Mikalo's Flame (14 page)

To do so would acknowledge my growing need
for Mikalo, for a life with him. And doing that would wed me even
more to this life I hoped for. And if it didn’t happen? If he were
to leave me or we were to part or ...

I shook the thought away.

Even considering the possibility made me
depressed.

And us not being together?

Ugh, I don’t know if that’s something I’d
survive.

Yeah, it sounded weak. I know. But if I
couldn’t be honest with myself, who could I be honest with,
right?

And of course I’d survive. Eventually.

I stopped, waiting for the walk signal to
change, the slender side street in front of me clogged with a line
of cars turning onto an increasingly congested Fifth.

Across the street, he stood.

Mikalo.

With a woman.

He caught my eye. Smiled. Waved.

The signal changed and I crossed the
street.

Reaching out his hand, he brought me close
and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Ronan,” he said as he indicated the woman
standing next to him. “This is Sue.”

She stuck out her hand and, gripping mine,
gave it a firm shake.

“Hi,” she said.

“So,” I said, turning back to Mikalo. “What’s
up?”

He turned to this Sue and then back to
me.

“Well, there was an apartment to see --”

“A gorgeous apartment,” she interrupted.

“Yes,” he said, politely cutting her off.
“And that is why I am here.”

He turned back to her.

“Please, if it is possible, allow me to talk
with you later about what my decision might be. And thank you for
your time today.”

Ah, I got it now. The slender briefcase in
her hand, the sensible shoes, the Bergdorf suit slipped over the
cotton blouse, all very loose and casual, but still screaming
Success.

She was an estate agent. And she was showing
Mikalo apartments.

I felt that lump in my throat again.

Damn it.

Breathe, don’t panic. Blazen was right. It
wasn’t like you’d never see him again if he moved, had a place of
his own, right?

It wasn’t, was it?

I took a deep breath, willing myself
calm.

Mikalo and this Sue person said their
goodbyes, him promising to call, her verifying he had her card.

And then she was gone.

He waited a long moment before speaking.

“Would you like to see it?”

“See what?” I asked.

“The apartment.”

The large room was filled with ghosts.

We wandered, Mikalo and I, skirting our way
around the furniture, moving the heavy drapes aside to peek through
the large windows onto the park below. Listened to our carpeted
footsteps as we moved down one hall and then down another.

Unlike the Byzan’s apartment a few blocks
away, this one was far from empty.

But it was filled with ghosts, everything
hidden under large white sheets, the dark room having an eerie,
oddly spectral feel to it.

Couches, chairs, tables. The large paintings
on the walls. The chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. Even
the long dining room table was draped in white, the two large
pieces of fabric joined in the middle.

“It is my father’s,” he had said quietly when
we first entered.

I had stepped forward.

He had remained still, his back almost
against the door.

Reaching out my hand, I had drawn him to me,
pulling him close.

And then we had walked.

Discovering the library to the left and then
circling back to the drawing room. Hallways giving onto more rooms.
Bedrooms with their mattresses bare. Sheets and comforters still
folded neatly in cupboards. A kitchen with a white tile floor and
matching white appliances, many of them a decade or two old. But
all of it in very good condition.

“It is to be sold, I think,” Mikalo
explained. “Silvestro and Caugina, they decided and, it is the
truth, I do not feel this place in my heart. It is not home. And
so, yes, I said, it will be sold.

“Perhaps this Sue, this woman I met today,
perhaps she will be the one we trust to sell it. I do not know.
There are others to speak with in the weeks to come.”

He paused, running his finger along the edge
of an antique console covered in yet another white sheet.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is not home, my
Grace. My father, he would be here when he would come to New York
for work. In my head, I hear of this place. This New York. And I
know this New York is taking my father away from me again.”

He looked around the room.

“This home, this place, it is that New York I
did not like when I was a boy. So it will be a good thing to be
gone with it and, maybe, it can be a home for someone else. A real
home. Not this.

“Now I have a New York of my own. With you.
That is the New York I will hold in my heart and love.”

His eyes scanned the shadows again, briefly
looking to the draped chandelier above and then to the console he
leaned on.

“Not this,” he then said.

Stepping away, he wandered to the window,
moving aside the heavy drape and peeking outside.

“You have a home with me, Mikalo,” I
said.

He turned, watching me.

“If you want your own place, I understand.
And I’m fine with that. Really.

“But you don’t have to leave,” I continued.
“My home is your home for as long as you like. And I love having
you there. It feels like home, to me, it feels like home having you
there.”

I could hear my heart pounding, convinced the
sound would soon echo through these dark, dusty rooms cluttered
with the draped remnants of his father’s life.

Finally, he spoke.

“Do you love me?”

I took a deep breath.

“Yes,” I said, carefully. “Very much.”

What I wanted to say was Oh my god I love you
so damn much and I can’t imagine life without you and you’re the
best thing in my life and I look forward to having you in my life
for the rest of my life and there aren’t words to tell you how much
I love you.

But all I said was Yes.

“Yes,” I repeated. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” he said. “I like having the
life with you.

“Your home is beautiful. It is warm and there
is love and, of course, I am very happy there. To be with you every
day, it is a gift. A gift I treasure with my heart.

“It is your home, my Grace. It is not mine.
It is not ours. It is yours. I understand this and know that for a
home to be mine, it must be mine. And then there will be a day, I
hope there will be a day, when there is a home that is ours.”

I paused for a moment before speaking.

“Would you like to make my home ‘ours’?”

“No --”

“Mikalo, if there are changes you want to
make, things you want to do, then tell me. Let’s talk about it.
Let’s have that discussion.

