Flight of Passion: True romance and the obsession for love

by Mollie Mathews

  * * *

  Ruby drew the sponge along his 6-pack abs, down across his navel, avoiding the tented pitch protruding proudly from his loins. She folded back the sheets with the professional discretion of a masseuse, anxious not to further excite her patient.

  He winced as she gently dabbed Dettol over his wounds. It was as though his pain was her pain. His torn flesh her flesh. His vulnerable uncertainty her own.

  She noticed a suspiciously large gash over his left thigh then sighed with relief. Thank god the family jewels had been protected, she thought, suppressing a giggle.

  Tentatively she continued bathing him, pressing her hands with clinical efficiency, pinning her fingers steadfastly to the sponge least flesh should touch his.

  She suppressed a gasp as inevitably an errant finger strayed, like a wayward child testing the repercussions of its defiance. Bolts of pure electricity shafted through her.

  She jolted her hand, escaping the heat, and plunged it into water, lest the electrical currents emitting from his taunt, muscular chest singe her resolve, torch her will, set fire to the desire she fought so hard to quell.

  Succumbing once was a mistake. Twice would be unforgivable.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “If you’re going to stay here you may as well make yourself useful,” Ruby said thrusting a spade at Oliver. A week had passed and he had shown with the determination of 100 oxen that he was not a man to be felled for long.

  Keeping him occupied would keep him at bay, hopefully tire him out and, if his work ethic was as slack as her stepbrother’s, put him off staying around any longer

  “What are we doing—searching for treasure?” he joked.

  “You know, it’s funny. But when I look at my life I realize what a façade it all is. You’ve helped me see that,” she said softly. “I’ve been so busy trying to please everyone else, nobody’s even asked me what I want. But what infuriates me is that it’s my fault for not standing up for myself.”

  “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

  Ruby put down her spade and wiped the sweat from her brow. Would Oliver dismiss her ideas as Carlos and her family had? She decided to take the risk. She wanted him to know who she really was, how she felt, what shaped her and what mattered. And to do that she knew she had to allow herself to be vulnerable.

  “My real parents abandoned me. I spent most of my childhood in foster care. At one of the places I stayed the most a white dove used to perch outside my window. Gradually, when I went into the garden it would come and sit with me. Eventually it trusted me enough to eat out of my hand. It would look at me as though it really saw me.” She turned to him uncertainly, a warmth flooding her heart as saw the genuine compassion in his eyes. “Just like the way you look at me sometimes…like you’re looking at me now,” she said softly.

  “I know it sounds silly, but that dove always gave me hope. Hope that one day someone would love me enough to choose me, to commit to me, to say, ‘yes, we want you and we’re never going to let you go’. For better or worse the Diaz’s gave me that security. But I never forgot the healing power of that bird. I want to give something back to kids who’ve lost hope, I want to show them the power of love.”

  She began to tell him about her vision for an animal sanctuary where kids and adolescents in need could receive therapeutic care, not just from the beautiful setting, but from the healing presence of horses, and cats, and dogs—even chickens, which she knew could instill love and affection to those most starved of affection.

  And she was pleased, elated, surprised even, when rather than dismiss her ideas as foolish, he encouraged her revealing an unexpected depth of knowledge. She’d been right about his cats, Renshaw and Edwards. They weren’t just reminders of independence and distrust, but symbols and reminders of affection and the healing power of unconditional love.

  “Wouldn’t you get lonely? No rockstars, money moguls, Fifth Avenue designer clothes to pretty yourself with?”

  Ruby threw him a derisive look. “Not at all. I just feel like, I don’t know, like my soul can breathe here. That this is where I belong.”

  “Right here?” Oliver raised an eyebrow as he contemplated the wild terrain where the Hope butterfly he coveted had made its home. “You continue to surprise me.”

  Ruby nodded. “I just feel it’s where I’m meant to be. If that means sacrifice on my part it’s a small price to pay.”

