The Saints of the Cross

by Michelle Figley

  “M-hmm,” Javier admonishes. “I said it was a secret. Don’t even try it.” I force my eyes away from the light show on the water and back to Javier, who’s exiting the car. He crosses over to my side and opens the door. “Now, I want you to cover your eyes with your hands.”

  “I won’t be able to see to walk, Javier,” I counter. “Last thing I need is a broken ankle.”

  Honestly, I hate surprises. I mean, there is so much expectation built into them for both the giver and the receiver. What if the receiver doesn’t like the surprise? The very definition of the word surprise indicates that it should be something incredible to warrant the giver making the effort to first conceal it, and to then reveal it at just the right time in order to evoke an extreme emotional response in the receiver. Turning something into a surprise could blow up in one’s face. So right then I decide, no matter what, to make myself like whatever it is he has for me, because I’m no actor. I’m as transparent as a plate glass window after a good scrubbing with Windex. Besides, I’ve liked every one of his surprises, the ring, and the trips . . . why should this one be any different?

  “Fine. I’ll carry you then,” he says, scooping me up into his arms. “Cover your eyes, Corazón.”

  “Javi, no! I’m too heavy for you to carry!” I protest, but squeal with laughter when he nuzzles his nose into my neck.

  “You’re joking, right?” He breathes into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I have to admit, I feel completely safe in his arms. “You have to trust me and close those blue eyes now. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Okay,” I say, reluctantly following his command. After I close my eyes, he plants an unexpected, lingering kiss on my mouth, pulling me up tighter to him. I am struck with the contentment of feeling complete, like I’m home in the arms of my soul mate. I want to burst out crying from happiness, but I choke back the rising sob in my throat. The last thing I want is to ruin our final night together in Spain with my admitted tendency toward the melodramatic. I just want tonight to be perfect.

  “Hold on tight,” he whispers, and I eagerly oblige. Being enveloped in his strong arms makes me realize how truly solid he is. I can tell he’s been working out and filling out over the last few weeks. Javier doesn’t strike me as someone who would hang out in a gym trying to buff up, but it’s obvious in the marked firmness of his body that he’s been doing just that. He’s been acting so out of character lately, that I mentally add this to the list of recently noted odd behaviors. I guess I still have a lot to learn about my soul mate.

  More than few minutes pass in which all I hear are the sounds of the ocean, sea gulls squawking, and Javier’s labored breathing. Finally, he lowers me down, warning me to keep my eyes closed. He releases me, and I hear his feet shuffling around, then a screeching sound, metal against metal, then some muffled laughter. Muffled laughter! We’re not alone? It’s all I can do to keep my eyes closed; I slap my hands over my face to force them into compliance. I stand there for what seems like an eternity, but in reality is probably only a few minutes.

  “Bueno, abre los ojos, Corazón,” Javier says with thinly veiled excitement in his voice. I hesitate, somewhat frightened by what I might find and what my reaction might be. “It’s okay, go ahead,” he adds with a musical laugh.

  I lower my hands first, keeping my eyes closed. I ease them open, and the first thing I see is Javier standing about twelve feet away next to a round table covered with a white tablecloth and place settings for two. His head is slightly bowed, and he’s looking up at me with that irresistible grin. He spreads his arms out, and his gauzy, white shirt billows around him in the salty breeze.

  “Surprise!”

  I look to the right of the table. Three people are standing there, two men and a woman, all dressed in crisp, white uniforms.

  “Welcome aboard the Maltese Falcon, Ms. Sweeney. We’re delighted to have you here and are at your service,” says a distinguished older man, tipping his captain’s hat at me.

