Love Undefeated (Unexpected #5) (15 page)

It’s not about revenge because how I could I avenge something we couldn’t even foresee?

It’s not about anger because I had no energy for it anymore.

It’s just about me.

The nurse had asked if I’d wanted Xavier to hold our daughter, and even in my anesthesia-induced state, I’d said no.

He never wanted her so he didn’t have any rights to see her.

I went inside that hospital hoping for a miracle, for a chance to be a mother to my beautiful daughter.

I had come back out a broken woman, holding the ashes of my baby inside my heart.

Four miles.

Every night I run here.

I tell my friends I do it to strengthen my muscles, to lose weight, to relieve my stress.

I’m not lying to them. I run to this place to strengthen the muscles of my heart. To lose the sadness and pity I felt for myself. To relive her memory.

“Let’s go home,” I quietly whispered. “I feel tired.”

“Okay,” he responded, the smallest crack in his voice betraying him. Letting me know that he’s remembering that night too.

It’s been almost three weeks since he started doing this. Meeting me here after my run. He’d asked where I was one night and I’d told him the truth.

I know it hurts him, me not returning the love I once felt for him. But I don’t do this to hurt him. He knows he can stop anytime, but I’ll keep coming here. He doesn’t ask me why I come here though. He just holds me in his arms and stays with me. For half an hour everyday I set this time aside for her.

She’s my Serafina.

My angel.

“I forgive you, Xavier.” I held his hand as he put the car into reverse. “I told you I have.”

“Will you ever love me again?” he asked, his right foot on the brake, ready to release it as soon as he heard my answer. The same answer I give him every night.

I looked up, my eyes landing on the building in front of us and sighed, “I don’t know.”

A guy knew when to give his girl space. When to leave her alone so she could find herself, take a moment to breathe, and reach for her dreams.

I grew up with no siblings. My parents were workaholics. It wasn’t their fault. It was our way of life. According to my nanny, Madelena, bless her Orthodox Christian soul, my first words were “facetious” and “catastrophe.” With her Russian accent, it took a long time for me to know that those were my first words.

I had tutors since I was three. And from age four and up I was carted to and from prestigious pre-schools which had a two-year waiting list and all-boys middle schools and high schools. My first lesson about girls were through my classmates, twins Brett and Favre, their parents were die-hard fans of
that
quarterback. Brett had a high opinion of girls since he often daydreamed about them, what with all the doodles about that sexy vampire slayer, Buffy, in Madame Dreary’s class. Favre was not quite so impressed with girls, especially after the girl band he was following broke up. With their keen insight of the opposite sex, after all, they had two older sisters, and while they disagreed on a lot of things – they both agreed on one thing: When the girls were moody, leave them alone. If they tell you they need space, give them the biggest space ever. Move to a different planet if you have to.

So that’s what I did. From the first girl I dated, Rizza, who I met at a backyard high school party, to my numerous – let’s not get too crazy, I can still count them with my fingers, and some of my toes – short-lived flings, I had learned to leave women alone, especially during their monthly hormonal visitor.

Everything I’d learned about women saved me from a lot of unnecessary drama until this pint-size with twice the amount of attitude, erhm, frosting entered my life.

Nalee was, is, and will always be the girl I let go. And the second I had, I regretted it.

It had been hit-or-miss with her since we’ve been back together. She spent most of her nights with me, but her mind was somewhere else. The only place we’d come together, literally speaking, was in the bedroom. That was never an issue for us. Now there was something missing. I missed the way she would remain close to me after sex. As if she couldn’t get enough of me. She taught me how to cuddle. Now she cuddles her pillows. Before we’d talk after a romp-a-thon. Now she went straight to sleep.

One night, I woke up to use the bathroom and as I was quietly trying to get out of bed, I heard her quiet whimpers.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” I’d asked while slowly caressing her right shoulder.

She didn’t answer and for a minute, I thought she’d gone back to sleep so I’d left her alone and gone to the bathroom to relieve myself.

After going back to bed, I pulled her close to me. She didn’t protest as I laid her face on my naked chest. I heaved a sigh of relief knowing she was okay and she probably just had a bad dream.

I laid in bed looking at the ceiling, sleep becoming a stranger as I inhaled the sweet smell of her hair, and I felt the smoothness of her cheeks. Home. That’s what she was to me, what she’s become.

I didn’t know how long I stayed like this, just savoring, treasuring the way she felt beside me. I reached to my side to adjust her pillow, ensuring that her neck wasn’t getting kinked in an uncomfortable position. I pressed my forearm to the pillow twice then the back of my hand to confirm what I’d been feeling with my skin.