  * * *

  She picked up the spade, and ploughed into the ground with a force that both surprised and excited him, deepening the respect and admiration he felt for her.

  “You dig a deep hole for a slight wee thing,” he said. “Planning on burying somebody?”

  She grinned. “Maybe. Don’t underestimate me, Oliver,” she laughed, waving her spade at him.

  Clearly she wasn’t the pretty wee bauble he’d mistaken her for. She was a strong woman, determined to make her way in the world independently—a trait he realized he both feared and respected.

  “I’d better make myself useful lest I find myself on the wrong end of your spade,” he joked, picking up a shovel and helping her dig.

  “You know what I love about being out here? I love the more basic human interaction. It’s so raw. So real. You’re really connected to the earth and to the environment in a different way than how you are in the concrete mayhem of the city,” she said, her face radiating with light. “I love being here, it’s awesome.”

  She looked so happy, so peaceful, so beautiful, Oliver contemplated, as she stood before him, devoid of make-up, her cheeks blushed with dirt, her hair a tangled mess, her teeny, weeny khaki shorts riding too far up those far too sexy buttocks as she bent over and picked up a small pile of dirt.

  As the umber soil crumbled and fell between her fingers Oliver shuffled his feet. He ran his finger around his shirt collar. His feelings for her held him in a vice-like grip, squeezing his previously rock solid conviction that his only motivation for taking her from Carlos was to rid her of a bad mistake and then, mission conquered, disappear out of her life.

  How could he leave her when it meant going against everything he now valued. He picked up the rake at his feet and thrust it into the mound of freshly cleared dirt.

  “Thank you for helping me, Oliver. For believing in me,” she turned to him with those far too innocent, trusting eyes and Oliver felt his will power begin to crumble.

  As he watched Ruby rip and tear scrub with her bare hands he knew with certainty only one beauty had the power to wrench the very fabric of the impenetrable life he had built. Only one beauty had the power to rip down the walls that had afforded him so much protection. Only one beauty could shower him with irreversible pain.

  He grabbed a thistle bush and wrenched it from the ground. Who was he kidding? He was raised in a world so glaringly opposite to hers. Nothing he could do would change that.

  He’d be a permanent blight on the family tree, a tree the whole family were determined would never take root.

  And yet, he brooded, staring toward the horizon, if he wrote a scientific paper documenting finding the rare and elusive Mexican Hope butterfly, and at the same time helped his sister find a cure for her crippling disease the international acclaim this would merit may just be enough of a point of difference to capture their attention.

  He continued thrusting the shovel into the ground. He’d never be good enough for the Diaz’s, he thought plunging it harder.

  You want something, you take it.

  Simple.

  LOSS

  It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone

  ~ John Steinbeck ~

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Why do I feel so uneasy?” A sinking feeling pushed down on Ruby’s stomach in a wave of nausea.

  She stood up and walked to the window. She brushed the silk curtain aside gently and watched from above as the guests began to arrive.

  The party had been
called in her honor. Carlos had told her it was a belated welcome home. But he’d also once told her that he would never come back to ‘this hell-hole.’ None of it made sense.

  And none of it quelled the shiver of unease that scuttled up her spine. She didn’t like crowds and she hated being the center of attention even more.

  Knots churned in her stomach as she gazed down at the guests carrying gifts, wrapped with large silk bows, and fine papers that glistened with threads of gold and silver.

  It isn’t my birthday, she thought anxiously, nibbling on her ringless fingers. She bit her lip pensively as she returned to her dresser and brushed her glossy curls, sliding the gorgeous diamond encrusted butterfly clip in her hair. Dotted with sapphires and amethysts and edged in gold it had been couriered to her earlier in the day, accompanied only by an elegantly simple white card, embossed with the words, ‘always in my heart.’

  “May I come in?” Carlos pushed open the door and strode across the room, startling her from her thoughts.

  “Of course, you needn’t ask,” Ruby said, getting up from her dressing table. Her eyes flew to the towering boxes he carried purposely in his arms which he placed decisively upon the bed.

