by Sunniva Dee
“Yes, I know. Although I doubt that he ever went to Miami, because he landed in Tampa a week ago, and he ran straight to my doorstep.” I can’t hide the resentment in my voice.
“Your mother wants to say that she’s sorry about that. Don’t you, dear?” Papa pulls Mama into the picture. She doesn’t look contrite.
“Honey, he’s a good man, and I think a mother knows what’s best for her own daughter.”
I sigh. Mama’s response doesn’t surprise me. What surprises me is that for an instant I thought Papa had something to do with Gunther Wilhelm showing up on my doorstep. I note that Gunther Wilhelm has yet another bad facet to him: the man makes stuff up.
“Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth is a stalker, Mama.”
“What are you talking about? He was supposed to marry you, but you ran off. Do you understand that you broke your word and left us in shame? All of our friends, the entire community… Our social standing now is—”
“Kerstin!” Papa’s voice booms even through such a small speaker. Mama purses her lips into a thin, self-righteous line, but she doesn’t continue. She’s the master of angling her neck high and striding out of view. She does it now. I think I hear the door closing graciously behind her. Of course she’s not slamming the door. She shuts it quietly like the lady she is. It doesn’t matter that she’s angry.
“Okay,” my father breathes, as relieved as I am for the two of us to be alone. “Mein Schatz, tell me what’s happening down there in Florida.”
I tell him how my warrior has stepped up for me. I tell him that Victor suspects Gunther Wilhelm has no other objective in the U.S. than to convince me of returning to our former arrangement.
“Nein.” Papa shakes his head slowly. “Please don’t let him coerce you into something you aren’t ready for. What you did was wrong, but… No, no, no. The Affenheimers are a fine family, sure. It doesn’t mean we need their money.”
My heart sinks.
“Papa, can you pay for the leak in the south wing?”
His mouth opens. He forms several syllables without sound. They don’t seem to come out until he asks, “How do you know about the roof?”
“Gunther Wilhelm. Says he’s going to pay for it. Is that true?”
“No, I’m not letting him.”
“Then how do we pay for it?” A lump forms deep in my throat. I turn while I swallow so my father can’t see how upset I am. Kyria, beautiful Kyria.
I have my college fund. I could use it and get the leak fixed. “How much is it? Be honest, Papa. Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth will be happy to tell me, but I’d rather not ask him. I want to hear it from you.”
“What makes you think he knows?” Papa asks without conviction.
“He sent ‘experts.’ He already told me.”
The sum my father reveals is half of my remaining college fund. Which means the next time something comes up, I’d be exhausting the rest of it, and I wouldn’t have learned how to manage future disasters.
“We’ll take up a loan,” Papa says. “Don’t worry, Mein Schatz. I’m handling this, and I’m hoping the tourism bureau of Flagern puts us up front in their Christmas magazine this year. That’ll mean more visitors.”
“If Helena hadn’t skipped out on the wedding she scheduled, this wouldn’t have been a problem,” Mama mutters, appearing in view again. I didn’t hear the door at all this time.
“Kerstin, please stop.”
My mother is right though. I could have saved us, and I didn’t. I did not.
Victor stops by Hooters almost daily. He’s here now, hours after my conversation with my father. Dressed in black sweatpants with the letters ACW flashing down the side of a leg, he accommodates himself on a barstool. His eyes are thoughtful as he grabs the glass of club soda I push into his hand.
“Fresh from the gym?” I ask conversationally, but my mind is on Kyria Castle and the problems accumulating in my absence.
“Yes. I needed some hot wings,” he lies.
“Of course you did.” I wink, impish, because his presence makes the dark cloud of reality lighter. “You want me to have the chef whip you up some grilled mahi mahi, no sauce, no salt, with some fresh veggies?”
His smile is beautiful. It makes me feel better just to look at him. “Thanks, babe. You get me.”
I reach across the counter, stroking an arm that just might be firmer than granite. I squeeze it for effect, which makes him tighten the muscles in a downward arm-stretch. Jesus, is it warm in here?
