A Tragic Heart (30 page)

“Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?” I ask, over the whine of the hair dryer.

“I just wanted to see you think. I think it’s cute when you think,” he says, kissing my lips. “Plus, I wanted to give you a chance to think of something else, just in case you wanted it.”

Peyton walks out of the bathroom before I can respond. He puts on some clothes and heads for the kitchen. After I finished drying my hair, I put on some shorts and a tank top. It’s almost dark outside, but the day still seems young. I sit in the bedroom, thinking for a while, but since I hate thinking, I get up and walk to the kitchen. Thirty minutes later, I can clearly smell the aroma of what Peyton is cooking. I love it when the smell of his food fills the entire room. I walk up behind him and hug him as he adds the finishing touches.

“Peyton, you’re the best,” I say, still holding onto him.

“I know,” he says carelessly. “Sit down in the dining room. The food is basically ready, and I’ll be in there soon,” he demands, which at that moment makes him even sexier.

I do as I’m told, and in a very short time he is serving me once again. He must have set the table before instructing me to sit in the dining room. He places a full plate of food in front of me.

“Don’t you ever get sick of doing things for me?” I ask, taking a bite of chicken.

“No, that’s what I’m here for…I’ve already accepted that horrible fate,” Peyton says dryly.

“No, seriously. Don’t you ever
not
want to do anything for me?” I ask.

“No, I always want to do things for you—as much as I can. I don’t know, it’s just me saying thanks for coming into my life and staying,” he admits.

“And how should I repay you?”

“You can’t repay me if I’m already repaying you. It means you’re the one who’s doing all the work and I’m just handing out little thank-you notes.”

“Well, your ‘thank you’ is never little,” I reply, taking another bite of my dinner.

“You know, I have something for you. Do you want it now or later?” Peyton asks. He raises one eyebrow, which only makes me more curious about what he has for me.

“Peyton, why did you get me something else after you took me to four different places and cooked for me all in one day?” I scold him.

“Because you’re worth it and it’s your birthday.”

“That doesn’t matter—and I don’t want it. It’s too much,” I say, honestly upset that he bought me something.

“Oh, trust me, I think you want this,” he says in a tone that drives me nuts with curiosity.

“No I don’t. What is it?” I finally ask.

“You won’t know unless you allow me to give it to you,” he says, pointing out the obvious.

“Okay. I’ll let you attempt to give it to me and after I see what it is, I’ll decide if I want it or not. Deal?”

“No, you have to promise me that you will let me give it to you. And you have to accept it.”

He’s playing a hard game. I don’t feel like going back and forth with Peyton, so I just give in.

“Okay, okay—I accept,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Peyton walks over to me and pulls a little, blue box out of his pocket. It can’t be what I think it is; but if it is, I’m okay with that. My heart stops and I lose my breath when he gets down on one knee. We already consider ourselves engaged, but Peyton is about to make it official. He opens the box, revealing a three-karat princess-cut diamond ring. It’s the same one that I admired once in a magazine.

“Peyton, this is—”

He puts his index finger over my lips. “I know I’ve asked this question to you already, but I wouldn’t feel right unless I made it official. Taylor, I love you more than life itself. I love you more than I love my music or any other talent that I possess. If I had to choose between my talents and you, just know that I would choose you without a thought. With that said, Taylor Caldwell, will you marry me?”

It’s the most romantic thing I have ever lived through. It’s almost as if it was out of a movie or a book. But it isn’t. It’s 100 percent
reality and it feels better than any fantasy I could ever make up in my mind. I’m speechless and in tears, and it’s the greatest feeling in the world.

“Yes, Peyton Giordano, I will marry you no matter how many times you ask,” I say through my tears.

He remains on one knee, takes the ring out of the box, and places it on my finger. I am engaged…again and it feels unbelievable.
Peyton is the one and he always will be
.

We stand up together and kiss each other passionately. He picks me up and carries me to the bedroom. I guess someone should’ve warned us girls that Prince Charming isn’t dark-haired at all. He’s a redhead with a big, red heart to match; and I caught him.

