by Frankie Love
“What?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Tonight, was such a perfect night. Such a wonderful time, I feel things for you, that I—”
“Wait, Ava Grace, that’s not it. There’s more.”
Before I can say another word, the song in the loudspeakers change.
Bon Jovi, Living on A Prayer blares.
Ava Grace’s eyes meet mine, and I watch as the dots connect in her mind. As she puts two and two together. The Italian restaurant and the fucking ice-skating and this song and my inability to be there for her over Christmas when it’s the hardest time of year for me.
“You are Heart of Gold?”
I nod. “I am.”
I expect her to pull closer to me, or maybe that’s just what I want to happen. But she doesn’t. She pulls her hands from mine, steps back.
“I trusted you and all this time you've been playing me like a fool?”
I reach for her, but she’s already flying out of the locker room. I follow her, shouting her name. “Ava Grace, stop, let me—”
I go after her, but she already has her phone out, a car on its way.
“Don’t go,” I beg her. “Let me explain, I wasn’t trying to trick you, I wanted to see if…”
“If what? I was good enough for you?”
She looks at me, tears streaming down her cheeks. I want to wipe them away, take away all her pain. Make everything right for her.
“No, you are enough for me.”
“Oh, great,” she laughs sharply. “I’m glad you figured that out. But there’s still one problem.”
“What’s that?” I ask, wanting her to soften her stance, hear me out —trust me.
“Samson, I don’t think you’re enough for me.”
Then a car pulls up and she doesn’t even turn to meet my eyes.
“I love you, Ava Grace,” I tell her as she steps into the car.
She turns to me, her face written in pain. “But you lied.”
“I made a mistake.”
“Yes,” she says, her voice soft, her eyes a puddle of tears. “Yes, Samson, you did. I thought I could trust you and I don’t know what that means anymore. I need some time. Away from you and HeartofGold and whoever you think you are. We can talk at the wedding if I’m ready. Please, you owe me that.”
And then she is gone.
And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, what I must do.
Chapter Fifteen
I call my sister while I’m in the Uber, headed home. I hiccup the sob story and beg her to come to my rescue. To come to my place, make me tea, and tell me all guys suck.
She is a good sister, and awhile later I am showered and in PJs, a fleece robe over my shoulders and a hot mug of tea in hand, and Sophia asks for the entire rundown, now that I am not in hysterics.
I tell her everything. The conversation I had with Samson at her wild bachelorette night, how he took me out to my favorite restaurant; how we cried, and he opened up to me. How he rented the ice skating rink and won me over with a quickie and a kiss. Lots of kisses. So many kisses.
“Okay, I get it. You had sex in a locker room,” she says. “Keep going. What happened next?”
I explain that he is HeartofGold, how when Bon Jovi blasted through the speakers I saw how he had orchestrated this entire night to cater to me. To trick me. To make me into a fool.
“Or maybe it was just his way of being romantic?” Sophia suggests.
I roll my eyes. “He pretended to be someone he wasn’t, all that time. I told him my deepest fears, my desires. I told him everything.”
“But, just hear me out okay?” she tries. “He wasn’t pretending. I mean, when he emailed you, he was being himself, wasn’t he?”
“I know your life is perfect, Sophia, and it’s probably hard to wrap your mind around my problems, but why are you on his side?”
“Sweetie,” she says, sitting next to me on the couch, wrapping her arms around me. “There aren’t any sides here. I just remember how smitten you were with the person you emailed back and forth with. You told me you were falling in love with that person, and you had no idea who he was. He could have been a creepy next-door neighbor. But it isn’t. It was Samson. A man you also fell for, twice now.”
“But he lied.”
“Or he was just scared.”
“But he should have told me it was him, back when I asked before Christmas. Instead, he just left me high and dry.”
“I thought you said he admitted that the holidays were really hard for him to get through?” Sophia says. “Maybe what he really needs is someone who understands him, accepts him, flaws and all.”
“I don’t know, Sophia,” I say, blowing my nose. “He’s scared of hurting someone... and what if he does? What if he breaks my heart?”
“But what if he puts it back together?”
Not knowing how I want to proceed, I wake up the next day determined to focus on something besides my own heart.
When Samson emails, as HeartofGold, I’m scared to open the email. But I do. Mostly because of course, I must know what he says.
From: heartofgold
To: avagracewentworth
Dear Ava Grace,
With all that I am and all that I hope to be, I am sorry. A thousand times over, I am sorry.
Always, Samson
Of course, I want to forgive him... and I will... but my heart aches, wishing he wanted to offer me more.
When I open my work email I get a custom order request.
From: mineandcoassistant
To: avagracedesigns
Hello!
On behalf of my boss, I would like to order a custom engagement ring.
He is a huge fan of your custom work, and loves the latest designs on your website and trusts your concepts.
According to him, it needs to be, “Beautiful, yet imperfect. Pure gold, but rough around the edges. Just like our love. It needs a glittering stone that sparkles, just like her—I want it to be unconventional yet something you can’t help but look at. Can’t help but fall in love with.”
