The Fighter and the Baroness: A Modern-Day Fairy Tale

by Sunniva Dee

  At eight, Zeke popped by and took a beating in the backyard ring. Maiko ices his eye down now, making sure the swelling doesn’t stick.

  “Shit, man, and I was going to get laid tonight,” he half laughs, half growls when Maiko’s done and we’re alone in the kitchen.

  “Has a shiner stopped you before?” My question is rhetorical. We both know women find it sexy.

  “Hell no. I’ll be a pussy magnet tonight. Say, we had fun last Saturday, huh?” He tips his head back to look at me.

  “Yeah. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” I say in case that’s where he’s going with this.

  It is. “You always have an early morning. Tomorrow’s gonna come fast enough anyway, and I feel like another Stripes night. It’s going down.”

  “No.” Last Saturday was a disaster. I drank champagne with Helena, we had sex for hours, and spent way too little time sleeping. I’ve been out of sorts all week.

  “C’mon. Okay, here’s the deal. We do…” He rattles off everything he’s going to assist with workout-wise today and how he’s upping his own routine to Keyon-level just so he can match my ambitions. “And after that we head to Stripes. Only for an hour, man! Just one hour.”

  Zeke’s hands are in the air, palms toward me. “Just. An hour,” the liar repeats. He doesn’t deserve an answer. He knows I’d never go out two weekends in a row.

  I’m at Stripes. I can’t even say it’s Zeke’s fault. Yes, it helped that he insisted, but the main reason is that it was fucking hard to not see Helena safely home to her crazy-people house yesterday. I’ve wanted to text her since last night, but I’d rather not give her any ideas. Now, I hope she shows up with her friend so I can verify for myself that she’s okay.

  Fine, so she fucks with my head.

  Around me, the guys laugh and clink glasses. We’ve invaded a roped-off area upstairs, and the smooching and slow-dancing to way-too-quick songs have commenced, courtesy of Jaden and Marty. Their girls for the night are stoked.

  I’ve got a club soda on the rocks with a few mint leaves bobbing in it, getting away with not drinking again. I think Keyon’s the only one who has me figured out. The guy’s an adult in comparison to the rest of us. Not sure if it’s an age thing or just a life-living thing. Either way, he doesn’t mess with you, doesn’t even haze gym newbies.

  I notice Helena immediately when she arrives. There’s no brain surgery involved in that—everyone and their brother sees her enter the room. Statuesque and fair-haired, she makes her way to the tables by the dance floor. Behind her trails that ass-hat, Gun, and the girl roommate. Helena’s stare instantly lifts to the balcony and finds me.

  She doesn’t greet me. I don’t greet her. But I do fix her stare and soak in that she’s here. The ass-hat puts a draft in front of her and says something close to her ear. Why? It’s not even loud here yet!

  An hour, said Zeke. Right, and it was a goddamn trap. Obviously, I can’t leave until Helena does, and I have to remain vigilant of any dick within arm’s reach of her. Stripes might never be the same again if she keeps coming.

  She dances with a small man with wide hips. She’s polite and smiles that dazzling smile at him. Dude’s gobbling it up, thinking he’s got a chance. I don’t fucking like what I’m seeing. One of his paws slides down to her ass. Oh hell no.

  It’s only twelve thirty, but I don’t give a damn. The fun’s over: I get up, hop the banister, and take three steps at a time past a few girls and a gym buddy. I’m about to grab that wide-hipped dancer douche by the neck and throw him violently out of the club.

  I slow down. It appears Helena has removed his hand herself, and now she’s stepping out of his hold, shaking her head. The dick isn’t happy and tries to sweet-talk her, but the princess’ posture says it all as she pirouettes her back to him and returns to her table.

  I huff out a breath. I’m hard with rage over that grabby jerk, and I’m hard from watching her. Cass sees me from their table and leans in, probably to inform Helena, so I shoot back to my section upstairs. I earn a whoa from a few women as I crash-land on a couch.

  Yeah, I can’t do this. It’s ridiculous. I won’t sit here wondering what she’s up to while I’m out of sight. This isn’t a party.

  “Dude, I’m heading home,” I tell Jaden, but he’s much too busy with a little redhead to care.

