by Krista Lakes
Sitting down had brought on a woozy sort of feeling that was intensified by the tight space of the car.
My god, I’m drunk, Sabrina thought as she reached toward her face. She barely recognized the feel of her skin, like the alcohol had severed the connection between her hands and the rest of her body.
Every jerk and jolt of the car was exaggerated to the point that Sabrina closed her eyes and felt herself spinning with the motion of their drive.
“Would you please open a window back here, sir?” she heard Marco say, and opened her eyes in time to feel the rush of the outside air brush against her face.
“I’m okay,” Sabrina murmured, though she wished she hadn’t felt the need to defend herself. She could barely make out the contours of his face now, but she felt his grip come down on her hand and squeeze.
The gesture sent a burst of butterflies into Sabrina’s chest that was almost too much to handle in conjunction with the heavy alcohol sloshing in her stomach. The air from the window to her left was the only thing that grounded Sabrina on the drive back. It didn't make her feel a hundred percent, but at least it was enough to keep her from throwing up.
She couldn’t remember disembarking from the car and into the hotel. The familiarity of the elevator was the only thing that stood out among the jumble of soft and blurry objects around her. When the elevator door opened it gave way to a hall that spun and twisted side to side.
Crap, Sabrina thought. What have I done to myself?
She’d rarely gotten drunk before and although she recognized the feeling, this was a new level.
When Marco reached his hand back, Sabrina realized she’d been standing in the elevator without moving, trying to regain her senses. The doors began to close and Sabrina jumped out of the elevator and into Marco’s chest theatrically.
“Whoa,” he said, laughing and holding her in a hug.
“The doors were about to close on me,” Sabrina said. She was glad he was holding onto her.
“You made it,” Marco said, playing along. “You’re right though, that was a close one.”
They both laughed and Marco released her and offered his arm for her to link like they had at the stadium. In that position, he led them slowly down the hall.
“I’m sorry,” Sabrina said, trying her best to sound composed.
“Sorry for what?” he asked. “You've nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m drunk,” she said while subconsciously gripping his arm tighter.
“Not even remotely,” Marco said, and even in her intoxicated state Sabrina picked up on his sarcasm.
She looked up and smiled.
“I really am sorry, though,” she said. “I don’t like you seeing me like this. I'm supposed to be watching out for you, not the other way around. It's my second day and I'm already a terrible employee.”
“Did you have fun tonight, though?” Marco asked, ignoring her comment altogether.
“I had a ton of fun,” Sabrina said, her voice high and jolly. “But I didn't mean to get myself into this state. Apparently, I'm kind of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”
Just then they reached rooms 1505 and 1506 and Marco stopped, pulling her into a hug.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “I’m just delighted that you had fun.”
“This is why I didn’t want to drink,” Sabrina said, feeling her cheek against the firm wall of his chest.
“Stop,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. We had a proper good time tonight and that's all that matters. Thank you.”
“So you had fun too?” Sabrina asked. Her world now was composed of a single blur that revolved around Marco’s body. The way he was wrapped around her made for a cocoon and Sabrina wanted to concede to her intoxication and dissolve into his chest right then and there.
“Of course. I had a great time,” Marco squeezed her as he spoke.
That was all she needed. He’d popped her balloon of exhilaration and pent up temptation.
She hardly had any control of her movements left, but in one motion Sabrina tilted her head and went in for a kiss. Her push was sudden and steady and was met with a single finger. When she realized that the kiss wasn't happening, Sabrina opened her eyes.
Marco had stopped her lips with his index finger and was staring gently back at her.
She started to speak, started to voice her most heartfelt apology yet, but Marco hushed her and pressed his finger more firmly to her lips.
“Shh,” he said, smiling and shaking his head. “I'd love nothing more than a kiss from you, but not tonight.”
He lifted his finger and the words leaked from Sabrina mouth uncontrollably.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I thought...”
“You thought correctly,” he said. “But not tonight. Not when we’re both drunk. Do you have your room key?”
Sabrina nodded and fished the key from her purse.
Marco opened her door and laid his hand against the small of her back as they entered. He led Sabrina all the way to her bed and took both her hands as she sat down.
“Our moment deserves to be remembered more than this. More than a drunk night out.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I want our kiss to make a moment. Not just be part of one.”