Peyton

T
aylor is gone when I wake up. She must have gotten up extra early because it is only nine thirty in the morning. I get up and put on some basketball shorts and a T-shirt. I quickly brush my teeth and then put on my sneakers. I’m going to the boxing ring to practice, something I haven’t had a chance to do in a long time. I find Taylor in the dining area with a cup of coffee next to her, typing on her computer. She must be working on her new novel. I swear, even if the world was ending that wouldn’t be enough to stop her from writing. She’s talented and she deserves to let everyone know it. She catches me walking by the doorway and stops me.

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” she asks in a motherly voice, looking at me over her glasses.

I’ve always thought she was extra sexy with the secretary look. I love her natural appearance; no contacts and messy hair.

“I’m going to the ring—to go boxing. I haven’t done that in a while,” I say, walking up to her and kissing her on the cheek as she continues writing.

She stops and looks up at me before speaking again. “I want to come!” she whines in a baby voice.

“Seriously?” I ask, surprised that she would actually want to stand around while I take turns punching people in the face.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to see you in action. I mean, I have when you and Mason fought, but I want to see you fight professionally. And I’m sure you look sexy pouring in sweat, with no shirt
on, punching someone viciously,” she flirts, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“Well then, I guess you should get ready,” I say, flirting back at her.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon!” she says, a little too excited.

I just chuckle at her and watch her run toward the bedroom like a five-year-old child who found out there’s a new toy in her room. I sit down in her chair and begin reading her novel. It starts off with a quote that tells a story:

“W
HEN WE WERE YOUNG, WE BELIEVED IN FAIRY TALES AND HAPPILY EVER AFTER; THEN ONE DAY WE GREW UP.
W
E FOUND OUT THINGS AREN’T ANYTHING LIKE THEY ARE IN STORIES.
P
EOPLE DIE IN THE END.
S
OME NEVER FIND LOVE.
A
ND INSTEAD OF ‘HAPPILY EVER AFTER,’ WE TEND TO GET ‘CRUELTY EVER AFTER.’
B
UT SOMEHOW IN THE END IT DOESN’T MATTER, BECAUSE MOST OF US FIND ANOTHER REASON TO LIVE, AND OTHERS JUST LIVE WITH THE REASONS THEY WERE GIVEN.
I
T MAY NOT SEEM LIKE MUCH, BUT WHEN IT’S ALL SAID AND DONE, IT’S PROBABLY MORE THAN WHAT WE DESERVE…IT’S MORE THAN WE EVER IMAGINED.
W
HAT
I’
M TRYING TO SAY IS THAT LIFE IS DISASTROUS, UNPREDICTABLE, AND BEAUTIFUL ALL AT THE SAME TIME.”

She summed up the concept of life in a few sentences. No matter how much some may deny it, inside they know her words are the truth. She spoke of the cruelties that life throws at us, but also of the kindness it gently gives us, even though we may not deserve it.

I keep reading and become lost in a different world. In the space of five minutes, I laugh and I feel nothing at all. She has a talent, but it wasn’t like any other talents. It was God-given, and that alone made it twice as significant.

“What are you doing?” she yells, causing me to jump and lose concentration. “Peyton, you weren’t supposed to see this one until it’s finished and I’m only halfway done!” she scolds, pushing me out of the way.

“I’m sorry, but this is
amazing!”
I tell her truthfully. “This has to be your best work yet…and your others are great, too. I don’t know how you do it…you’re just…Taylor, you have to get your writings published. Like
now!”

“Well, thanks for the compliment, but that doesn’t mean that you’re off the hook for sneaking a peek,” she says, saving her work and closing the laptop.

“I let you hear all of my music before anyone…before I even finish writing the song,” I say, hinting that I should be able to see her unfinished writings.

“And I appreciate that, Peyton, but you know I never let anyone see my work until it’s complete…and you’re always the first to see it, so there should be no complaints,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the front door. “Now let’s go so I can see you kick someone’s ass in the name of sport.”

***

On our way to the boxing club, Jackson’s new song plays on the radio four times on different stations. Of course, this strikes up a conversation about my future career and what I really want.

“I’m sick of this song and I’m sick of hearing Jackson’s voice everywhere I go,” Taylor says bitterly.

