Love Undefeated (Unexpected #5)

by Anne Leigh

  I’m twenty-four years old, with a high-paying job and on my way to a great career. Why would I restrict myself to what could be if I kept dwelling on what had been?

  Settling myself on the cream upholstered chair, for the first time in a long time, I felt lighter than I ever had. I’d been telling Xavier I’d moved on when in fact I really hadn’t.

  Well, tonight I truly was. Moving on.

  “What kind of movies do you direct?” I flashed on what I could feel on my face as a beaming smile.

  Tanya and Sedona often told me that I was a beautiful woman. There’s no clear distinction as to what depicts beauty.

  In my heart, I knew I wasn’t horrific-looking, but when you’re best friends with two gorgeous women, it was hard not to wonder if I was in fact, beautiful. Sedona with her unique violet eyes and Tanya with her flaming red hair and green eyes defined beauty inside and out. I had no problems with self-esteem, but being in a long-term relationship with my ex, Jerome, a med student who had prescribed me an overdose of cheating and a bad case of chlamydia, could take a toll on a girl especially after I found out that he had cheated on me over and over again.

  “Science fiction.” His brown eyes lit up, his face brightening as he continued, “There’s a different element in directing what’s real and what could be real. It’s amazing. Wonderful. I love the action, the drama, the angst, the costumes. I get transfixed with the set designs and the artistry. I love everything about it.”

  Edging closer to the table, I situated my right arm on top of it so I could rest my chin on my hand. “Wow…you sound so passionate about what you do.”

  “I am.” With a flicker of interest and amusement, he said, “I’m also passionate about beautiful women, like you.”

  Just then, a trio of guys, dressed up in fancy jackets, each holding a musical instrument of his own, approached our table.

  “No thank you.” It was downright rude, but I had a clear idea on who sent them.

  Without acknowledging my refusal, the stocky, Hispanic-looking tanned guy holding a harmonica pressed a bunch of buttons on the instrument and The Beatles’ song started filling the room.

  My date, Trevor, looked dumbfounded. I mean, what could he really say? He couldn’t just command them to go away especially since now that the shortest of the bunch playing the bongo-looking thing had his eyes closed, feeling the rhythm and flow of the song as their voices meshed in rendering the song Love Me Do.

  When the ukelele-tapping man, wait, was that really a ukelele, started belting out, “You know I love you…I’ll always be true…” I was just about ready to dump the whole glass pitcher of water on his approaching form.

  This was a five-star restaurant. Serenades like these did not just happen on a regular basis. Quiet and hushed whispers were the norm. The other customers were now eyeing our small table with rapt interest. Some had even stopped eating to gawk at us.

  He knew this would happen.

  Tonight someone would be eating his own balls for dinner.

  As soon as they finished the ethnic yet amusing, (if I wasn’t in this predicament, I would probably find it funny), rendition of The Beatles’ Love Me Do, I raised a flag of surrender to the three singing sensations.

  “Please no more…” Wiping the combination of hot fury and cold rage from my hands with the napkin, I pleaded, “We really don’t want to disturb the other customers who want a quiet and peaceful evening.”

  The ukelele-wielding man stated, “But we’re paid for ten songs.”

  I nodded my head in defeat. “I know. But please consider yourself absolved of your contract.”

  The bongo guy in a black pleather jacket contradicted, “No absuelto. No. We were paid to sing all ten songs.”

  Poor Trevor actually had the decency to say, “You guys have great voices, but we don’t wanna inconvenience the other people here.”

  Just as the harmonica master wearing the cowboy hat pressed his lips to the instrument, signaling that they were about to launch into a second medley, I stood up.

  “Give me a minute.” Gritting my teeth, I breathed in deep. “I’m going to talk to someone, so please hold off launching into another performance.”

  Excusing myself from Trevor, I turned my back to the musicians, and with enough determination to ignite another episode of global warming, my heels dug into the floor. Just as I was about to take another step, long muscular arms wrapped around my waist.

