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

by Sunniva Dee

  “Excuse me,” bearded guy says. Helena instantly breaks free of our kiss. She gasps for air, sounding a whole lot like she does in bed.

  I turn slowly to him. “Can I help you?”

  He points at a sign that says, “CAUTION: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to think you have a chance with a Hooters girl… (You don’t.)”

  “That’s your only warning. Our Helena is a sweetie, but if you want to remain welcome here, you’re to treat her with respect.”

  Around me, my friends snicker. Marty clears his throat, and beer glass in hand, Zeke fakes a sudden interest in the cocktail menu.

  “Sure thing,” I say. His attitude placates me. The man is watchful, keeps an eye on the girls. I’m hoping he’s the manager, because then I won’t have to worry like I do with her other boss.

  “Johnny-boy, I’m sorry. Victor is my friend,” Helena says, voice low.

  “All right, I’m glad to hear that. In my office, please?”

  Part mortified, part entertained, Helena bites her lip and slinks after him to the back of the restaurant.

  “Victor’s got a chance with a Hooters girl,” Jaden mumbles, rewriting the wall plaque. That does it. They’re all laughing openly now.

  “Shut up, assholes. That’s not even funny.”

  “True, true,” Marty lies, drying an eye. “But I don’t blame you for breaking the Hooters law. The baroness is so hot I’d do her any time.”

  “Oh hell no.” I’ve got him off his stool and outside in ten seconds flat. I sock him in the stomach. He does an okay block of my punch to the face, but he’s bleeding and chuckling uncontrollably by the time Zeke barges out and separates us. I bite my lip to remain serious. “Dick.”

  “Wings?” Jaden asks from the door. “Or breasts?”

  “Breast, not breasts. They’re not ladies,” Zeke replies, letting go of us. “Twenty wings for me, no sides, and just a whole fucking lot of their buffalo sauce, man.”

  “I’m not your waiter.”

  “Why’re you here then?”

  Back inside, Helena has made me club soda and ice. She doesn’t know the trick of the mint leaf, but she adds a slice of lemon. Whenever her boss crosses our path, I avert my eyes, making sure they don’t roam to firm boobs with small nipples I know the exact texture of. Helena is subdued, from the talking-to by the owner, I bet.

  “What happened to your nose, Marty?” she asks.

  “Oh nothing, just this douchebag here,” Marty says and points a finger down over my head. “’S a bit touchy.”

  I look up from my fish to find Helena’s face. You, I mouth, because apparently I can’t not do shit with her around. She arches a brow and meets my stare head on, waiting.

  You’re trouble.

  Really, Helena has no idea of the trouble she is.

  So much trouble.

  At home, I feel like a fucking teenager with a mother who doesn’t approve of my behavior. I’m suddenly the dude who’s out late at night, comes home smelling like—well, at least one drink when I never drank before.

  But Maiko is appeased when I take out my energy on my heavy-bag. She doesn’t complain when she comes with me to the top of the garage and watches me dominate hundreds of steps in a shorter timeframe than ever.

  Dawson sets me up with a contender I’m happy with, an up-and-coming Russian who’s been invited to play with the big league in Vegas and wants some exercise on the way there. Oh I’ll give him exercise.

  The match is this Sunday in Miami. Today’s Friday, and for the first time I text Helena.

  Helena. Don’t go to Stripes tomorrow night. Promise me right now.

  I know she’s at work—Jaden went there for lunch. I don’t expect her to reply as fast as she does.

  Victor, lovely to hear from you. I’ll be at Stripes tomorrow.

  Don’t mess with me, I reply.

  Why? I’m messing with no one. Have a great weekend.

  I scrub my forehead. Look around for Dawson and find him heading my way. Jaden’s doing weights. Keyon’s got a girl visiting from up north, Alaska or something. Paislee? If it weren’t for his visitor, I could have asked him to watch over Helena at the club.

  I groan.

  “What’s the deal, dude? Not enjoying yourself today?” Zeke’s grinning big from the treadmill, puffing past the eight-mile mark.

