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

by Sunniva Dee

  “Yes, and I remember you buying a dog bed for her to have in the living room. And how Talik and I objected already on the first night.”

  “She opened the door to your room and jumped into your bed.”

  “Actually, I opened the door for her.”

  Maiko stares. “You lied?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” I suck my lips in between my teeth to not laugh.

  “Ah Victor-san. Such a bad boy.” Her tone is almost playful. “You should get on with your day. Go now. Go be good.”

  I stand. Pet the wooden bench with the rough carving of a dog made in one corner. “Thank you for doing that for me.”

  “For what, Victor?”

  “For bringing Talik here too.”

  “You’re fucking set.” Marty’s jaw ticks with incredulity as we walk the short distance between Alliance Cage Warriors to Hooters. “I swear, man, the only other dude I’ve seen this fucking dedicated and this fucking ready, is Keyon fucking Arias. You see what happened with him, right?”

  “Vegas.” I keep my eyes on the asphalt as we lumber on.

  “Yeah. Vegas. Most of us have shit to learn from the two of you.”

  “A lot can happen in five weeks,” I say.

  “Four and a half, and what’s going to happen? You gonna get an ulcer or something and get hospitalized?” He laughs at his own joke, while I groan inwardly. Gotta love it when people jinx you.

  “I could get knocked out during training.” Wow. And I just said that.

  “Naw, I doubt any of us could manage that at the moment. Weeell.” He frowns, pulling the word out. “Guess Zeke might in a good moment. But Jaden needs to get his head out of stockbroker mode to get shit done.”

  Allyn and Cass greet us from the bar. Cass walks out to meet us, giving me a hug. She’s been much friendlier since Helena left. “Any news about our girl?” she asks, and I give her the updates I have—the harmless ones that make stuff look good: how her student visa’s in the making and she’s hit no snags thus far.

  I’m not entirely sure why I’m at Hooters. I suspect it’s because I miss Helena. Her friends are here. Her work ambience. I stopped bouncing on Fight View after she left, blaming the workout regimen for the upcoming Thai fight. It made sense to Johnny-boy although he probably suspected it had to do with Helena’s departure.

  Yes, so I’m here as a guest, EFC fights blasting from all screens tonight. I get my club soda with mint leaves. Marty ribs me good-naturedly. I haven’t spoken with Helena in two days, and this whole setting, the drink, the fights, the girls, has me taking a gif-sized movie of her two friends, then one of Marty and me holding our glasses in front of us, and sending them to her.

  She calls me instantly. “Hey,” she says. I can barely hear her over the music. “You’re at Hooters.”

  “I am. See, I used to have a chance with a Hooters girl.”

  “That was a one-timer. Don’t think you’ll ever be that lucky again. Plus, they keep bouncers there, who’ll throw people like you out on their asses.”

  “Funny girl.” I make my voice caress her, and she answers with a sigh.

  “How’s it going there? Is Kyria still standing?” I mean to be funny, but to her I’m not.

  “Electrical cables have been exchanged throughout all of the grand foyer, but we need new wallpaper now. I refuse to have a factory custom-make rolls and rolls of wallpaper for a small fortune. There has to be a cheaper way. We can do it later, for sure…” she trails off when she realizes I’m not sure what she’s talking about.

  “Gunther Wilhelm is crazy. He wants to do all this stuff and pay for it.”

  “Don’t let him,” I snap. I wish I had the money to do that for her.

  “It’s not my decision!”

  “What do you mean? Your father has decided to go with it?”

  She doesn’t speak anymore, and I need to see her expression. I hang up and video-Skype her back from a table on the patio where it’s quieter. I call twice before she finally picks up. “Look at me, Helena. Is he? Your dad’s allowing you all to go into debt with that freak?”

  “We already are.” Helena has tears that she’s trying to blink away. God, I wish I were there to kiss them off. “And we don’t have any other options. Papa has asked for loans from four banks and several other lenders, and nobody wants to take a chance on us. We’re stuck with Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth.”

  I’ve got self-control. Plenty of it. It’s why I don’t roar at her and hurl the fucking phone against the wall right now.