  “Hello, sweetie. Didn’t I tell you to save the foreplay for later?” His rough voice was deceptively calm, sounding like I was a wayward child who had disobeyed him, and when his green eyes landed on mine, I shivered at the utter look of primal possessiveness.

  His hair always held that mussed, roughed-up, never-combed look. Like he’d gotten out of bed, taken a shower, and while air drying, it created a sexified, carefree rumple of dark blonde waves.

  I raised my right hand with the thorough intention of smacking his head. Maybe this time the screws would be put back into place and he’d finally stop harassing me.

  Before my hand could make contact, he tugged on my arm and forcefully placed it around his neck. Without giving me room for a denial or a countermove, his lips landed on mine roughly; tasting, devouring, unyielding.

  The whoosh of his sensual assault fogged up my champagne-clouded brain. It was always like this with him. He rendered my mind passive and my body pliant.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Trevor Dawes. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.” It was Xavier’s business voice. Detached, impersonal.

  Rubbing his hand against my exposed back, I tried to find the resolve to fight him, especially after he invited the three musicians to ruin my evening. Pinching the back of his neck with my fingers, he didn’t give any indication that I was hurting him as he continued to talk to my date who for sure would not be calling me anytime in the near future.

  Awkward was a mild way of describing this situation.

  Epic disaster. Catastrophe. Apocalyptic was more like it.

  “I had no idea she was your girl, man,” Trevor’s apology droned out the seething anger ringing in my ears. “If I did we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “No harm, no foul,” Xavier intoned. I inhaled the woody, tropical-based scent of his favorite soap that clung to his skin when he moved to shake Trevor’s hand. My face was plastered across his broad chest, my make-up would definitely be clinging to his dress shirt and suit.

  “Señor, do you want us to play the next song?” Sir Harmonica questioned, removing his hat and tipping it towards his boss. By boss, meaning Xavier.

  Stomping my wedge-strapped feet on the reflective floors, I finally managed to speak my piece in a hissed whisper, “I swear, Xavier, you let these guys play another song and I will burn all your Peter Pan boxers and send you the ashes.”

  With a shake of Xavier’s dark blonde hair and a wave of his right hand, the triple medley singers looked slightly disappointed that they couldn’t continue their performance.

  Bongo Guy struck the drumhead with his palm and fingers, emitting two short distinct but loud noises before leaving. Mr. Harmonica and Ukelele looked extremely gratuitous and managed to even shake my intended date’s hand before disappearing out of sight. They most likely got paid thrice than what they would have made for a regular night’s performance just by being here to serenade me.

  Sliding two fingers under my chin, he tipped my face up, leaving me with no choice but to look in his eyes, the dark green of his irises so mesmerizing, compelling. I could always gauge his moods by the color of his eyes more than his facial expressions. Most of the time they were lighter in shade since he had that relaxed surfer guy look down to a science. There were times, so rare and few and far in between, when he showed the world his darker, vulnerable side, often reserved for me.

  “Nales, let’s go home.” The barely there crack in his voice almost made me weak in my knees and the floundering resolve I was clinging to oh-so-tightly was about to brea
k.

  “I can’t,” I replied. “I just can’t.”

  “How long will it take?” His mouth moved, but his jaw remained stiff.

  Under the restaurant’s enviable zen lighting, I could clearly outline the ragged lines on the sides of his eyes and the lingering hope slowly fading away from his gaze.

  “I don’t know,” I said, this time with more bark than bite. All I had to say was “yes” and I had no doubt he would hand me the moon. He was wearing me down. After months of playing this game of tug-of-war, I felt myself slowly giving in. Wanting to give in. The thing with Xavier was – he was ice under a gallon of stress and he was nothing short of the persistence gene. I could tell him to swim to Alcatraz and back right now and he’d drop his drawers and traverse the cold frigid waters of the Pacific to satisfy me. He would do all that for me. Without second thoughts he would.