“Your cheeks are pink,” Cass tells me on the way past. She nods at Victor. “’Sup, hot stuff?” Victor shakes his head almost imperceptibly like we’re being silly. We’re not.
The food is served. Victor downs the mahi mahi as if he hasn’t eaten in ages. Come to think of it, that must be the case; it’s noon already, and he’s probably been training since he got up at five. I watch him eat, conscious of my own, tender gaze. It’s okay. I can hide that stuff behind my hair.
My sweet warrior has slept at my house most nights as of late. It’s amazing to wake up with him. Just seeing him next to me makes me breathe out relief, and it’s not just because of Gunther Wilhelm.
I have a better perspective on my ex now. I’m pretty sure I overreacted. I was worked up from our uncomfortable breakfast, and the spotlights at the venue made his expression seem creepy. It didn’t help that Victor dove right in, acting like W.G. was a stalker. Not that I blame him for that. Really, what more can you ask for than a personal bodyguard responding to your fears within seconds?
“How was the parking garage?” I ask, watching him tuck the last forkful of green beans into his mouth.
“T’was good. Hardly any cars today, so I did the floors too. People go to work later and later nowadays,” he jokes.
I usually stay in bed when he gets up for his five-o-clock gig. I keep the fridge stocked with a few of his favorite items, spinach, bell pepper, and celery. He adds boiled eggs and fish to the selection himself, because he doesn’t want to spend time cooking when he gets up.
I watch him rise in the mornings. Hear him rummage in the kitchen, then in the bathroom, until he returns and pushes a mint-breathy goodbye to my lips. Whatever this is between us makes me lighthearted.
I’m still not sure what I want. Despite everything that’s wrong with Gunther Wilhelm, he’s right in one thing: Victor is in passing. Even if I craved more, he’d never want to fit into life at Kyria Castle. It doesn’t mean I can’t live in the moment, enjoy each second like it’s our last together.
“You look sad,” Victor murmurs. I tuned out while he chatted with Johnny-boy, and I must not have guarded my expression. “What’s going on?”
“Eh.” I pull up a smile, trail my gaze over his face. “I just talked to my dad. About Kyria.” I keep it at that, because others mill around, more waitresses on duty now that the lunch rush is starting.
“Everything all right?”
I shrug. “Well, it’s old. There are things to fix. Much more than usual since I left, actually.” I puff out a weak laugh. “It’s like Kyria has decided to take a nosedive and nature’s helping it along. Every rainfall, every storm seems to hit it, and it’s freaking expensive.”
“I’m sorry.” He bows his head, but then he looks up again, stare finding me below pitch-black bangs. “Could you have stopped the progress if you were home, you think?”
I don’t understand where he’s going with this. I’m not privy to his train of thought. He must read my confusion, because amusement glitters in his eyes when he lowers his voice, continuing, “Oh wait. Is Kyria the kind of castle that requires the princess to be in residence in order to not fall apart?”
A snort erupts through my nose. “Gah, you’re so silly. No.”
Victor skims the restaurant, careful that Johnny-boy has disappeared into his office before he picks up my hand and kisses the top of it, knight-in-shining-armor style. “Good. There’s no reason to worry about something you can’t fix. And your father”—he kisses my ha
nd again—“hasn’t he pulled it off so far? He’s not going to let your home down just because you’re away for a little while, is he?”
“He’s working on it,” I admit. “It’s just… As long as he doesn’t involve Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth and his money, we’re good.” I make the mistake of meeting Victor’s gaze. In seconds, amusement drains from it.
“Yes. You do not want to be indebted to him.”
VICTOR
Keyon Arias, my teammate, is signing with the EFC in Vegas. It’s all over the news in Tampa. Outside of training fights, we don’t hang out much, but there’s no rocket science involved in noticing how moody he’s been lately. I bet his EFC contract will change that though. Thanks to Keyon, ACW has a new promotional guru, Rick Markeston, and he’s the reason why I now have a high-profile opponent flying in from Colorado.