  “Hold on, he’s downstairs. I’ve accepted a business breakfast with him so we can discuss the details.”

  “What do you mean ‘discuss the details?’ I thought your father was the one who’d surrendered, not you?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what he wants. I don’t have any other option than to hear him out.”

  “Call me right away. I don’t care what time it is, whether I’m training, sleeping, eating, or whatever the heck.” I’m letting out measured breaths so as not to give away that I’m about to lose it. “Think, Helena. Do not trust that guy.”

  HELENA

  Gunther Wilhelm Affenheimer the Fourth picks me up in a shiny new car. It’s a Maserati, it’s golden, and he’s damn proud of it. Around our parts, the flashiest car you’ll see is my mother’s old Rolls Royce, which is black with a regular roof on it. My ex-fiancé’s new vehicle is a convertible and we’re riding with our hair free in the breeze. I’d enjoy the drive with just about anyone else.

  “I wanted to take you to the new restaurant on top of Teufelschpitze Hill. It’s quite romantic, and you know how the view is up there.” He sends me a happy side-glance before maneuvering past old Herr Müller and his four sheepdogs.

  “I wish we could simply have breakfast at the castle and talk there,” I repeat what I suggested at Kyria.

  “What, and miss out on this trip? Look around you. Smell the air, enjoy,” he almost chirps. “Nothing compares to the Moselle Valley, does it?”

  Teufelschpitze Breakfast & Lunch Den has a red-and-white-checkered table reserved for us. The view is astonishing, overlooking golden and green fields sloping down to our beautiful, beautiful river. Above it stands Kyria Castle. From afar, you can’t tell the decay that gives all of us sleepless nights.

  “Make us mimosas, like they do in America,” he tells the waitress. “This is Baroness Maria Isabella Helena Ludenlowe von Isenlohe in case you didn’t recognize her.” His chest rises in a content inhale before he adds, “She’s used to the finer things in life. Go on. Get us the mimosas now.”

  “Did you think my apartment in Tampa, my jobs at Hooters and as a ring girl were ‘the finer things in life?’” I ask.

  He’s entertained, blood-red lips stretched with amusement. “It is true what they say, you ladies remember everything. I’m amazed.” He gives a small bow of his head, then lifts his glass as soon as our drinks arrive.

  If I am to survive this intimate breakfast, I better start drinking. How long do I have to sit here? I want him to stop chit-chatting, get to his point quickly. I lead him on to Kyria, a subject he dove into within hours of my return, but today he finds a way to deviate, talking about his company, his new acquisition, a summer home on the Floridian coast; his parents—their love for my family and their joy over spending lazy days at the castle with Papa and Mama.

  I’m three mimosas in by the time he relents to my prompting. He pushes a last little piece of a ham-and-cheese-filled croissant into his mouth before he leans forward. I’m just now realizing he’s wearing his dreaded rust-colored suit. Elbows on his knees, the pants are pulled up enough to show black socks that are so thin I wonder if they’re made of nylon. Real masculine.

  “Maria Isabella Helena–”

  “Please, don’t fucking use my whole name,” I hiss—and flush bright red with embarrassment. A quick glance reveals no one looking up from their meals. Thank the lord.

  “Helena,” he amends, listening to me for once. “You know
how I feel about you.”

  I don’t want to talk about how you feel for me.

  “Aren’t we here to talk about Kyria Castle and the repairs?” My tongue is thickening. Did I have three or four of those mimosas? They were definitely stronger than in the U.S.

  He exhales heavily, lowers his face to stare ominously at the floor before raising it to me again. “It so happens they are intertwined. My feelings for you and the fate of Kyria.”

  “What are you saying, Gunther Wilhelm?”

  “Please,” his pitch softens, the nasality of it even stronger than usual. “Call me Gunther. Okay? It’s about time, after all these years. Soon, I hope you will call me something else though.” I hate the way his gaze rolls skyward for a second before it returns. “Now, let me put it to you in the easiest way I can think of.”

  “Yes, why don’t you.” My tone promises an attitude I’d love to make good on.