  This was the first time I’d addressed his plight. Months, eight months to be exact, he’s hounded me, hijacked my dates, sent me dozens and dozens of flowers at work, and inundated me with unending text messages and a voicemail every night and he’d never gotten any answer back from me. Seeing the uncharacteristic weariness in his handsome features, my heart twinged in pity for him. The man who once held my world in his axis. The one who pulled my heart out of its barbed cage and let it free. Free to love and even trust once again.

  Sensing my mood for a decent conversation, he excused us from Trevor. Xavier’s hold on my arm became tense, tighter when I leaned in to kiss Trevor on his left cheek.

  “I’ll see you another time, Nalee.” Trevor was now all smiles.

  Out of all the dates that Tanya had set me up with, Trevor had the most potential. Potential for a relationship? No. Not in a century. I wasn’t ready for flagellation any time soon. He would be great as a casual date, maybe even a fling, to end my self-inflicted celibacy.

  With one last hug that Xavier pulled me from, Trevor promised Xavier that he would call the next time he was in town. When Trevor vowed to take me to a movie premiere, Xavier interrupted him by saying, “I hope you have fun during the rest of your stay.” Pointing to a flock of women by the bar, Xavier continued, “There are a lot of ladies who would welcome your invitation. I apologize in advance…”

  “For what?” Trevor’s scrunched his brows in chagrin, his gaze already drifting off to the women who were obviously having too much fun at the bar judging by their boisterous laughter and clinking of champagne glasses.

  “The only way Nalee is attending any of your premieres is if she was there with me,” Xavier stated, an air of composure coating his words. Gently guiding me away from Trevor, he added, “Goodnight, man. Have fun.”

  Once outside, Xavier was a man on a mission. Quickly asking the valet for his keys, he helped me get situated in the passenger seat and even belted me in before gracing my left hand with a kiss.

  “My car –” I started. There was no way I’d be leaving my only means of escape from him. I didn’t even know if he was going to drive us somewhere, but for some reason I was letting him. Something was dropped in my wineglass tonight to make me sit in the same car with him.

  “Will be taken care of. Tomorrow.”

  He wasn’t making any room for excuses.

  “Okay,” I said, feeling the cool air from the car vent on my face. He was eerily quiet. When he was in this state of silence, which was seldom, I knew he was thinking heavily.

  I left him to his thoughts, because by the end of tonight, my ties with him would be severed, broken, completely gone. It should feel like weight would be lifted off my shoulders, but how come it felt like I just drenched myself in cement and it’s hard for me to even breathe out of a hole?

  I watched as we passed by the familiar bridge well lit by the star-abundant night sky, the fully awake business district of San Francisco, and when the security gates opened to the house that had been my home for a year, a rush of memories came flooding back to me.

  After he turned off the engine, we sat in silence, taking in the view of the stately home he’d bought a month before he’d asked me to move in with him.

  I was the first to break the frost. “This is it, Xavier. I need you to let me go. Let me move on.”

  From my peripheral vision, I saw him grip the steering wheel and slowly his right hand sought my hand. The cool, steady hands I’d missed so much covered my left hand. When he brought our entwined hands to his lips, I turned my face to the right, away from him, away from the house in front of us, away from the remaining footprints, all memories of our love.

  “I love you, Nales.” I’d heard his proclamation hundreds of times. Some in the light of fun. Others in the throes of passion. A few times after our major fights. Tonight his words sounded like a confession.

  “I know,” I affirmed, keeping my eyes on the apple tree I’d potted, planted, and pruned. I chose my next words wisely. “I just don’t love you anymore.”

  “You’re lying.” The strength of his grip, his unyielding hold on my hand intensified. “Look at me, Nales. Look me in the eye when you say that.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, I turned towards him, and even in the dim lights of the front patio I couldn’t deny that he would always be one of the most attractive guys I’d ever met and he never had to try. Earlier in the restaurant, Xavier exuded confidence and superior calm. Now his eyes belied the truth – he was challenging me to retract my statement even when he himself was unsure of my answer.