  I’m on the stairs again, a revolving situation. I’ve got my wallet, my keys. Zeke’s been on the dance floor, and when our path crosses, he holds up a fresh bottle of champagne. “Want some?”

  “No, I’m going home.”

  “Yeah, same home as last time?” he quips. I feel my forehead furrow in surprise; not once has he mentioned seeing me take off with Helena last week.

  I don’t have an answer, and Zeke’s smirk indicates he’s damn happy with himself for tongue-tying me. “Here,” he goes, stretching the bottle out for me to take. “I’ll get s’more. Bet you’ll need it for the princess.”

  “Dude, you’ve got it all wrong,” I say, but I accept the bottle and hop the last steps down. I trot across the dance floor to get to her faster, bumping into a few dancers, because there she goes again, goddammit, talking with some dipshit who thinks he can exaggerate a hearing problem. He leans in so close Helena’s soft lips must be pressed to his ear.

  I get there in time. I reach them just as he digs an arm around her, and the dude’s easy to push out of the way. He puffs up, oozing pissed off, but when I straighten, staring him down as I reach for her, he deflates. I clasp Helena’s hand and stride off to the exit.

  “Again?” Cass shouts behind us. “Victor, we just got here!”

  Helena doesn’t object. She walks with me willingly while I respond over my shoulder to Cass that she’s lying, because, “You’ve been here for an hour and twenty-five.”

  Helena’s friends don’t follow us out. The club night isn’t over, and there’s something about repeat incidents; it doesn’t scare people as much as isolated ones. I walk her to my car and open the door. She lowers herself into the passenger seat, knees round and feminine, clenched as she accommodates herself.

  I stare before I close the door. I probably don’t look happy, but she doesn’t seem perturbed—her eyes actually glitter. I try to decipher what’s in those eyes. Is that humor? Part anticipation?

  The car hums to a start, and I feel her gaze on the side of my face. “So… you were done being at Stripes?” she asks sweetly.

  “Maybe.” I sound grumpy.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “Okay.” She breathes out, content, but I don’t want her to get any ideas.

  “I’m not sleeping over. You’re just not safe at Stripes. Jesus, Helena, the guys there are all a bunch of jerks waiting to peel your clothes off, and I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go there anymore.”

  Okay. So I could have divulged my message in a more eloquent way.

  “All men are dicks,” I add.

  Awesome.

  “You think?” she answers, not bristling. She sure as hell knew how to bristle on the flight here. “What club should I frequent then?” she continues, her voice so silky I suppress the need to adjust myself. This woman could get a guy high.

  “No club,” I clip out then clear my throat because I’m not making my case. Why did she have to come to Tampa of all places? I inhale deeply before I go on. “Listen, Helena. I think you should stay away from the ring and Stripes. You wanted to study, right? Isn’t that what you said? Start prepping for that. Anything healthy and good as long as you don’t put yourself in danger.”

  “Don’t worry about me, warrior. I’d never put myself in danger, and I go nowhere without my friends,” she murmurs so softly next to me. I run a red light slowly, not noticing until I’m halfway through. She doesn’t comment.

  Helena’s house is dark. It worries me. “Is your other roommate home? The Italian douchebag?”

  Her pretty lips curve upward as she meet
s my stare. “Angelo’s with the landlady tonight. He’ll be home before sunrise though, I’m sure.”

  “Hold this.” I can’t believe I’m carrying an open alcoholic container in my car. She takes the champagne bottle, which is inordinately big and green in her hands. She tips it up carefully, takes a small sip while I get out of the car and make a sign for her to stay behind. At the door, I hike the doormat off the floor. Sure enough, they’ve got a key there. I lift it and wiggle it in the air, shaking my head at her. No, I mouth. Don’t. Ever.

  She gives me a thumbs-up while sucking down another mouthful of champagne. God, she’s beautiful. It’s frustrating.

  In two minutes, I’ve cleared every nook and cranny of their apartment. I go through it one more time to secure window latches in all rooms, and I even lower the A/C because what the hell?

  She’s leaning on the hood of my car when I come out, the champagne in one hand along her thigh. Her skirt rides up a little on the side, and I know exactly how that skin feels against my fingers.