  The realization that I’m on a super-sized, luxury sailing yacht takes a few minutes to sink in. I look around the huge expanse of deck and then up to the sky at the towering sail masts over our heads. Wait a minute; did he say THE Maltese Falcon? That was the name of the ship that my father told me about years ago. My dad had been guarding a certain head of state who was meeting with a sultan aboard the Maltese Falcon, which was moored in Monte Carlo at the time. My father was amazed at the wealth that would have been required to build a yacht of that size and opulence, and what it would cost just to operate it. His wistful voice echoed in my mind:

  This ship is so luxurious that the owner can rent it out for hundreds of thousands of dollars for just one week’s use. That’s more than a lot of people make in their lifetime, Evie. There aren’t many people who will ever see the inside of that thing, because most people can’t afford to.

  And yet, here we are, standing on its deck. Javier seems a bit anxious, obviously waiting for my response and hoping this surprise will be up to my liking. It takes me a few moments to get over my initial shock and gather my thoughts, when it finally hits me: How on earth did he afford this?

  I start to open my mouth to voice the question, when Javier pulls a chair out from the table and motions toward it. “Come sit, Eva.”

  I walk over to the table and take my seat. The young woman in the white uniform places a menu in front of me.

  “Señor de la Cruz has taken the liberty of choosing your favorite foods for the lunch menu, Ms. Sweeney.”

  The woman with the French accent isn’t much older than I am, maybe nineteen or twenty, but a thousand times more beautiful thanks to her exotic looks: mocha colored skin, long, wavy black hair, and caramel-colored eyes. The shiny, gold metal name tag on her uniform informs me that her name is Marie.

  “Thank you, Marie. Please call me Evie, though.” I smile up at her.

  The other uniformed man approaches the table and pours a glass of red wine for Javier. He tilts the bottle toward my glass, but I quickly place my hand over the cusp before he can pour.

  “Water for me only, please.Solamente el agua, por favor.”

  “Of course, mademoiselle.” His French accent is even thicker than Marie’s. His name tag reads Jean-Luc, and he’s at least six-foot-five and dangerously thin for his height. His sandy-blond hair is cropped short, and I catch a glimpse of his striking, gray eyes as he lowers his head in a curt bow.

  “Miss Sweeney, Marie will be happy to take you on a tour of the Falcon after lunch,” the captain says in a Northeastern American accent—is it Maine?—as he approaches the table. He’s a slight man with silver hair and piercing, blue eyes that turn down at the corners. The lines on his weathered face are deep and numerous, likely the result of decades of exposure to the harsh elements at sea.

  “That won’t be necessary, Roman,” Javier interjects. “I can take her on a tour myself.”

  The captain nods toward Javier. “Very well.”

  “Leave us now, please,” Javier says in an authoritative tone. I watch as the three crew members disappear down a staircase to what I assume is the cabin below deck. I turn my attention back to Javier, who is beaming at me like he’s just pulled off the surprise of the century. I think I’d have to agree.

  “What’s going on here?” I ask, my voice spiked with suspicion.

  “What do you mean?” he says, defensively. “We’re spending the night on the Maltese Falcon.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” I say. “I know what the Falcon is. I never told you this because I’ve never had a reason to, but my father has toured this ship before, several years ago when he was in Special Ops. He told me all about it.”

  “That’s cool. So you can both talk about it now.” He shrugs and takes a sip of wine. “So what is the problem? I thought you’d enjoy it, being that you’re a sailor’s daughter.”

  “Well, my father also told me that it costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to rent this thing for a week—” I hesitate, not
sure if I really want to go where I’m headed with this conversation. For some reason, Grandma Winnie’s snide voice echoes in my head, repeating the old adage she always uses to describe the terminally clueless: ignorance is bliss. But why is that coming to mind now?

  “And?” He looks and sounds annoyed, which takes me by surprise. Javier has never lost his patience with me. I’m definitely seeing a different side of him—I imagine it’s the same side that caused him to go after Lane Bradley in the café.

  “And . . . honestly, I was just wondering how you could afford it. That’s all.” I add quickly in my defense, “And I don’t think it’s an unfair question to ask, given the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances would those be, Evangeline?” He sighs, clearly over this conversation, and I’m taken aback by his use of my proper name. He has never done that before. I’d better tread lightly.