There is no limit to the amount he would be willing to spend.
Also, he would like to supply the gold for the ring. Please be in touch with me so we can work together to get him exactly what he wants.
Thank you,
Linda Patterson
I read the email again, and then again. It’s hard not to feel jealous of this stranger, the man and also the woman he is asking to be his wife. He could succinctly express what he wants out of this ring, and why. In all the time I’ve been making jewelry, there have been plenty of times when I was brought to tears over the sweet sentiments and stories a couple has shared with me and how they expressed what they wanted their pieces to represent, but never have I read a man explain his love like this.
It takes my breath away.
Still, as I reread the email I can’t help but think it is the most unusual request. The customer isn’t contacting me directly. I pick up my phone.
I call Linda Patterson, to plan, and she explains that her boss wants to use a specific gold that holds a lot of meaning to him.
“That is actually really romantic,” I tell her. “Could I speak with him to get a better idea of what he would like the ring to look like?”
“No, that won’t work,” she tells me. “He really loves your work, and trusts your eye.”
“And money, you said there is no limit? I mean, would he want a two karat diamond or ten?”
“He wants whatever will best represent someone beautiful, yet imperfect. You can invoice me and I will put down a deposit, straight away. And I can express the gold to your studio as soon as you give me the go ahead.”
“So, he just wants me to design this ring, however I like, and spend as much as I want?” I laugh, thinking this request is insane.
“Exactly. How soon can you make it?”
“When do you need it?”
“In four weeks.”
“Well, that will require me to juggle
my calendar around slightly—”
“No problem,” Linda says, cutting me off. “He will pay double for it.”
I’m unable to say no, obviously—money is money—but also this is the most exciting order I have ever received. I get the details, send an invoice, and Linda tells me the gold will be delivered via FedEx in twenty-four hours.
I hang up, laughing at the absurdity, but then tears spring to my eyes at the romantic man and the woman who is lucky enough to have him.
I open my design portfolio, determined to make the most beautiful ring I have ever created in my life.
Chapter Sixteen
The month passes in a blur.
Work keeps me busy, and it’s been too damn long since I focused on the company I own and the mountain that pays for my freedom.
The approaching wedding, and knowing I will see Ava Grace again, is a huge motivator for me to go all in with work. I head to the mines each morning on the outskirts of Faro. I get in my pickup truck with the snow-capped mountains surrounding me. The fresh mountain air fills my lungs before I don a headlamp and head below the Earth’s surface to check on my crews.
It’s fucking terrifying to have laid it all out for Ava Grace, not knowing how she will receive me when I see her again, but also knowing I am currently my best self... the best man I have ever been. No longer wrapped up in my past, I am looking to my future.
A future I want to share with Ava.
I send my housekeeper Esme, and my assistant Linda, to my place outside of Whistler a few days before the wedding weekend begins. If Ava Grace forgives me, I want to bring her to one of my houses and then drop to one knee. Which means I want my seldom-used place to look like a home.
Now the wedding weekend is here. I drive the one hundred miles to Whitehorse and then get on a plane to Whistler. Linda says I should take a private jet, but I don’t need that fancy ass shit. When I finally, hopefully, have my woman here with me, of course, I’ll buy a jet if she wants it—but I don’t need that just for me.
When I finally land in Whistler, I take a deep fucking breath. This place is crowded every day of the goddamned year, and it exhausts me. That’s why I would never stay in the village proper. I have a place thirty minutes outside of the busy ski town and I take a cab to my place to check in with Esme before I meet up with the wedding party.
“Can I show you the redecorated great room, Samson?” Esme asks after I drop off my bags in my room. She hands me a whiskey and we walk toward the back of the house to the room large enough for a gala. The previous owners were politicians, and I get why they’d need a room that could seat two hundred. Me, though? I’m not planning on throwing any parties anytime soon. Still, the room was dated, musty and needed new flooring installed.
“It looks great, Esme. Especially the fireplace. That is really good craftsmanship.” The mantle is made of geodes and raw-edged wood. It's a work of art.
“Oh, Linda had that made. It was all her idea.”
“Is she around?” I ask, knowing that she has a package that is incredibly important.
“Yes, she was just arranging flowers as you requested, in the kitchen. Pink roses in every room, correct?”
“Correct.” I head to the kitchen and see Linda seconds before my mind registers hundreds of pink roses.
“Well, what do you think?” she asks, turning a vase to face me.
“It looks pink.”
Linda smiles. “That is what you asked for, is it not?”
“It is. I just hope it goes as planned. If she walks away...”
Linda nods, understanding the seriousness of what I am doing. “It’s going to be okay, Samson, either way.”
I run my hand over my beard, thinking she is wrong. I don’t know how I can live without Ava Grace. This past month has been torture. Without having an email from her every day, I’m going through withdrawals.
“And the ring?” I ask.
“Here you are,” she says, reaching into a drawer and presenting me with a ring box.
I open it, my throat tight. The workmanship is incomparable. If I thought the fireplace was a work of art, then this must be a masterpiece.