My life’s become a dichotomy. Maiko spends her time at home these days. Our most important conversations still revolve around my goal, but she doesn’t complain about my nights at Helena’s. When my princess and I are together, sleep yields to her warm skin and sweet ways, and yet the only way to sleep soundly is to be wrapped around her.
We still have no news of Helena’s dick-wad ex, and neither of her work places is such that I can release my vigil. Obviously, my mother’s undeclared approval is a relief, because I don’t think I could have left Helena’s side even if she asked me to.
Helena leaves the U.S. in a few weeks. Her father is working out the details for her to return as a student, but immigration can take time. She could back out of her plans too and enroll in a master’s degree in Germany instead. I really have no idea what the future holds.
My chest stings. That douchebag ex of hers will eventually fly back to their idyllic village, and she’ll be right there having to fend him off on her own. What am I supposed to do with that?
Zeke drops the weights over me. The size of small boulders, these dumbbells are exactly what I need. I try for explosive thrusts toward the ceiling, but they’re too heavy for me to make it look breezy. My struggles don’t impress Marty, who commits a horselaugh. “You can’t even lift them, can you? Good thing you’re fighting The Russian and not his compatriot, The Bear Slammer.”
“I vote for sticking to first names,” I puff. “Igor, right?”
“Something like that. He’s gonna want to ground and pound you, but your reach is way beyond his, so stay on task and set up that spinning back fist of yours so he doesn’t take you down and pin you to the mat. Oh and use your shin strikes. You’ll break his fucking leg,” Marty continues his unsolicited advice.
“I’ll do that then.”
“You need to shove the weights upward,” Zeke says like that isn’t the whole point with bench-press.
“Your girl’s here,” Jaden yells before I have time to cuss Zeke out. My face feels like it’s about to explode, the veins at my temples and neck bulging as my muscles tremble beneath the iron rod. Helena isn’t “my girl,” has never been to my gym, and I need no visitors right now since I couldn’t look any more ridiculous. Here’s to hoping it’s not her.
“Okay, I give up. Get this piece of shit off me before I destroy you.”
“You ain’t destroyin’ no one from down there,” Jaden chimes in too. Where did everyone come from? Am I the main attraction in this freak show?
“Get. Me. The fuck. Out.”
By the time she’s next to me, I’m in a sitting position, elbows resting on my thighs and filling my lungs with air.
“Victor?” Helena tacks a question mark to her greeting. She might as well have added, Are you okay? Glad she didn’t.
“Yep.” I sound brusque. I feel brusque, but when I look up, she’s so fucking gorgeous it’s like magic how my frustration deflates. Under these fluorescent tubes, Helena’s hair literally shines. It’s much brighter and longer than anything I can think of. She often keeps it in a braid down her back—at work, maybe it interferes with serving food—but damn is she pretty when it blankets half of her and curves around her face.
“C’mere,” I sigh softly. “Sit?”
She sinks into my lap and strokes my cheek. “What’s going on here? Do I need to beat someone up?”
“Me!” Zeke volunteers, bright-eyed.
“You wish, asshole,” I mutter.
He starts shadow-boxing, winking at Helena. I want to get up, give him a not-so-shadowy-punch back, but she must feel my tension, because she clings to me and kisses my ear. “Hot-head.”
“Over you, I think I have to be.”
“You’re cute.”
Cute?
“Do we have more water?” Marty bellows toward the reception. “Cutie almost choked under a dumbbell. He needs something to drink.”
And that’s it. I set my girl on her feet and chase him down. Ground-and-pound. Hell yes, I’ll show him ground-and-pound.
“Guys.” Dawson appears out of nowhere—he tends to do that. I release Marty from the standing guillotine choke I’ve got him in against the wall. Helena saunters over, an amused grin half-covered behind her hand.
“All right.” Dawson’s small eyes peer but don’t really see us due to the plans in his head. “Victor, I need you in my office.”
“Sure.” I exchange a glance with Helena, take her hand, and pull her behind me.
“You sure?” she whispers.