“Not liking your brother as a superstar, I see. Well, you better get used to it, because your husband is about to join him,” I say, smiling.

“I’m surrounded by celebrities—my dream!” she says sarcastically.

“Come on, you know you like it,” I say, teasing her.

“You know, when you were still in New York, I got stopped everywhere I went for being Jackson Caldwell’s sister. I forgot who was really the celebrity—him or me,” she says, shaking her head in disgust.

“If you think you’re sick of it, just wait until the paparazzi start asking you questions,” I point out. Reality will come much sooner than later.

“Please, Peyton, I don’t want to think of that right now,” she says, waving her hand in the air, trying to block the thought of it.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m praying that I don’t make it that big. I just want to make enjoyable music that can also help people. I don’t care about getting the platinum record or even the gold record; I just want to make music and know that a few people around the world have heard it and loved it. The feedback that I’m getting now is comfortable for me; I’d much rather have an international fan base than be famous in the States. Plus, I’d get more alone time with you and more privacy that way,” I say, sharing my perfect future with her.

“That sounds great, Peyton. It’s nice to know that you’re not greedy for fame and attention. Those are the dangerous kinds, and I’m glad that you’re different,” she says, smiling at me. “Can I ask you a question?” she asks, looking down at her new engagement ring.

“You already did.”

“That’s not the question I wanted to ask you,” she says seriously.

“What is it, babe?”

“I know your mom left you a lot of money, but how much, exactly, is a lot?”

She’s asking the question that I know most people would’ve asked from the start. “Well, she was a neurological surgeon and she was good at what she did. I mean, really good, like she made new discoveries and came up with new methods and all. She was making a couple of million a year and she saved up a lot. Since my dad left, she had no one to put in her will but me. She did give some things to her brothers, but she gave basically everything to me; and that includes all the money she saved up, which came to a couple of million. It’s not like fifty million or anything, but it’s a comfortable amount,” I confess.

“Oh, that was really smart of her,” she says, noticeably at a loss for words.

“Yeah, she was a smart woman. I really wish she’d stuck around to meet you,” I say, looking at her and then quickly returning my eyes to the road.

I park in front of the building that’s been foreign to me for some time now. Taylor gets out of the car and follows my every move. We walk through the double doors. Riley and John are already in the ring boxing. They stop their round and turn their attention to Taylor and me.

“Giordano, is that you?” Riley asks in disbelief.

“Wow, it looks like the rock star left the big city to come and visit a few old friends,” John says, teasing me.

“Yeah, it’s really me…in the flesh!” I say, smiling and greeting both of them.

“And I’m guessing this is the infamous Taylor. She’s even more beautiful than you described, Peyton,” Riley says, being the charming guy that he is.

“You know, you made our Peyton here go soft. He used to be rough and never had a soft spot, but you came and ruined that…which is a good thing ’cause it makes him easier to beat,” John says, challenging me.

“Well, I’m glad I can be a help to you,” Taylor says, blushing.

“Me? Easy to beat? John, that sounds like a challenge to me,” I say, trying to provoke him.

“Maybe it is,” he says, looking me in the eye.

There’re no hard feelings in the room. John and Riley are my buddies. We beat each other up and then we laugh about it later.

“Enough with the back and forth, already! John versus Peyton, right now!” Riley demands.

“I’ll go easy on you since your girlfriend is here. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. Plus you’re probably rusty from being pampered in New York City,” John says as I step into the ring and take my shirt off.

“Don’t count on it!” I say, putting on my boxing gloves. “And by the way, she’s not my girlfriend, she’s my fiancée!”

I see Taylor smile at my last comment. I’m ready to tell the world that she’s mine, and soon enough she will be mine forever and officially under God’s law.

“Fiancée? You’ve
really
gone soft!” John says as we begin the fight.

***

I win in the fourth round when John decides he can’t take anymore. He got in a few good hits—mostly on my body, since I didn’t allow him to get in any serious head blows. My abs and sides were beginning to turn black and blue, but that’s the beauty of this sport. It teaches you about pain, but it also teaches you the importance of going on, knowing that you’ll walk away alive.