Bent not Broken

by Lisa De Jong

  I swirled the glass and tasted it. Just sweet enough, but not too sweet. “Perfect. Thank you,” I said.

  The waiter then poured some wine for Chris and disappeared behind the building.

  I looked at Chris who flashed that adorable half grin that I couldn’t get enough of. “This is wonderful, Chris. I just can’t believe you remembered my story from all those years ago.”

  Chris’s expression grew serious. “It was the moment I saw you as a person. Not just as a counselor doing her job, but an honest to God person, with life experiences and feelings, and hurt and pain.” He paused, seemingly remembering the significance of that moment for him. “It was the moment that changed everything in my eyes.”

  I looked up at the tower, remembering the moment my dad and I sat on the sidewalk enjoying an ice cream cone after our climb to the top. It was one of the happiest days of my life…or dreams, as my mother insisted. Sitting here with Chris, I realized after all these years, that day with my father really did happen. Thanks to Chris, I’d just learned that my most precious memory with my dad hadn’t been merely a grieving child’s dream after all. I could almost hear the sounds and smell the scents from that day, a moment etched into my memory forever.

  Tears slipped from my eyes as Chris held my hand across the table.

  “I love you, Salem,” he said, eyes brooding with intensity.

  My heart was bursting. “I love you too, Chris.”

  Just then, three young men walked toward our table.

  I recognized the three faces from a recent interview on my favorite early morning news show. Il Volo. The famous Italian pop trio with the voices of opera singers. They immediately began to sing one of their more popular songs, “Màs Que Amor.”

  I snapped my eyes back to Chris, surprised. “Il Volo? How did you…?”

  “I’ve got connections.” Chris said with a wink.

  I couldn’t translate the words, but the song was absolutely breathtaking.

  “Wanna dance?” Chris asked.

  “Of course,” I told him as he pulled me from my chair.

  Grasping my waist, he pulled me close. I could feel the heat of his breath in hair as we gently swayed back and forth. The cool, crisp scent of his cologne wafted in the air. Leaning my head into his chest, I paced my breathing with the beat of his heart. I melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. Listening to the three Italian voices croon with their spine-tingling operatic voices, I found myself smiling against Chris’s chest.

  As the song came to an end, I lifted my head to look at Chris. He stared down at me with those deep, soulful eyes with which I had easily fallen so hopelessly in love. Leaning down, his lips found mine, soft at first then increasingly more eager. The softness of his lips caused my heart to pound and my stomach to clench. I loved this man more and more every day. I never knew that kind of love before him.

  Just then, the waiter returned with his tray. Chris and I sat down as he placed the plates on table in front of us.

  “Courtesy of La Tavola Trattoria,” the waiter boasted. “Salmone al ferri e Veal Chop Rosmarino.”

  “It looks delicious,” I said, my mouth watering with the smells that wafted off the plates.

  Chris smirked as if he knew a secret. “Remember the ravioli from that Italian restaurant that you told us you loved the day your dad brought you here?”

  Even after thirty-three years, I could almost taste the sauce in my mouth. “I remember not wanting to taste it because it had ‘green specks’ in it. My dad promised me it was delicious, so I tried it. Then I ate the entire bowl. Best ravioli I’ve ever had. The funny thing is I remember it so well because I insisted that they misspelled ‘ravioli’ on their menu. They left the ‘i’ off the end. I told our server that the cans in my pantry didn’t spell it that way. The waiter just laughed when I told him that. Oh, and when my dad read the menu to me, I couldn’t understand why they’d named their salmon ‘Carlos.’”

  Chris smiled. “I remember. That’s how I found out that your dad took you to a place called Carlos & Carlos in Chicago. The owner of that restaurant, Juan Carlos Montiel, opened another restaurant not too far from here called La Tavola Trattoria.”

  “Are you serious?” I squealed. “You did all that research, all this planning, just for me? Chris you are so amazing.” I squeezed his hand across the table.

  Lifting my fork, I took my first bite of the salmon. I could almost hear the heavens open up and angels sing the Hallelujah chorus. The bite practically melted in my mouth, coating my tongue with flavor.

  Wide-eyed, I mumbled with a mouth full of food, “This is fantastic.”

  “I thought you might say that,” Chris beamed.

  We ate in silence for several minutes while Il Volo continued to serenade us. For a few minutes it almost felt like we were actually in Italy.

  “Grazie,” Chris thanked the waiter as he came to pick up our empty plates. “The food was delizioso.”

  “Sono contento,” The tall, thin, balding waiter gave a little bow. “I’m glad you like it. Happy to make this evening special.”

  The waiter scurried off with the plates on his tray as Chris stood up and reached for my hand. “Just one more tiny surprise,” he said excitedly. “Come with me.”

  I placed my hand in his and he guided me toward one of the larger fountains, front and center of the tower.

  “You’ll get the best view from here,” he told me as we sat down together on the ledge.

  “What is it?” I asked, looking around at the same scenery we’d been seeing for the past hour.

  Chris shook his head. “You should know me by now…you’ll see.”

  I laughed and shook mine too. “I thought you’d say that.”

  Just then, the first firework shot off in the distance, exploding behind the tower.

  “Wow!” I cried, watching the colorful blast of red and white sparkle in the night sky and illuminate the stately monument.

  One after another, fireworks blasted and twinkled in the dark. I watched in awe at the beauty of it all. “Thank you so much for this,” I told Chris.

  Chris just smiled, nudging me gently with his shoulder. Suddenly I realized that no other man on earth could make me happier than the one sitting beside me.

