she curled up with a book to pass the time. The excitement of the last few days had kept her going non-stop. Alone in her room, exhaustion crept over her, and she drifted into sleep.
A wake up call, in the form of her father's knock at the door, brought the realization that she had slept straight through to the next day.
“Gracie, are you awake?”
“I'm coming, Dad.”
She admitted her father with a smile and a yawn.
“What time is it?”
“It's a quarter to seven, daughter! I figured you needed a rousing.”
Guy was chuckling.
Handing her the medium, cream-only coffee, the tall, lean Antolini sat at the two person table in the spacious hotel suite's sitting room.
Unfolding the daily newspaper, he wryly added, “I get you a suite of rooms with a private bedroom and you sleep on the sofa!” Shaking his head and grinning, he lifted the paper before his face. “Ah, Gracie girl,” he said, bemused.
Rich coffee steamed in the cup, beckoning Grace to inhale its bold aroma. Tucking her legs under, she sank into the plum settee’s cushions, drinking the dark roast and allowing her eyes to adjust to the room's brightness after opening the heavily lined draperies. Now fully awake, the weigh-ins garnered her attention.
“How's his weight?”
Grace and Guy communicated easily. They thought so much alike that one understood the other with few words. Perhaps it was the reason the daughter had remained single for so long and the father continued so. Discerning a person's true intent by a look, change of intonation, or body language came naturally to them both, making the task of communicating with others who lacked these skills, or worse yet, ignored them, unwelcome at best. So Guy replied, understanding that his daughter sought his assurance that Drago was ready for this fight.
“He's exactly where he should be.”
And Grace understood that her father's statement was, in fact, the answer to the question left unasked. They shared the quiet awhile longer before readying themselves, and when the time was near, departed to join Drago and the Friar for the weigh-in.
Chapter 8
The waiting room assigned to Drago was large enough to accommodate a modest sized mat and seating for about six people. Wearing his trademark, tricolor banded shorts of white over royal blue over red with the Slovakian shield and double cross on his left thigh and team Anto-Engage warm-ups, Drago patiently waited for the announcement to walk out.
Guy hashed over details with the Friar.
“Do you have Drago's meal plan with you?” Guy asked.
“You're not going to change it, I hope. I've already ordered everything.”
“I'm not changing it. Just checking. How about our mat times? Are they definite?”
“All but the last one of the day. I guess they've scheduled another team for the same time as us, but I'll have an answer before then on whether our time or theirs moves,” the Friar explained.
“Well, let me know as soon as you hear anything. What time does Drago have to sit for the interview this afternoon?”
“Two-thirty.”
Guy laughed.
“That doesn't give him much time after our practice. Hey, Drago! You're going to have to shower in record time.”
Drago sprawled on the massive bean-bag chair in the corner, listening to the conversation.
“If you give me ten minutes, I can be ready for anything,” he assured.
Drago's calm demeanor did not betray the small jolts his system felt when pre-fight tension triggered the release of adrenaline into his veins. Gaze resting on Grace, he considered the interviews he would have to participate in later in the day. He had decided to evade any questions about his personal life that may come up. For as long as possible, he preferred to keep their engagement private. The last thing he wanted was for his remaining days with Grace to be spent watching over his shoulder for cameras ready to capture any stolen moments for broadcast. But how long that would last was yet to be known.
One thing he was certain of was Grace's ability to deal with the media. She was not fond of doing so, but when faced with the barrage of reporters outside the arena this morning, she had given a professional statement without sounding rehearsed or nervous. In spite of her shyness, Grace Antolini delivered under pressure. He smiled to himself at the recollection before clearing his mind when the door opened and a short, sandy-haired young man with a pronounced widow's peak stepped partially inside.
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