  I walk to her. Grab her jaw between my fingers and tilt her face to me. “I told you to stay put.”

  “I am put.” Round eyes sparkle as she meets my glower.

  “Inside the car. It’s late, and this is a rough neighborhood.”

  “Not so rough, they say,” she whispers, and I think she’s holding back a smile. Her gaze goes to the tight line of my mouth. “We haven’t had a breakin around here in months.”

  “Months!” I scoff. “It should be no breakins, period.”

  “That’s very spoiled of you.”

  I shake my head at her comment. I get what she means though. “Not as spoiled as you, baroness. You’ve never experienced what this world is capable of. Sure, we’ve got sunshine and ocean, but there is a lot of scum here too. They see someone like you, so untainted by it all, and they want to wreck you.”

  “And you don’t?” There’s that small smile at the corner of her lips again. I want to wreck her so hard.

  “Helena, I want you safe. Hell, I’d put you on the first plane back to your castle. I’d put you in a tower for safekeeping.”

  Okay, impulse control, Arquette.

  She leans her hand on my hip for balance, and I feel the pressure of each finger. “Go inside,” I order.

  She stands, straightening so she’s almost as tall as me. I don’t give her room, so we’re chest to chest. What is that scent? Flowers? Honey? I don’t even know. I part my lips to better inhale her. Just for a second, I’ll shut my eyes and suck her in. Then I’ll send her inside. Then I’ll leave. She can’t move out of my arms though. Guess I’ve got her caged in.

  “Victor?”

  “Hmm.” My eyelids have a hard time sliding open. I need this with her so much. When she comes into view, I cup her face, squeeze her, kiss her. I suck her lip into my mouth, groaning and playing with it, then I open like she does, and deepen a kiss that’s intoxicating.

  “Go inside.”

  “Okay.”

  I grind my body against her, thrusting slowly and making her whimper. Helena’s arms go around my neck, pulling me down, and for the life of me I can’t break free.

  “Go.”

  “Yes.”

  My hand roams under her top, all of her against each rugged callus in my palm. So smooth. She’s made for me to touch. “Wait, I just want to…” I hiss, and her breath stutters when it’s easy for me to raise her skirt those last inches and find lingerie that has no business being in my way.

  “My princess is wet,” I groan.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “You want me to help you out?” I’m beyond reason.

  “Didn’t you want me to go inside?”

  She teases me?

  “I’ll come with you. I’m not sure if it’s safe in there after all.”

  HELENA

  I’ve settled on a college. It’s not catholic, but it’s still called St. Pardus. Pardus—isn’t that the Latin word for “leopard?”

  Green lawns cover a small campus with miniature archways that lead to a main building. It’s the smaller version of classic Italy, just brand-new and with all the amenities a student can wish for.

  The administrative staff is welcoming, surprised at a foreigner wanting to attend. I tell them I’ve researched colleges and universities in Florida, and St. Pardus comes up with amazing ratings for the Business Management degree. I don’t tell them their concentration seems tailored to running castles.

  The admissions department wants to help me with anything they can, and I feel good when I turn in my application and leave their offices. Until I see that someone is calling on my Skype account and know it’s not my parents.

  It’s Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth. How did he get my account name? Papa? No, probably Mama. Like Gunther Wilhelm, she’s outspoken about still having hope for us. I can’t blame her; I started this, and in addition to the funds to restore Kyria to its former brilliance, he has an ancestry that dates back to Kaiser Wilhelm I. What he doesn’t have is an estate to back up his lineage.

  While I’m mad at Mama for sharing my personal information, I never told her the reasoning for my actions. For the last year, she’s believed in fairytales and mutual love growing between friends of decades. She didn’t know my love was restricted to Kyria.

  He calls again when I’m back at the apartment. I want to let it ring out again but pull myself together, pick up, and say, “Hallo?”

  “It’s Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth,” he states, voice deep yet whiny.

  “Hey. How are you?” I counter. The problem with Skype is that you see people’s faces. Somehow, his cheeks are doughy. He’s only a few years older than me, but he spends all his time indoors, and with that dough comes pastiness.