  “Meet me in the back in twenty.” That’s Dawson. He wants to go over the Russian’s stats with me again before we head to Miami. Maiko’s coming too. It’s the first big event with the two of them, but I’m not worried; Dawson will yield to Maiko’s expertise like the pro he is.

  I bite the bullet. Puff my cheeks up and trot over to Zeke’s treadmill. “You going to Stripes tomorrow?”

  “Whaddaya think, man? ’Course I am. Comin’?”

  “No, I’ve got the Miami fight on Sunday.”

  “Allrigthy, so why’re you asking then?”

  I choke my pride. “Helena’s going.”

  “You want me to do her for you? No! Sorry, just joking, dude. You should see your face though—it’s impossible not to mess with you.”

  I still yank him off the treadmill and land a shin kick.

  “Dude, can’t believe I thought you were some Buddha fighter when you first started with us,” he laughs out.

  “I fucking was.”

  “Until Helena.”

  “No. Until… screw you!”

  He straightens, and slowly his expression grows serious. “You know what I think? That you’re off your mental game. We’ve got time for a soda, right?”

  A soda. I didn’t think the word existed in Zeke’s vocabulary.

  At the frozen yogurt place next door, he buys us a round of almond with berries and some shit, the Seasons of Celestial Delights. The flavor exploding in my mouth reminds me of Helena, her hair, body wash, lotion, perfume—I don’t know. I get up, stalk to the counter, and ask for a list of every ingredient in that thing.

  Zeke’s got half-closed lids when I return. “She’s turned you into a nutcase,” he says. “You know that, right? Is she that good?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The princess.” He crosses his arms, waiting. “I’m talking about the princess.”

  “It’s not even about that,” I burst, making the girl behind the counter jump.

  “No? What’s it about then?”

  “She’s not safe in this city.”

  “I see. And where’s she safe? You want to send her back home?”

  “Of course not, and plus I’m not the boss of Helena.”

  His expression clears. I think he gets it until he says, “Okay, you’re making no sense. Now, how about you tell me about tomorrow at Stripes.”

  I’m teeming with worry over this girl. Am I crazy? Is it fucking normal to be the way I am right now? I look up from my almond delight, nostrils still flaring with the scent of her.

  Meditation and exercise should squelch my urges. They don’t. If my father were alive, I would have— No, I wouldn’t have discussed Helena with him, and my mother I’d never talk with about a woman. Maiko met Helena at the airport and raised her walls right away, radiating Pulitzer-prize-worthy hostility.

  I’m not much for sharing, but I’m at a crossroads where I need someone’s opinion. It’s weird that the person I’ll be sharing with is Zeke—and at a frozen yogurt place. “Will you keep your mouth shut if I tell you a few things?” I ask.

  “You’ve got me pegged for a chick now?”

  I smirk. “It’s crazy though.”

  “Try me.”

  “You were there when I met Helena in Germany. She hadn’t even left her country when I met her.”

  “Word.” He doesn’t insult me with stupid questions.

  “I feel responsible, man.”

  “What? Why? You’re not responsible for her. She decided to come here, and she already had her plane tickets when you guys met. Right?” The last word slips out with a shard of doubt to it.

  This
isn’t where I’m going with this. I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms. The frozen yogurt has vanished—four big scoops and I was done—and now it’s just me and a plastic tumbler of ice water.

  “I know, Zeke. I just—think I really like her. I don’t want her to be anywhere else, with anyone else. You know? I want her to stay away from guys. Helena doesn’t realize how screwed up dude brains are in this country, that all they want is to fuck her.”

  “Like you?”

  I huff in air. “What the hell?”

  Zeke isn’t laughing, isn’t showing entertainment or glee. No, he just wants to know, do I consider myself at the front of the line of who wants to fuck her?

  “No, that’s not what this is. She’s under my skin,” I finally admit out loud. “Since Helena came to Tampa, she’s been messing with my head. I’ve been sitting in the back of random civic centers just to watch over her while she performs her ring-girl duties. She’s unaware that I’m pretty much stalking her, and I’ve negated hours of practice thanks to that part-time job of hers.”

  “Whoa, Victor. You’ve got it bad.”