  I watched as the finale of fireworks erupted simultaneously. Losing myself in the beauty of the tower against the backdrop of tiny sparkling explosions, tears glistened in my eyes as I considered all the thought, research, and planning Chris did to make this night memorable. I turned my head to look at him. He’d stepped away from the fountain and was now kneeling in front of me with a very familiar black guitar in his hands. My hands immediately flew to my mouth. Oh my god! He kept it all these years!

  Strumming a few chords, he held my gaze. “I remember the first time I sang for you,” he said softly. “I remember watching you walk across that cafeteria holding this same guitar in your hand. You floated like an angel across that miserable place like you were carrying a basket of manna to satisfy my hunger for music. Your smile was contagious. You were so beautiful back then, and even more so now. But you are so much more than just a pretty face.” He grazed his fingers across the chords, sucking a breath as if he had prepared a speech.

  He continued with a smile on his face. “You have a heart of gold. I love how thoughtful you are, how caring. I love the way you want to help people. I love how you make me want to be a better person. You give me confidence and make me feel special, but it’s more than just the way you make me feel. I love how you inspire me, how you teach me to enjoy life, how you encourage me to reach for the stars. I love you for showing me how to give love and how to accept love—even after all I’ve been through. I love me when I’m with you.”

  He glanced at his guitar, gearing up for the words that would come next. I couldn’t stop the tears that had already pooled in my eyes. I thought back to the first day I met him, angry and guarded. And here he was, years later, pouring his soul out to me, trustin
g me fully with his heart.

  Returning his gaze, he continued, “I’ve loved you for a long time. I didn’t know it back then, but fate was tying our hearts together, just a little at a time. Bumping into you at the concert…it was destiny’s way of sealing our fate. I want to make you happy. I want to be the man that you deserve for the rest of our lives. I want to build a life and home with you and Alexis. I want to show you how much I love you every second of every day. You are my world, my love, my everything. I love you so much, Salem.”

  With tears in his eyes, he began to strum the first few chords of a song I immediately recognized—one of my favorite songs by Train. Shocked, my mouth fell open as the tears that had pooled in my eyes now slid down my cheeks. My hands promptly covered my gaping mouth, as the tears continued to fall.

  As he opened his mouth to sing, the words cascaded into the darkness, filling my heart with love and adoration. The music that poured from his guitar washed over me like satin, while the purity of his tone cleansed my soul. I felt cherished, treasured. Tears rolled down my cheeks and all I could think about was how in awe I was over this amazing, passionate man who sang his heart out for me.

  As soon as the final note tapered off, he whispered, “Will you marry me, Salem?”

  Before I even glanced at the box he held that cradled the diamond ring, I fell down on my knees in front of him. “Yes!” I cried. “Yes, yes, yes! I love you so much, Chris. Nothing would make me happier in this world than to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  He laid the guitar on the ground as I wrapped my arms around him. Pulling me toward him, I grasped the sides of his face and pressed my lips to his. He tangled the fingers of his free hand in my hair, kissing me back.

  My stomach exploded with butterflies as I thought about the day I would walk down the aisle toward the man that I love with my whole heart to become Mrs. Christopher Dean King.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  CHRIS

  I love the hours after midnight. It’s when I do my best thinking. I’ve found that nothing is better than sitting in the darkness of this quiet room, with my arms wrapped around the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You know, I realized something the other day. I hadn’t really been living until now. She came into my world just when I needed her the most, and she changed everything.

  I sit in the silence, reflecting on the past few years. What a wild ride it has been—the shows, the music, the traveling, the women, the alcohol, the crazy fun—but, it all boils down to just one thing. This. This moment. This perfect, amazing moment as I sit in the stillness of the night, holding the love of my life.

  Quietly, I begin to sing. I love singing to her as she dozes off against my chest. Salem says it’s her favorite part of falling asleep…listening to my voice as she’s transported into dreamland. So, I let the words softly echo into the darkness, my voice low and gentle.

  Just lay in my arms wrapped so tight

  No need to worry tonight

  So stay by my side

  Use your ears not your eyes

  Let my voice calm

  Your worried mind

  Don’t go for love

  For you may not see

  It’s the reason for you

  You’re the reason for me

  I can feel her body relaxing while I sing. I know my soft timbre has drifted her into a tranquil slumber. It’s late, but I don’t want to go to sleep yet. I just want to hold her, caress her soft skin, and kiss her forehead while she stays wrapped in my arms.

  She’s given me a life I never dreamed I could have. She’s given me a reason to truly live.

  Love brought her to me. The love Salem and I have for each other is the reason she’s here. Looking down at the sweet angel in my arms, I cuddle her in the rocking chair of her nursery.

  Zoe. Perfect in every way.

  I glance the most recent addition to my now completely finished tattoo.

  Dum Amo Vivo.

  While I love, I live.

  Love created her, and like the meaning of her name, she gave me life. She is my life.

  Together we rock in the calm serenity of the wee hours while I continue to sing softly to her, knowing the woman I love is enjoying her own peaceful slumber just down the hall in our bed.

  ****

  Author Links

  Mia Asher: www.facebook.com/miaasherauthor

  A.L. Jackson: www.facebook.com/aljacksonauthor; http://bit.ly/ALJacksonNewsletter

  Mia Sheridan: https://www.facebook.com/miasheridanauthor

  Rebecca Shea: www.rebeccasheaauthor.com; www.facebook.com/rebeccasheaauthor

  Lisa De Jong: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lisa-De-Jong-Author/172608966217903

  E.L. Montes: Facebook: E.L. Montes

  S.L. Jennings: https://www.facebook.com/authorsljennings

  Willow Aster: https://www.facebook.com/willowasterauthor

  Lynetta Halat: www.lynettahalat.com; https://www.facebook.com/LynettaHalatAuthor

  Melanie Dawn: www.facebook.com/AuthorMelanieDawn