  Staring directly into those darkened, almost black orbs, I repeated, “I don’t love you anymore.” The words came out strong, solid, and so convincing that even I started to believe it myself.

  His face fell into a shadow of sadness, his shoulders slumped forward, and the hand that held my heart slackened its grasp.

  “When?” he asked, his gaze never leaving mine.

  “When what?”

  “When…” The rasp in his broken voice was almost unbearable for me to listen to. “When did you stop loving me?”

  Pressing my lips tight, it took me a beat before I replied, “I don’t know.”

  “Out of all the qualities I love about you, Nales,” Was that relief in his voice? “The one I really love is that you could never lie to me. Or to anyone.”

  Clasping my hand tighter and bringing it to his chest, he explained, “I deal with transactions worth millions for hundreds of businesses everyday. I thrive on everyone’s strengths and improve my team’s weaknesses. I know why, how, and where to make changes, determine the costs and never underestimate the cons. And you know why I’m able to make sound and reliable decisions?”

  I was astounded that right at that moment he would choose to explain accounting principles to me. Xavier’s passion was not accounting, but he was thinking of working towards getting a graduate degree on Accounting because he knew that knowledge was power and he needed it once his father stepped down. He was carefree Xavier, but when it came to family responsibilities, he didn’t mess around.

  “I’m very good with details, Nales. I observe and notice every little thing.” Leaning forward, his mouth less than an inch from my own, he asked, “When is Hello Kitty’s birthday?”

  What? Seriously?

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked out loud, rolling my eyes in disbelief.

  “When?” he insisted, a slow smirk riding on his face.

  “November first,” I replied. This was not the time for guessing games, but if he wanted to play, then who was I to judge? I’d beat him at his game and after all’s said and done, I finally had my freedom from him. Was that what I really wanted? To be away from him?

  “How about National Cupcake Day?”

  “December fifteenth,” I said with a snort. This was not how I expected our conversation to be, but honestly, this was becoming way less drama than I could handle and that I welcomed.

  “National Blueberry Muffin Day?” This time his teeth showed as he smiled, looking like he was in on a secret wherein he was the only person who knew about it.
>
  Sighing loudly, I replied, “July eleventh. These are way too easy. What are you trying to get at, Xavier?”

  Tightening his jaw, his eyes drifted to my lips, his right pointer finger tapping on his mouth, he asked, “When did you break up with Jerome?”

  Jerome was my college boyfriend. He was a womanizer who I had an off-and-on relationship with. He was my black kryptonite. Well, I thought he was until Xavier.

  Jerome and I dated for half a decade and I forgave him for almost anything – the lying, the cheating, the womanizing. I forgave him because I was young, completely stupid, and wanted to follow my dreams of marrying a doctor. I was well on my way to becoming Mrs. Doctor-Wife until the time he sent me running to the university’s student health physician because Jerome had given me a nasty bacterial infection, a parasite that could have made my vagina weep with a foul, unpleasant odor-filled cheesy substance – that I could not forgive.

  The day he gave me chlamydia was the day I broke up with him. I will remember that day forever because it was the day I realized that no man was worth making my eyes weep and vagina burn up, cake up, and throw up at the same time.

  I’d told the story to Xavier since he was the first relationship I had after Jerome. He needed to know why I had him give me proof that he was free of any sexually transmittted diseases to which Xavier had willingly and rapidly complied with. The threat of not having him near my nether regions until he produced a certified medical work-up was more than enough incentive to have himself checked for any diseases.

  “Xavier, what’s the point to all of these questions?” Hopefully my growing frustration would be enough for him to get to the point. He wasn’t one to mince with his motives. He was usually direct, frank.

  With his index finger pressing on pressure points on my hand, he asked again, “When did you break up with him?”

  “I don’t know what purpose this serves.” With frustration dripping from my voice, I opened the passenger door with my right hand, trying to give myself breathing room. His Range Rover was extra roomy, but being in this enclosed space with him, our surroundings reminiscent of the many happy times we’ve had, I was feeling more and more over the edge each time the clock on the car’s dash blinked.