  “Well, we’ve done a lot of traveling and staying in nice hotels over the last few weeks. And now this?” I furrow my brow, concentrating on the memories of all the fine hotels and expensive, five-star restaurants. I don’t know why this thought hasn’t occurred to me sooner. I mean, Javier doesn’t have a job, at least not one that he’s mentioned. Suddenly, the idea that he could be into something illegal—drug dealing, arms dealing, whatever dealing—pops into my mind, and I have to shake my head to dismiss the histrionic thoughts. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “There is something I’m not telling you.” He places his wine glass down on the table, leans in toward me with a conspiratorial look on his face and whispers, “Something quite important.”

  I inhale a sharp breath and hold it, positive I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Relax, Corazón,” Javier laughs. I glare back at him, which sends his hands up over his face in a defensive move. “I have a rich uncle, okay? What? Did you think I was a drug dealer or something?”

  “What? No!” I lie. “Who? Uncle Rey?” It seems strange he’s never mentioned that little detail before.

  “Yes. He bought up tons of real estate in the western US in the early nineteen-nineties, mostly in California and Nevada, and then sold it right before the housing bubble burst. Lucky bastard made tens of millions,” he says, “and because he has no children, I get to benefit from his good fortune.”

  “So for you, he rented the Maltese Falcon? Must be one generous guy, or else he loves you a whole lot.” My voice was saturated with skepticism.

  “Oh, no, no.” Javier shakes his head, laughing. “He leased it for his honeymoon to his third wife. They flew to Barcelona this morning on a last-minute business trip and won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon when they plan to sail it to Turkey. He was kind enough to offer it to me for the night, because it’s chartered for the entire week.”

  “Oh” is all I can say. I plant my elbows on the table to hide my face in my hands. My cheeks seldom burn red from anything other than utter embarrassment, but in this particular case, they’re on fire from utter shame. How could I be so rude and distrusting of Javier? He’s never given me any reason not to trust him. Since the first day I met him, he’s done nothing but try to make me happy. I think I’ve just proven to both of us that I’m not ready or mature enough for a serious relationship.

  “What’s the matter, Corazón?” Javi asks, but I refuse to look at him. He grabs my wrist from across the table and gently tugs me toward him. “Come here.” I rise up and move to him, keeping my gaze on the polished mahogany deck. He twirls me around and pulls me down on his lap. I drape my arms around his shoulders and bury my face into his neck. He kisses my ear and whispers, “What is it, Eva? Tell me. Please.”

  “I think I’m just acting crazy, because I’m afraid you’re going to forget about me and meet someone else after I leave.” There, I’ve said it. It’s finally out in the open. No matter how immature that statement sounded, it is how I’m feeling. I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t hold back the tears.

  “Eva, look at me.” When I shake my head no, he cups my chin in his hand and tilts my face up, but I refuse to look at him. “Open your eyes. I want to tell you something,” he says so sternly that I immediately obey the command and open them. His soft, black eyes are just inches from mine, filling my field of vision. He says in a quiet, pointed voice, “Evangeline, I don’t want anyone else but you. I love no one else but you. I will wait forever for you. Do you understand me?”

  Gulp! What am I supposed to say back? Because of the intensely pleading look on his face and the sincerity in his voice, I have no other choice than to believe that he’s as completely and totally in love with me as I am with him. My affirmation is a deep kiss, my lips moving forcefully over his. I wish more than anything that somehow our bodies could be closer than they already are, but there is only one way to truly accomplish that feat. I begin to unbutton his shirt as I continue to devour his sweet mouth with mine. I pull myself as close to him as possible by wrapping my left arm around his neck and continue working on the buttons with my right hand, momentarily distracted by how quickly I can work away at the shirt one-handed. After a moment, his hand wraps around my right wrist, pulling it away.

  “Amor, stop,” he breathes.