“Okay,” Sabrina whispered and smiled up at him.
“Besides, I'd prefer if the climax of the trip didn't occur on the first night,” Marco said, smiling from ear to ear.
Sabrina couldn’t do more than beam up at him, her smile coming out from her chest.
She remained seated as Marco bid her goodnight and kissed her cheek.
After he left Sabrina fell into the pillows of her bed, her eyes clamped shut into spinning darkness. There’d been no kiss that night, but it didn’t even matter. His gesture was almost worth more. The way he’d soothed her and assured her, with only a few words and a smile, was more potent than any physical action could’ve ever been.
Sabrina thought of him in the next room over, recreating the sensation of his soft lips on her forehead. She’d felt it above her drunken haze more than she’d been able to feel anything else that evening.
She was fading quickly, the room spiraling around her. Everything was fuzzy and nothing was clear, nothing except Marco’s image looming and lulling her to sleep.
Chapter 7
Marco
When Marco woke up the following morning, he was surprised by the mess in his hotel room. It looked like a clothes bomb had gone off. In his drunken state the night before, he had carelessly kicked off his shirt, pants and socks. His pants were hanging off of the TV stand, with one of the legs dropping over the edge. A black sock had landed over the lamp shade on the corner desk. His favorite white dress shirt was crumpled up and stuffed into the top drawer of the dresser.
Clearly, Sabrina hadn't been the only one to enjoy a few too many drinks the previous night.
Wow, he thought, as he sat up in his bed. What in the hell happened?
The change of position caused blood to rush to his brain and a thumping headache filled his skull.
“I probably shouldn't have had that last drink,” he whispered to himself. “Or even the last three drinks.”
Wearing only his underwear, he walked over to the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. The cool liquid soothed his dry throat and made him feel better almost immediately. Which was good, because he needed to recover quickly. He wanted to make the most of his time in New York and he refused to waste any of it to a nasty hangover.
As he walked back toward his bed, he noticed that the light on his cell phone was blinking. When he picked it up, he saw that he had a missed call from Orsino Palace.
Father, he thought, as he clicked on the number to return the call. He waited anxiously to hear his father's voice.
“Marco,” a female voice answered his father's cell phone. “How nice of you to call.”
Marco winced at the familiar voice. It was his stepmother. Despite marrying his father when
he was a young teen, the two of them had never gotten along well.
“Good morning, Magdalena,” he greeted her. “I'd like to speak to my father.”
“Your father is lying down,” she said, crisply. “He's trying to relax right now, which isn't easy since his only son decided to leave town during one of the hardest times of his life.”
“He and I have talked about this,” Marco replied, doing his best to stay calm. “Father was the one who encouraged me to continue this trip. I had offered to come home.”
“I don't recall him mentioning anything of the sort,” she said, her snide tone causing the anger inside Marco to flare. “But tell me, Marco. Has it been worth it? Has the trip to the United States been worthy of leaving your family at such an inconvenient time? I hope you're enjoying yourself and not getting into too much trouble.”
“The States have been amazing and my days without trouble,” he assured her. “But to be honest, my dear Magdalena, I didn't call to get an earful from you or to chat about my vacation. In fact, I called my father's phone in order to speak with him.”
“As I said, he's resting at the moment and I won't allow him to exert any extra energy that he doesn't need to. That includes talking to you,” she said.
Marco began pacing the room again. He clenched and unclenched his fists before speaking. There were many words that he wanted to say to her, but none of them would be considered polite.
“I would like to speak to him, Magdalena,” he said, as he walked swiftly back and forth across the carpet in front of the bed. “If you aren't going to let me speak with him, can you at least tell me what is going on with his health? I've been worried sick about it.”
“So worried sick you couldn't take his call earlier?” Magdalena asked. “He had so wanted to speak to his only son.”
“That's why I'm calling now,” Marco replied testily. “Now, I'd like to know how the follow up appointment went with the doctors.”
“Since you couldn't be bothered to speak to him yourself, I will tell you. Based on the size and location of the tumor in his lungs, the doctors said that the best possible plan of action will be surgery,” she said. “It's not a simple procedure, but if it's successful then there's a chance that he won't have to go through chemo and radiation.”