  “Ah.” I lean my forehead into my hand. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’re not the only one, ya know?”

  I look up.

  “Keyon, man. You seen him lately, since that chick came here the other week? He’s proof shit happens even to fighters.”

  I read between Zeke’s lines. If Keyon’s going down over some girl—as in one single, individual girl–then it can happen to anyone.

  “Can you do me a favor and keep her safe tomorrow?” I ask, and holy shit, that’s pitiful, but it had to be asked.

  He leans back in his seat too, tucking his chin against his throat. “Okay, so you’re saying forget my girls and watch over your babe instead? Not even tapping her? Kidding!” Zeke yells the last part out quickly. “Dude, yes. Don’t worry. I’ll be your guard dog. And I’ll put anyone who even looks at her to sleep on your behalf.”

  I punch him in the shoulder. He aims at my nose, but I block him, taking the hit to my lower arm instead. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  HELENA

  I enjoyed Victor’s and my little text message session yesterday. He wants me to stay away from Stripes this weekend, so now I’m primping, Cass doing my hair.

  “You know what I read?” she says, making me shake my head. “Some fairytale about a girl and a king who really was a polar bear. King Valemon or something. Is that a German fairytale?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “The princess has your hair. Like, really long and corn-on-the-cob blonde, and then she wears a crown, like the one you have in your room, when she sits on her polar bear.”

  “He’s a bear shifter?” I ask as I put on makeup. Blue shimmer contouring my eyes and black mascara.

  “That sounds too modern—I think it was a spell that made him into a polar bear. Anyway, she looks like you in my head.”

  “I don’t wear a crown.”

  Cass rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to make a point, here, by grabbing it from over there and popping it on your head.”

  “You’re so weird,” I laugh out.

  “Says the girl who has a crown in her room.”

  Thanks to Victor’s insistence on me not going, we get to Stripes early tonight. It’s ten when we walk in the doors, and I’m feeling good in new golden sling-backs and hot pants with a matching top.

  Gun arrives later, and even Angelo joins us tonight. When Allyn walks in the door, straight from work at Hooters, we’ve got a whole little group around what I’ve began to look at as “our table.”

  The fighter zone upstairs remains empty until closer to twelve, but then Zeke and Jaden strut in with a few guys I don’t know. Zeke actually comes over and says, “Hi.” Introduces himself and seems particularly interested in Gun and Angelo. Asks questions that soon veer in on the path of girls and relationship status. He slaps their shoulders hardish before pecking my cheek and heading upstairs to join the rest of his pack.

  “Awfully chummy he was, huh?” Cass remarks.

  “I know. Eerie.”

  I stick to beer, and after my fourth, I’m pretty happy. Victor is nowhere to be seen. Yes, I want to, but I’m not going to cave in and ask the other ninjas where he is.

  You’re at Stripes.

  My phone is face up on the table, and I grab it, reading.

  I told you I’d be here. You’re not.

  Goddamm, he texts back.

  I grin. I liked playful Victor with all that wit at the airport, but grumpy, overly protective Victor is a little bit heart-stopping.

  Wait, how do you know? I tap out next, but then someone asks me to dance, and I accept and get on the floor.

  It’s a fast song. The guy is polite and has a good smile. We’re not even halfway into the dance by the time Zeke’s there whipping up moves and butting in front of my partner. What the heck is going on? Is Zeke picking up Victor’s slack, making sure I’ll always have some fighter in my way? I purse my mouth to keep from smirking at the growing annoyance on my new friend’s face.

  Zeke’s crumping. Really? And now he does a backward flip, almost hitting my guy in the back of the head.

  There’s no use in dancing now, I realize, so I step back, hands on my hips and watch. Jaden hops the banister from atop, carelessly touches down on a few steps on the way. He joins Zeke, smacking a high five with him before launching into break-neck moves too.

  I exchange a glance with Cass and Allyn. They’re having a blast, wiggling in their seats and enjoying the show. The DJ screeches out of his lineup of latest hits and cranks Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” no doubt inspired by the ninja act in front of us. People howl with laughter and join the periphery of the floor, a few even knowing the “Thriller” choreography.