  “No, Javier.” I continue my assault on his lips. He grabs my face in both of his hands and kisses me back. I feel his tongue move over mine, sending a tingle shooting out to numb my mind and warm me in places that I’ve never known could feel so alive. I feel his resolve begin to deteriorate in this kiss, as his hands move over parts of me they have never before explored. My body begins to contort and move in unfamiliar and exhilarating ways, my lips never parting from his. Waves of desire and pleasure roll over me so quickly and urgently that a sound of pure exhilaration somehow manages to escape me, even though my lips are completely engrossed in Javier’s. With this sound, I feel his muscles go tense underneath me as he begins kissing me back with as much fervency, his head turning from side to side as his lips move rhythmically over mine. My mind goes delirious with the idea that this moment is going to end in the way I have dreamed of for months now: with us entwined in each other’s arms in bed.

  It’s not to be, however, because a shrill bell ringing next to my ear abruptly breaks us apart.

  “What the—” I snap my head around with what I can only imagine must be the most frighteningly murderous expression on my face, because that’s exactly what I’m thinking about whoever is holding that damn bell—I’m going to kill you! Jean-Luc is standing there with only the slightest hint of fear visible on his face. Mission unaccomplished.

  “Ahem,” he clears his throat and places a plate of diced fruit and Greek yogurt on the table. “Lunch is served, mademoiselle.”

  “Leave us, Jean-Luc!” I bark at him and turn back to Javier, who looks completely bewildered. I don’t know why Javier looks so confused—we’re finally getting somewhere. I look down and realize that I’m straddling him, his shirt is ripped open—so much for my smooth, one-handed unbuttoning skills—and my dress is a crumpled mess on the deck floor. What? Yes, I’m sitting here in just my bra and lace panties. How on earth that happened, I have no idea. I was too preoccupied with Javier’s mouth to notice he’d somehow gotten the dress off me.

  I snap my head back up to Jean-Luc, who points across the marina to a yacht full of young men, all with binoculars pointed directly at me. When they realize they’ve been caught, they all start whooping and hollering in what sounds like Italian. I shriek and bury my face in Javier’s chest.

  “Oh my God!”

  “Jean-Luc, bring me a beach towel,” Javier says calmly. Soon I feel its softness wrap around my shoulders and drape down my back. “I’m sorry, Corazón. I got carried away. I don’t know what came over me. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “Well, maybe just not in public?” I say with a hopeful voice.

  “Come on, let’s get you dressed,” Javier laughs and lifts me off his lap. “Jean-Luc, please r
etrieve Eva’s bag from the car and bring it to our quarters.”

  “Oui, monsieur.”

  Our quarters? On previous trips, we had stayed in separate rooms at Javier’s insistence. But tonight we’re sharing a room? This day is already starting to look up for me. I smile triumphantly.

  “How about that tour while we wait on your bag?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Javier takes my hand and leads me below deck. We descend curved stairs to the atrium, then pass through the bar to the dining room. We descend more stairs to the lower deck and walk down a narrow hallway, stopping at the end. Staring at me with dark eyes, Javier opens the door.

  “This is our room for the night,” he says with a hint of promise in his voice.

  I enter the enormous space and instinctively go to sit on the Swedish-style bed, pulling my legs up under me. I lean back on my elbows and give Javier my best come-hither look, but I feel ridiculous, so I know I have to look it.

  “Now, Eva, we have other things to do today,” Javier scolds, but his lip quivers as he fights to hold back a smile.

  “Like what? I just want to stay here with you all day.”

  “Like sightseeing and sunning on the beach. We have all night to hang out in here,” he says and nods toward the bed. “Besides, what are you going to do on a twelve-hour flight but sleep?”

  “Fine, I’ll go along with that, but on one condition—” I say, sitting up on my knees. Javier raises his eyebrows as he walks toward me. He grabs the knot of the towel wrapped tightly around my chest and pulls me toward him. “I get one kiss first,” I finish.

  “Oh, is that all?” He teasingly brushes his lips against mine, the stubble from his chin scratching across my face. His mouth moves delicately down my neck and over my bare shoulder, sending a ripple of goose bumps down my arm. My hand is at the knot in the towel ready to release it, when a knock at the door stops me.