In lieu of an answer, I walk her with me to Dawson’s office. He’s already behind his desk. There are two chairs on our side, but I accommodate Helena on my lap and stare at Dawson over her shoulder. “What’s up, sir?”
Coach doesn’t often wear glasses. Now he does, and he finds me above their rim, long nose peeking out below them. It makes him look professorial. Before he speaks, he nods to Helena, whom he knows from Friday night fights.
“How do you feel about Thailand?” he asks me.
I quiet, trying to guess where he’s taking this convo.
“What do you mean? I was born there.”
“I’m aware. How would you feel about going back?”
I let the question sink in. “It depends on the reason. A fight?”
Dawson folds his hands on his desktop. “Yes, a fight. A big one. I’ve had my feelers out for a particular warrior for a while now. He’s elusive and doesn’t fight out of his country. Since you came to The Alliance, and with the help of Markeston, our negotiations have become more tangible, and now, finally, his people are ready.
“I could probably use Keyon for this fight,” he adds, “but he doesn’t need it the way you do. You’re perfect for the opponent, and you’d learn a heck of a lot from a few rounds with him.”
“Muay Thai guy?”
“The best in your weight class. He’s been undefeated for ten years.”
“Where in Thailand?”
“Sakhet, it’s a big city in the south.”
Whoa.
I’m from the south. I could literally drive from Sakhet to Surat Hin if I wanted, to where my parents found me starving with no future.
“Have you been back there since you left?” Helena’s grasp is a light caress around my neck.
“I haven’t.” I don’t know how I feel. Do I want this?
“The offer came on the table half an hour ago.” Dawson grabs his glasses by the bridge and leaves them on top of a stack of papers. “Markeston should be here any minute, but I wanted to prepare you first, see if you were interested.
“There are a few reasons why this opportunity is out of the ordinary. In addition to the fighter being undefeated for such an unprecedented time, he’s also a favorite of the royal family of Thailand. The crown princess watches all of his fights. No American has ever fought him, and after weeks of negotiations between Markeston and the royal spokesperson, they agreed to televise the event from the grounds of the palace.”
I’m speechless. Me? Why not someone else, someone famous—or at least Keyon, who’s older and more experienced, who’s secured a position with the big guys in Las Vegas? I’m just a young wa
rrior who’s still learning.
As if he hears my thoughts, Markeston speaks up from the doorway. “Victor, you’re who the underground talks about when it comes to Muay Thai in the American MMA community.”
I want to interject so many things. Instead I just shake my head, silently formulating and reformulating how I’m not the right man for the job.
“Where’s your confidence?” Dawson demands, and it’s what I need to snap back into fighter modus.
“Have they seen me?”
“Yes, we’ve sent a few of your fights over. They like you. Now, you’ve got the fight with Igor ‘The Russian’ in two weeks, but after that, you should lay low and train to get in the best shape of your life before Thailand.”
“The last week prior to the fight, we’d want you in a camp there so you can get acclimatized,” Markeston says, nodding to Dawson to make sure he’s correct on the details. He’s an MMA aficionado, but it’s in marketing that he shines.
I need to digest this.
I haven’t said yes yet.
“Maiko Arquette.” Dawson leans back in his chair and tips up on the back wheels, causing the bearings to whimper. “Speak with her. See if she likes the idea, if she wants to come along.”
“We can’t afford it right now,” I murmur, hugging Helena to me in a grip around her middle.
“Oh I’ll take care of that. It’s what I do,” Markeston chimes in, giving me first-hand insight into how loaded he is. Until now, Keyon has been his only direct beneficiary. The rest of his financial influence has been via new equipment in the weight room and advertisements on local TV channels.
“Think about it. The fight won’t be for another two months,” Dawson says. “As long as we get back to them with a definitive in a week, we’re good. We can’t wait any longer than that though, because they need a big fall fight for their champion and I don’t want them to start negotiations with other camps.”
“What an opportunity,” Helena says as I follow her to work. “You’d be entertaining royalty, huh?”
I give half a smirk. “This sounds familiar. Wait, is ‘baroness’ royalty or just nobility?”