  “All right, let’s start by talking about Kyria. Then we’ll get to the rest. Does that sound good?” he asks as if there’s an actual choice to be made.

  The stamina needed in my position has never been hidden from me, and the efforts Kerstin and Adelbert von Isenlohe put into raising me haven’t been in vain. Now I straighten in my chair.

  “It does,” I say. I won’t break down, let myself be destroyed by the path life takes me on. So I stare at my ex and wait for him to slay me.

  “I know that we’ve discussed four big restoration projects that are absolute emergencies for Kyria. The mortar, the electrical system and the walls of the grand foyer. The—”

  “Enough.” My voice is a whip. “Don’t bore me with repetitions.”

  “I’m sorry, Baroness.” I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or respecting my wish with that statement.

  “There are other issues that I haven’t mentioned to either of you yet.”

  “How do you know these things? How much time do you spend at Kyria?” He’s an old friend of the family, he can go wherever whenever he wants. He’s friends with the maid, the chef, the groundskeeper, the groundkeeper’s son—everyone loves Gunther and his mild, chatty ways.

  “Well, since you left, I’ve taken on more responsibility around here. Your father has missed you more than you know, and he hasn’t coped with all the issues arising. Like Madonna number two.”

  “What’s wrong with Madonna number two?” My voice has a sudden shrillness to it. “I’ve visited her in the forest, and she seems fine.”

  “Someone graffitied her backside. You haven’t noticed?”

  “What? But that statue is four hundred years old—it’s irreplaceable!”

  “You can’t see it unless you walk behind her. We could put up a small hedge, covering the misfortune of the carving, or we could ship it to Berlin and have it restored by professionals.”

  “And what would that cost? What… does it say anything on her back?”

  He sighs. Shakes his head a little, and he looks sad yet not sad. How do you do that? Victor’s beautiful face flashes in front of me, deep-bronze skin and tender eyes from afar. “Think about it, Helena. Don’t trust that guy.”

  “It’s hard to tell. They’re carved-in scribbles, and I think they were trying to say something satanic. You can see horns on there. Maybe the word diabolo, devil in Latin. It’s unclear.”

  I’m not a religious person, but the thought of one of our Madonnas falling prey to Satanists makes me forget to breathe. “How did they get in? The castle and the forest are completely locked up—that’s the one modern thing we’ve spent money on, to not allow uninvited visitors after-hours. How could this have happened?”

  “Oh people hack everything nowadays,” he murmurs.

  “But I went with my father,” I start but cut myself off. He doesn’t need to know that six months ago I sat in on the meeting Papa had with the new security company. They promised, they really freaking promised that there was no way in to Kyria, hypermodern hacking ways or not.

  I shake my head. I need to see these carvings. That’s the first step. It serves no good to doubt Gunther before I’ve done some research myself. It could have been some visiting kid tracking through the woods, trailing behind his parents.

  “Anyway, I want to make all of these issues disappear for Kyria. I want to fix them, get it all sorted out, make Kyria into the castle everyone talks about along the river, the go-to castle for every tourist. And I’ve got the funds to do it. There’s no breaking my bank at this point, so to speak.” He snickers at his last comment.

  “And what’s in it for you? Do you love Kyria that much? Is its sentimental value so big you’re willing to spend this much money on it?” Deep down, I know what his answer will be, but I’m hoping I’m wrong.

  “I love you that much. Money means nothing to me when it comes to you.” He drops down in front of me, white little hands fumbling for one of mine, and they’re damp when he catches me. I want to rip free and leap down the hill in a repeat from the morning of the wedding. “All I need is for you to accept this. Dear Maria Isabella Helena…” He stops himself before he can add my last names too. “Please make me the happiest man in the world and accept this ring. Will you be my wife?”

  Whoa, did we not just do this?

  He wiggles a new ring in front of me, gleaming and uninteresting. Bling isn’t on my gush list, not with the heirlooms at the castle. The wedding crown is back in the safe where it should stay. I hope to God we won’t have to take it out again any time soon.