  “Hanging in there, you know, making money for us. I got the windows of the south wing exchanged for double panels at Kyria. Should save some electricity,” he says, indebting me. Gunther Wilhelm has talked about updates of the kind before but never actually committed to them.

  “Wow, thank you. Papa didn’t tell me.”

  “Maybe because he wants to pay me back.” Gunther Wilhelm chuckles. “It’s okay. I don’t want Kyria to fall apart. The windows of the Sky Room and the Ocean Room took a beating in the last storm. The big oak your great-great-grandfather planted broke right through them. One of the branches actually reached the canopy bed and smashed a pillar.”

  My heart stops. Why doesn’t Papa tell me these things? It’s Kyria objecting to my absence, and it hurts.

  “Will Papa fix the canopy bed? It’s fixable, right?”

  “Oh I don’t know. If he doesn’t, you can count on me. I’m here for Kyria and you and always will be.” I don’t like what I see on Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth’s face. Light blue eyes peer at me, too-dark lips twisting in a supposedly sad smile.

  Always. That is a lot to promise. Last night I was with a man that in his honesty couldn’t even promise me twenty-four hours. I’ve only known Victor for a few weeks, but without bravado, he’s still there at every turn, having my back—not with money, but with genuine concern.

  “Anyway, what are you up to, there, in Florida? Your mother tells me you like it?” I think the whininess comes from an issue with his nose. It really makes me wish I hadn’t led him on.

  In the years I’ve known him, I’ve never had to think about Gunther Wilhelm’s flaws. It’s not what you do with friends. With suitors, it’s a bit different. Okay, there’s too much air flowing out of his nostrils while he speaks. I wonder if that’s something people get fixed?

  “I like it a lot. I’m going to get a master’s degree in business management here,” I say.

  There’s stunned silence, those small eyes becoming even smaller before he replies. I think there’s too much salt in his diet. If you eat foods that are too salty your eyelids get all puffy, and you get bags under your eyes.

  “You’re really good in English,” he drawls out sluggishly.

  “Thank you.” He’s leading up to somethin
g I might not like.

  “Wasn’t the plan to pursue a master’s in English and Literature so you could help the library down in the village whenever they needed your expertise?”

  Right. That’s what my life was supposed to be.

  It would have been easy: Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth taking care of business, restoring Kyria, sleeping with me, his wife, maybe having a few kids—an heir and his sister—then I could hang out at the library, read aloud to six-year-olds who aren’t fortunate enough to have caring mothers. We’d have a wing named after us once they expanded. Right. Right.

  “The plan has changed.” I watch unkempt brows sink low over his eyes in confusion before I continue. “I’ll be pursuing a master’s degree in Business Management so I can take care of Kyria. I’m the heiress, and it’s my duty to do so.”

  He’s seething. He hides it well but not well enough for someone who’s known him his entire life. Gunther Wilhelm’s voice is deceptively docile when he asks, “Will those new business theories of yours fix Kyria’s deficit?”

  VICTOR

  I’m not one to enter on the tailcoats of others, but I do today when I breach the sphere of Hooters for the first time. Marty waves me on, pointing at the bar.

  “Their Sam’s always chilled, and the fizz’ll climb to your nose if you let it.”

  I nod once. I won’t be having alcohol between sessions at ACW.

  “Zeke! You prick, it’s on you today. You left me hangin’ with the check for a triple combo of buffalo chicken breast Tuesday,” he yells.

  “BS!” Zeke shouts back. “Ask the ladies. Baroness. Did I? Was that me or Marty?”

  I don’t like his familiarity with Helena. I look up, scowling at her, but god-fucking-dammit if she doesn’t look insane in that Hooters outfit. Nylons too—she shouldn’t look like this in front of people.

  “What’s up, Helena?” I say. “You’re the death of me.”

  “Hey,” she breathes. Does she know how sexy that sounds?

  “Come here.”

  They all watch as I keep on surrendering to impulses and lean across the bar counter. I grab her face, start out by pecking her cheek, but as some bearded guy with a toupee walks in, I tilt her chin so I can suck on her lips. “Get dressed,” I say. “You’re too damn much.”