  “Thank you for the exquisite gift,” she said, gesturing to the clip perched amongst her curls. “It’s perfect.”

  A shadowed frown cast a grim dark line over his face.

  “Open them,” he said, ignoring her reference to the gift and pointing to the elegantly wrapped boxes littering the bed.

  His gaze, she noted with discomfort, as he watched her walk toward the boxes majestically emblazoned with the French couture house’s Dior logo, was analytical, appraising, calculating. It was as though in studying her curves, the gracefulness of her walk, the lean perfectly proportioned lines of her body, he was admiring her like a stud owner admires a filly he’s preparing for show.

  “It’s a little something I picked up on our recent trip to Paris,” he said, as she began to untie the large red satin bows.

  Ruby smiled weakly. “You spoil me. You shouldn’t have.” She walked across to the bed, her stomach churning with a nervous energy which she found unsettling.

  “I want you to look beautiful.”

  Ruby stiffened.

  “Don’t you like what I’m wearing?”

  Carlos shrugged as he studied the clean, classical lines of her dress. “You are a beautiful woman. But your preference for understated elegance does not show you off to perfection. You could shine more, my darling, and then everyone would see what a truly lucky man I am.”

  Ruby smiled tightly. He didn’t mean to be unkind but she couldn’t help feeling like a show pony, about to be paraded for other people’s pleasure.

  She lifted the lid of the Dior box, unfolded the tissue and took out the dress Carlos had purchased for her.

  “It’s lovely,” she said trying to hide the overwhelming feeling that flooded her body.

  “Put it on,” he commanded, leaning against the wall, one arm folded over the other, his hand resting firmly under his chin.

  She walked toward him. “Can you unzip me?” she said, turning her back toward him.

  Carlos traced the back of her neck with his fingers, then unzipped her dress slowly, pausing briefly at the curve of her buttocks.

  Ruby stepped forward quickly and allowed the elegantly simple, clean lined Lanvin dress she had planned wearing to slip unceremoniously to the tiled floor. She gazed at the mound of crumpled silk wistfully.

  She walked to the bed and put on the dress Carlos had chosen. She concentrated on maintaining an air of excitement. She smiled tightly, her mouth aching with the strain.

  Overwhelming flurries of silk and lace, glittering with tiny rhinestones and lustrous with the glow of seed pearls swirled around her.

  She felt surrounded, smothered, imprisoned.

  “You look beautiful. Like a princess.”

  Ruby shifted on her feet. I feel like an over-dressed meringue.

  “Now come, everyone will be wondering where we have got to.”

  “Carlos, you still haven’t told me what’s going on. Are you celebrating something? Did you get the party nomination?”

  “Not yet, but I am celebrating. We are,” he corrected himself. “I’ve invited all our closest friends—even managed to bring in one or two surprises.” His lips curved in a half smile. “I hope you’ll be pleased.”

  A wave of apprehension washed over her. She raised her hand and rubbed her temple, and swept her fingers over her head, unsettling the butterfly clip in her hair.

  “Are you okay my darling? You look pale.”

  “It’s nothing. Just a slight headache, that’s all.”

  “Nothing a good party won’t cure I hope,” he said, impatiently. “Finish getting dressed and come and join your friends.”

  Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. My friends? Ruby gazed out the window again. She couldn’t see a friendly face amongst them.

  Acquaintances yes. Contacts of Carlos, yes. Family, yes. But a true friend? No.

  The crowd of celebrities, media moguls, entertainers, and politicians looked more like a meeting of who’s who than people gathered to wish Ruby a heart felt welcome home.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Ignoring a sharp preference to retreat, Ruby emerged from the sanctuary of her bedroom and walked down to join the guests.

  Despite her trepidation she gasped at the stunning setting. Never had the garden looked so beautiful. Candles hung in crystal cases dripped from the trees lighting up the foliage like tiny glowworms.