  “Gunther, I can’t do this. You and I, we’re not a good match.”

  “Oh honey, but we are. I’ll be your king. I’ll be the king of Kyria. I’ll restore it to a glory you can’t even imagine, and the Wilhelm branch of the Affenheimer family will finally regain a seat worthy of who we are. There’ll be no more youngest son of the youngest son living in a penthouse or some downgraded McMansion in the suburbs.

  “Kyria Castle, the jewel of the Moselle River is where my children are supposed to be born, on the most resplendent—” He interrupts himself, pushing against a thigh as if it’s hard for him to stand without help.

  For a second, he blocks the sun, his silhouette giving me chills. “Of course I’m sad to hear your thoughts on our reunion. As I mentioned in Tampa, love doesn’t always hit like a lightning bolt from the sky, but I’m willing to be patient. If you don’t feel that marriage is our path, then I’ll have to reevaluate my engagement in Kyria Castle too.”

  I suck in a breath. If I don’t marry him, he’ll cease to help us? “Can’t we just borrow the funds from you for now and pay interest on them?” I ask, my voice sounding small and childish.

  Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth shakes his head slowly. “Unfortunately, Kyria Castle won’t pay off as a financial investment. It’s the two of us, our family and our future babies I want to invest in.”

  I have so many thoughts going through my head. “So me and Kyria, or neither?” I finally manage.

  “Unfortunately, yes. But if you can see yourself happy with me as your husband, I’ll make sure Kyria is one hundred percent restored before our first wedding anniversary.” He softens his voice through the last part of the sentence, and it’s not the mimosas making me feel queasy.

  “Think about my proposal. I’ll give you a week. At the week’s end, we’ll come here again, we’ll have another romantic breakfast, and you can give me your answer. In the meantime”—he bows his head to me—“I will keep working for the betterment of Kyria.”

  I promised I’d call Victor.

  The last thing I want is to call Victor.

  What can I say, that Gunther Wilhelm has thrust me into a corner I don’t see a way out of? I’m taking the week to make a decision. I hope for some miracle, for some ingenious idea to pop into my head.

  Victor works hard and worries so much about me. I can’t add to his burden—Thailand is his last fight before a title fight. If he wins, he’ll be one step away from the one goal he has owned his entire life.

  “Hey, warrior,
” I say in a light tone. I don’t have a plan for how to approach this. All I know is I need to keep him in the dark.

  I swallow as he greets me back. Victor and I haven’t promised each other anything. We don’t even know if we’ll see each other again, so I don’t owe him an explanation on a future relationship that doesn’t involve him. Not yet, I don’t. Not yet.

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  I nod. His compassion makes me want to cry.

  “He didn’t try anything stupid?”

  Depends on the definition of “stupid.”

  I shake my head. Pick something off the floor so I can compose myself before I have to speak. “Sorry, lost my hairband.”

  “What did he want?” Victor cuts to the chase as soon as I’m back up.

  “He told me about more issues with Kyria,” I say and recount that part of the conversation for him.

  “Okay, don’t tell me you believe him now?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? All the issues he’s told me about so far have been true.”

  “But it’s an inside job. You see that, right? Someone you know and trust cut into that statue. You said it yourself; security would have caught whoever tried to get in after closing time.”

  Someone I trust. My heart hammers so fast.

  “It’s either W.G., or he put someone on the job, and I bet it’s not the only so-called job he’s arranged either. Who’s on the grounds twenty-four seven, Helena?”

  “Our staff is tiny, Victor,” I say. “There’s no way any of them would have done something like that.”

  “No, listen. You have to think smart. Investigate, because this won’t stop until you make it.” His pupils dilate. “God, I wish I was there with you. I’d be riding that jerk until he squealed.”

  I’ve said too much. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I assure him, and the light is low in my room—I can get away with this smile if I widen it. “You’re right, Victor. I’ll just check in with our staff, do some research.”

  “Helena…”

  “Gotta go, cutie. I’ve got peeps to chase down. I’ll keep you posted. Say hi to the guys, all right? Go work out. You need to make me proud in Thailand.”