“It’s perfect,” I say, closing the lid and slipping it in my coat pocket. “I need to get going. The rehearsal dinner is in an hour, and I need to change before I go.”
“Of course, a suit is laid out in your room.”
“Thank you, Linda. For coordinating this for me. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”
“Now you just need to go get the girl, and bring her home.”
I nod, tense, knowing nothing is ever that simple, ever so easy.
Especially when hearts are on the line.
The rehearsal is set for four o’clock, and afterward we are having dinner. I pull up to The Historic Claremont a half hour early, wondering what room Ava Grace is staying in. The wedding and reception are both being held here, and after the wedding, the twenty guests are invited to stay at the hotel for an additional four days to ski and relax with the bride and groom.
That isn’t what I plan on doing, though.
Getting out of my truck, I pat my pocket, triple checking that the ring is there. I don’t know when the perfect moment will present itself.
Once inside, I text Taylor letting him know I’ve arrived and he tells me to join him at the hotel bar.
I find him with a handful of friends, the other two groomsmen, Sophia’s father, and some older men that I assume are her extended family.
“Hey, Samson,” Taylor calls, standing up and clapping my back in greeting. I shake the hand of the guys I met at the bachelor party, and reintroduce myself to Sophia’s father, Troy, hoping to steal him away before the night is through.
“Look at you,” I say, shaking my head, a grin spreading over my face. “Can’t believe you’re getting hitched.”
“Luckiest man in the world,” Taylor says, nodding in agreement. “Sophia’s here, want to say hello?” As we walk over, he makes a comment about Ava, how she’s been a wreck over seeing me. How I better not fuck anything up this weekend. He smiles when he says that last part, but I know how much this day means to him. He is making a family, the one thing he and I haven’t had for so much of our lives.
“So, you know... everything?” I ask.
“Of course. Women talk, but sisters? Hell, they are all up in one another’s business.”
“Right.” I try not to let his words discourage me and I follow him to a group of women, scanning the room for Ava Grace, not seeing her anywhere. Sophia wraps her arms around me; genuinely happy to see me and all I can think is she wouldn’t be so nice if she were on Team-I-Hate-Samson.
“You ready for the big day?” I ask, trying to keep things light, easy—not about Ava and me.
“I thought I’d ask the same question of you. Nervous?” she asks.
“About what? I’m not the one marrying this bastard,” I joke, squeezing my little brother’s shoulders.
“I mean about seeing Ava... it’s been a month since...”
“Since I fucked everything up?” I offer.
Sophia grimaces, yet still managing to look in control. She’s wearing a fitted green dress, her hair straight, a small string of diamonds on her neck. Elegant and poised, just like her mother Cora who is a few feet away talking with other guests.
“Speak of the devil,” Taylor says, nodding, looking over my shoulder. I turn, and there she is. A tornado of emotion rushes through me, and I feel swept up in Ava Grace.
She looks like a Valentine’s Day card, pale pink lips and a soft pink dress, hitting her above her knees. The neckline is shaped in a heart, her hair lighter than when I saw it last, and pink highlights frame her face. Ava Grace isn’t trying to be sexy—she just looks like love.
True love.
Now I just need to convince her to be my Valentine.
To be mine, forever.
As I step toward her, an employee runs in the bar, shouting, “Fire,” he yells. “There’s
a fire!”
Ava Grace’s eyes meet mine, and then it starts raining from the ceiling.
The sprinklers are triggered, chaos unleashed.
I reach for Ava’s hands; she lets me take them.
With hands held tight we run from the burning building.
Chapter Seventeen
Hundreds of people stream out onto the front lawn of the Claremont. Only trouble is, the lawn is covered in snow. Whistler is a skiers’ paradise, but I am not a skier.
And even if I were, like my sister and Taylor, no one here is prepared for evacuation. My sister, with her beautiful hair and makeup, her dress soaked through, I catch her eye and she is shaking her head in horror as we stand back and watch the hotel ignite.
“Stand back. Stand back everyone,” firefighters yell as they carry hoses from their trucks. The fire is at the back of the building, where all the rooms are, but since the sprinklers went off, not much of the interior will be destroyed.
“My God,” I say, shaking my head in shock. “I can’t believe this is happening to Sophia and Taylor.” My heart breaks for my sister. I know how badly she wanted this day to be perfect, this entire wedding to be a dream come true. And now everything is up in flames.
“I hope to hell everyone’s okay,” Samson says, wrapping his arm around me. His arm feels like safety, like security and promise. I don’t want him to let go.
We haven’t exchanged even a few words yet, and I know things like I’m sorry and I forgive you will need to be said, but then tragedy struck us all.
I nestle myself deeper against him, my cheek presses against his chest, and he smells like evergreen and mountain air. He smells like a man.
And I want to tell him I want him to be my man.
Will I forgive him? One million times over.
Let it be. Let it be.
No one is perfect, every one of us is flawed. But I believe in my heart Samson was trying to make things right when he came clean to me. He wasn’t trying to hide.