  I forget about my dance partner until I find his arm around my shoulder. I shrug out of it, tell him “Thanks,” and return to my table—the view to the dance floor is excellent from there anyway—and that’s when I see Victor stalking toward us.

  My dancer friend should stay far away, I think, smiling to myself. He doesn’t, nope, he reaches my table before Victor does. Wants to know if he can buy me a drink even though my beer is half full.

  I don’t know what to expect when Victor reaches us, eyes burning with intent. He looks like barely contained murder. As “Thriller” morphs into a newer hit and his ninja buddies saunter off the floor to join us, Victor ignores my dancer friend. With a thumb, he wipes something from the corner of my lip. The move is so studiously intimate it displaces my suitor automatically and sends butterflies to the core of my stomach.

  “Hey, baroness.”

  “You came,” I say.

  “I was needed here, apparently.” He doesn’t roll his eyes, just raises his irises enough to show the white beneath them before focusing on me again.

  “Why? I’ve done nothing to merit your presence.”

  “No?” He sends one look after my former dance partner and arches a brow.

  “Oh right, I danced with a, hmm. ‘Criminal,’ I believe I’ve heard you call dance partners of mine. Right?” I open my hands in an I-can’t-win gesture.

  The music is loud so I don’t hear him sigh. I see it though, chest rising and sinking quickly as he pins me with those eyes. Then he mouths, Fuck it, obliterates the inches between us, and kisses me.

  Victor steadies my head with both hands, tongue stroking mine firmly, hotly, eliciting catcalls from Cass. “Do I always have to be here? Can I not trust you for a second?”

  “Trust me with what, Victor? We’re not together.” It shouldn’t be news to him, but his expression darkens. Then he does that thing he’s so good at: dragging me off my chair and abducting me.

  “Ah shit!” Cass exclaims behind me.

  “What’s going on?” Allyn asks. It’s her first time.

  “He always takes off with Helena,” Cass shouts to her as Victor presses to get us through the crowd. “This is a ne
w record though. It took him, like, two minutes. Good thing we came early so she at least got to have some fun.”

  “My guess, she’ll have fun again pretty soon,” Allyn says laconically. “Bye, Helena. See ya tomorrow. Bye, Victor.”

  I wave at them, scurrying along in my heels. As for Victor, her goodbye doesn’t divert his attention.

  VICTOR

  I stroke Helena’s temple on the pillow, trace her cheekbone down to the soft edge of her jaw. “I’m going to Miami for a fight tomorrow.”

  I can’t tell her how she permeates my thoughts. I’ve got to tell her something though, because I’m in her face nonstop and she’s accepting it with the patience of an angel. Then she accepts me. She’s amazing.

  “I was going to remain at the house today, go to sleep, do my morning routine before I headed down to Miami with Maiko and Dawson. We’re leaving at dawn. But I couldn’t sleep thinking of you at Stripes.”

  “Dawn is in a few hours,” she tells me. “So that was yesterday.”

  I just verbalized my weakness for her and she zooms in on semantics?

  “You’re right.” I blow my cheeks up. “Anyway, I won’t be rested at the fight.”

  “True.” Water-blues shimmer as she watches me unapologetically. Here I all but spelled out that it was her trip to Stripes that interrupted my sleep. “You can win anyway, right?” she asks.

  A valley of smooth skin dips from her chest, over ribs, and to her stomach. I circle an oval belly button with my finger. “In order to win, I need to be at my best, and I’m not. You’ve thrown me off balance.”

  Now, that was clear. She’ll get offended or at least worried, I think, but then she wiggles her butt into the mattress, enjoying my touch, and she smiles. “I guess that means I have to come along.”

  I sit up on an elbow, trying to trace her logic. I come up short. “How could any of what I just said mean that?”

  She shrugs one pretty shoulder, pink from too much time in the sun, and says, “You’ll just be worried about me if I’m not there.”

  I can’t help grinning. Ha, the thought of Maiko’s and Dawson’s faces if I brought a girl with me? My buddies find Dawson to be unreasonably strict with his no-significant-girls-at-fights rule. To me it’s only natural.