  A quartet played sensual melodies which drifted through the crowd. White lined tables with crystal goblets and glistening silver peppered the lawn.

  If she didn’t feel so uncomfortable, so self-conscious she would have inhaled the beauty of the scene, and allowed her senses to succumb. But as she stepped into the crowd all eyes turned to her. The band ceased playing and a suffocating hush roared through the crowd, as she wove her way through the strangers.

  Her heart stopped, then beat rapidly. She felt like an actress on a stage playing a part she never wanted. The costume didn’t fit. The actors were in the wrong play. Her life, this stage, was a farce.

  Ruby froze. Her face paled. Her eyes widened like saucers. A nervous blush rose from her heart to her face.

  Carlos stepped forward, placed an arm firmly around her. He pulled her close as though sensing her intention to flee.

  He wave his free hand out across the gathered crowd, “This is a surprise for my beautiful Ruby, but not for you—you all know why you are here.”

  The guests laughed conspiratorially.

  Ruby turned to Carlos, looked fleetingly back at the strangers then back to him, a nervous smile on her lips. Her lips formed unspoken questions. Her eyes filled with bewilderment.

  Suddenly Carlos bent down on his knee.

  “Ruby, marry me.”

  It struck Ruby that it was a command as much as a proposal.

  She froze.

  Without waiting for her answer Carlos rose to his feet and took her hand. “This, my friends—” he said turning to the smiling crowd, as he slipped a gigantic diamond ring on her finger, “—is one of the most expensive engagement rings in history—and worth every dime.”

  A hundred gasps of appreciation mixed with envy permeated the warm, fragrant air.

  “Don’t hold everyone in suspense,” Carlos whispered, “We’re waiting for your answer.”

  She had no choice. Not now, not before. And yet she felt conflicted. It wasn’t what she wanted, but how could she humiliate him in front of everyone that mattered to him? How could she say no?

  “What’s wrong, you don’t seem happy,” he said, leaning toward her, sweeping her cheek in the pretense of a kiss.

  “Nothing,” she whispered, “It’s just, well I…I guess I always imagined a more private, more intimate engagement. Just the two of us.”

  “What and deny all these people a party
? Silly thing,” he said, dismissing her concerns.

  “Ruby Diaz will you marry me,” he repeated, turning to the crowd and wavering his hands in the air in a deliberately overacted theatrical performance. But the playfulness in his voice conflicted with his steely gaze, and the force of his grip, as he turned toward her and claimed her hand.

  Ruby darted a hopeful glance into the audience. Hoping, beyond reason, that Oliver would come for her. Just like in the movies.

  But it wasn’t Hollywood. It was her life. Raw and real and full of responsibilities. Her parents were staring firmly at her, their smiles fixed with no trace of humor or amusement in their eyes, as she delayed.

  The ring weighed heavily upon her finger, mirroring the heaviness in her heart.

  For the briefest of moments she imagined herself picking up her skirts and fleeing into the night. Running from a fate not of her making. Escaping from a future she knew now she didn’t want.

  Carlos’ eyes blazed piercing her fantasy, sending it spiralling placidly to the earth like a needle pressed against a balloon.

  “I will marry you Carlos, of course.”

  He pressed his firm lips to hers as the deafening applause and cheers engulfed her .

  “The ring, came from the best diamond dealer in New York State, the House of Graff,” he said, noticing her sadness, as though trying to reassure her that his wealth would change everything.

  She gazed down at the fifteen-carat flawless emerald diamond set in platinum jaw-dropping engagement ring.

  “You look like someone’s died,” he said abruptly.

  Ruby smiled tightly, reached up and kissed his cheek.

  “I’m sorry, truly I am. I guess I just feel a bit overwhelmed that so much fuss is being made of me. Now, who would you like me to meet?”

  Carlos circulated introducing her to people whose faces she recognized from newspaper photographs, or television, and others whose titles or his brief description of their jobs indicated they would be helpful to her future husband’s career.