Her pillow, the one she had her face on, was wet.

She had been crying. The tears had cooled, but the emptiness they’d left in their wake never seemed to dry out.

A knell of sadness crept up in me. My hand sought her face. To this day I will never forget the look on her face when she’d seen me at the hospital after our baby passed away. The nurse had informed me that Nalee held her for hours. I knew she had loads of drugs in her system after the C-section, but her eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes, were damning me for not being there, for leaving her alone at the time when she was most vulnerable.

I know she wanted space. The other day she was hinting that she needed a breather from us. That she wanted to visit Sedona alone in Minnesota. And she wanted to go to her hometown for Christmas.

I wanted to give her space. But I couldn’t.

Because in the hollow silence of that small hospital room I made a promise to her and to our little angel.

I would never ever leave her again.

“How’s everything going, son?”

“Everything’s good, Dad,” I answered, averting my eyes from his assessing look. Instead I turned toward the window, seeing my mother talk to Caritas, our head gardener. Mom had called Monday asking when I’d be able to come visit. Since she was Mom, she would say, “I miss my son and I wish he’d come over the weekend,” which meant that I had to haul ass and show up for Saturday brunch.

“Good?” Obviously my avoidance wasn’t lost on my father.

Korbel Lockheed was not by any means a clueless man. His astuteness was his best quality. If he didn’t have it, then he wouldn’t have built an accounting empire that was consistently among Forbes’ 100 Best Companies to work for. He did not have the post graduate white collar pedigree that presidents of companies had; what he had was the determination and unwillingness to fail that he’d inherited from my grandfather, Svan, who started out as a day laborer and ended up owning two car dealerships by the time he’d reached thirty.

“We’re closing in on the Ling Chao deal,” I replied, tugging on my dark blue tie as I stood up to get a closer look at the newest wine acquisitions. A Chateau de Pennautier and my Thanskgiving gift, a Cheval Blanc, were displayed in the wine credenza in his office. He picked ten bottles a month from the cellar to be transferred to his office so he could view them as he pleased. Some people collected stamps. My father collected, amassed, and savored wines. When I’d asked him why he loved wines, he’d explained, “There is no one bottle that’s exactly the same because even if they’re from the same grapes, there’s still something that separates one from the other. The sweetness, the acidity, tannin, the body – each bottle tells a story. Your own taste perception affects how the wine tastes. Just like women. No two are alike.”

“Has Legal identified any constraints on the deal?” His voice had lost the deep timbre, replaced by a softer raspiness. When his aneurysm ruptured, it had affected his speech. My mom and I thought that he would not be able to talk. His doctors were extremely surprised that it only took him two months to gain a lot of his bodily functions close to normal.

I removed my gaze from the wines and looked at him directly. He was now able to sit upright for longer periods of time, but once in a while a grimace would shadow his face and worry would creep over me. “No. So far Legal has given us the green light. Xien is managing everything over there. I’ve browsed over the SEC regulations and I haven’t seen any red flags.”

After the lawsuit by the Securities and Exchange Commissions against another accounting giant, Norkis-Ying, for possible fraudulent practices in Shanghai, our legal arm had tightened its scope and all our international exchanges had been scrutinized. Even in his hospital bed, my dad had asked for weekly reports on how the company was doing. He knew everything there was to know about our firm.

“Ah, everything
is
good.” He nodded his head, regarding me with a long look, he asked, “Then why do you look as if everything is falling apart?”

A bubble of air got lodged in my throat, and before I could form an acceptable response, my dad quipped. “You can hide from your mother, but you can’t hide from me.”

In my defense, I hadn’t been hiding anything, I just hadn’t been saying anything.

“I’m not hiding anything from you, Dad.”

“Is it work?” He nudged while slowly flexing his right shoulder, the shoulder that got injured when he dropped on the floor before the paramedics arrived.

“Everything is okay,” I replied, hoping that he would just let it go. He’s gone through so much that he does not need to be bothered by my own problems.

“So from good to okay.” He sighed, his right brow raising an inch, and said, “Is it a woman?”

“I, ah, gotta go…” I was around for brunch at eleven and it was now closing in on six. I’d spent half of the day chatting with Mom about her travel plans which apparently my dad was insisting she should go on since he’s doing well now. Mom had tried to cancel them, but Dad got upset when she did, so she’s leaving in a week for a three day cruise to the Bahamas with her close friends, Virgie and Belinda. After spending time with Mom, Dad had called me into his office to talk about work…and now this.