“Why not work together to make my home our
home? It’d be easier than you spending god knows how much to buy
your own place and renovate and decorate and, I don’t know,
whatever else you’d have to do to make it yours.

“This could be something we’d do together. It
could be fun.”

My mind suddenly racing, I took a breath,
suddenly excited at the prospect of us taking this step and,
together, side by side, creating something. Something perhaps long
and lasting. Something that would be ours.

“Seriously,” I continued. “I’m all for it if
you are. Just let me know.”

With a smile, he walked toward me, coming
near and, his arms wrapping around me, pulled me close, my head
tucked beneath his chin, my nose pressed to his chest.

My arms circled his waist and hugged,
squeezing tight.

“This would make me very pleased, my Grace,”
he then said. “To make this home with you, it would be
perfect.”

I closed my eyes, relieved and happy and
looking forward to mine being officially his. It was incredibly
exciting.

And then he said.

“But I have bought a home already.”

As I slid behind the desk, my jacket tossed
aside and my bag dropped near my feet, the phone rang.

Richardson.

“Hello, Rainier,” I had said, answering.

“Ronan, I’d like to see you in my office
immediately.”

He sounded serious. Maybe even angry.

Or perhaps I was just feeling paranoid.
Vulnerable. Scared.

As it was, Mikalo’s words were still ringing
in my ear.

And now as I walked down the hall to
Richardson’s office, they followed me.

“I have bought a home already,” Mikalo had
said.

So, between telling myself to calm down and
look at this bit of Mikalo news rationally, I was now wondering if
perhaps, like Abby and Marcus before me, my neck was now the next
one to see the chopping block.

Honest to god, there was no reason to worry.
I was good. He was good. I could now call him Rainier.

But he never called, never, and when he did,
it was huge. There was always a reason and, usually, not a very
good one.

Let me work this through rationally.

Abby and Marcus had been settled. The Byzans
were fine. They weren’t going anywhere. And I’d just gotten back to
the office, Mikalo leaving to attend yet another meeting, and had
yet to tell Richardson that all was well with the Byzans, but
...

Ah, that must be it. He was just checking
in.

I’d tell him Byzan and I bonded, or
something, and he’d be happy. Problem solved.

Which left Mikalo and his bombshell.

Okay, not really a bombshell, but still.

It’s not like he didn’t tell you he was doing
this, right?

Right.

And, as Bill said, it’s not like he’s leaving
your life or something, right?

Right.

So be a big girl and just calm the fuck down.
You still had weeks if not months to enjoy his company. God knows
how long it’ll take for the sale to go through and for renovations
to take and redecorating and all the other stuff that seems to take
longer than you want it to.

You’d be waking up next to him for a bit
longer, Ronan.

So rein in the friggin’ dramatics.

Things were pretty damn good so just enjoy it
for once.

There was the matter of Deni and her
impending divorce, though.

But there was small comfort in knowing she
was being adored and loved by her very handsome young Lucas.

When she needed me, I’d be there. No
questions asked.

So if there was one small wrinkle right now,
so be it.

Well, one small wrinkle I knew about.

Getting my ass fired might be a bigger
wrinkle, but ...

I was at Richardson’s door.

Lifting my hand, I politely knocked.

“Come in.”

I opened the door.

Richardson sat behind his desk.

Mikalo, surrounded by three men I didn’t
recognize, sat opposite him.

Mikalo stood when I entered and extended his
hand for me to shake.

Rainier stood.

“Miss Grace,” he said. “I believe you know
our newest client, Mikalo Delis?”

He sat in my office now, our meeting with
Richardson and Mikalo’s attorneys having finished.

“You are not upset, my Grace?” he asked
again.

I shook my head.

“No,” I finally said. “Just surprised. Why
didn’t you tell me you’d decided to hire us? It didn’t have to be a
big secret, you know? You could have told me.”

“Ah, but it was not a secret. There were many
meetings, many lunches. With your friend Bill Blazen and with this
nice man Rainier. There were many discussions and thoughts. Many
things said.

“It is a very important decision, who to work
with,” he continued. “And to share this with you before a decision
is made, it did not sound good to me.

“It was an important thing, my Grace, to look
at this as business and not personal. And I wanted to know, for the
fact, if this Firm was right for my father’s business, my father’s
companies. On my own. Alone.

“And then, when this was the thing decided, I
would of course share the wonderful news with you.

“That is all it was. It was nothing more than
wanting to be careful and discreet.”

Of course it all made sense, I thought. And
of course there was no need to be angry.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t.

I was just overjoyed that Mikalo had chosen
Macfarlane to represent his family and their companies in the
States. When it came to fantastic gets, it didn’t get much better
than this.

And thinking back on the last few months, it
suddenly made sense.

“So,” I began. “When you met with all these
different Firms, interviewed with all these different jobs, it
wasn’t about the work.”

A small grin spread across his lips and then
he shook his head.

“You were sizing them up and seeing if they
were a fit,” I finished.

“Yes, that is correct. To meet with this
people, with these Firms, as a potential client, one with a great
deal of money, you see only the good side. The smiles and the
laughs and, of course, they like you a great deal and are very
nice. With money in the pocket, people cannot sometimes be nice
enough.

“But if you are lucky to meet them as someone
who is, perhaps, not powerful, someone who is in need, well, this
is the time when you see the different side. The different
face.

“There were those I met who were unkind, who
had no respect for time and kept me waiting for hours. And those
are not people I want to work with, or to give business or money
to. To build a relationship with. Because to work with someone,
there must be trust and sincerity.