Marco stopped in his tracks and stared out of the window of his hotel room. He heard the words that came out of the Queen's mouth, but it took a moment for them to fully soak in.
“So the surgery is going to happen?” Marco wished he could speak to his father instead of his stepmother. He had so many questions and he wanted to hear his father's thoughts.
Marco knew that the surgery was the best option for his father, so in a way he was happy to hear the news. But it still meant that King Carlo would have to go under the knife and would be forced to deal with all of the pain that would entail. He also realized that the recovery from such an invasive surgery would likely come with its own host of complications. So, although it was the best possible option, the thought of it still scared Marco half to death.
“What did my father say about all of this?” he asked, as his heart fluttered with worry.
“He said that he's ready and willing to move forward with the operation as soon as possible,” she said. “The sooner the better, if you ask me. The quicker that tumor is gone, the less likely it will spread.”
“How soon is soon?” Marco asked, desperate for more information. “Did Father schedule a date yet?”
“I scheduled one for him,” she said, her tone as condescending as ever.
Marco let out a frustrated sigh. What is this woman's problem? Why does she feel the need to control every aspect of everything?
“Can you please tell me when the surgery is scheduled?” he asked, his words slow and paced.
“July fifteenth.”
“July? That's next month,” Marco nearly shouted.
“Oh is it? Thank you for that wonderful bit of information, Marco. Anything else you'd like to share?”
“Don't be like that, Magdalena. There's no need for sarcasm at this time. It's not going to get us anywhere.”
“Well, I'm just a little bit confused why you sound so upset about your father's surgery being scheduled in July,” she said. “Does it not suit your vacation schedule?”
“I just didn't expect it to be so soon,” Marco replied. “I'll be forced to cut this vacation short.”
“No need to do that.” Magdalena was abrupt as she spoke. “Please, enjoy your trip, Marco. We'll see you when you get back at the beginning of September. As you said, you and your father already discussed it.”
“What are you talking about? I'm going to come home to see my father. We didn't discuss me being away for his surgery,” he growled into the phone. The woman enjoyed pressing his buttons. “I won't let him go into surgery without me being there.”
“Well, if you're planning on coming home early, then I suppose I should tell you what else is currently being organized for that same week in July,” she said.
The vein on Marco's forehead started to pulse as his blood pressure rose. He couldn't understand why Magdalena had to play these games with him, leaking one tiny bit of information at a time. It was as though she liked to see Marco squirm. He knew she had control issues, but now he began to fully understand just how bad it actually was.
“What is it, Magdalena?” Marco asked after waiting a moment. “What else do you have planned?”
“I've decided to hold a ball at the Palace,” she said, her excitement becoming obvious in the way she spoke. “It will be in your father's honor.”
A ball? For my father? Why would she schedule it so close to the date of his surgery? Marco thought.
“He's about to have lung surgery. How can you hold a ball for him if he's going to be recovering?”
“Such a smart boy,” she said. “This is why I've decided to hold the ball on the night before his surgery. Your father will be in tip top shape that evening, as he will have been resting all of the days before it. The ball will be a celebration of his health and will give him positive energy for his surgery that is scheduled for the following morning.”
Marco stopped midstep and stared at his phone. “Do you really think that my father would want to have a ball during a time like this?” he asked.
“I think that it would be good for King Carlo to have one last formal appearance before his retirement,” she said.
Marco thought it over some more. It was as though the Queen feared that Carlo wouldn't make it through the surgery, so she wanted to have one last party. It made Marco's stomach turn.
“Is that what this is really about, though, Magdalena?” His voice had become a low growl. “Are you really doing this for the king, or is this ball more for you? We all know how you enjoy a good party.”
“How dare you, Marco. You bite your tongue right now before it gets you into trouble.”
“I'll do nothing of the sort, Magdalena. Besides, I've said nothing wrong. I've only asked a simple question. I don't understand why you've chosen such an elaborate celebration for a man who is about to go into surgery. I've known my father for longer than you have, and I can tell you that he loathes formal public appearances.”
“I've already told you, Marco. It's for the good of the island. The citizens need to see your father healthy and well. It's important for the country's morale to see that their leader is strong and ready. It's the least we can do for the people of Orsino.”
“I care as much about the citizens of the island as you do,” he said. “But right now, I'm more concerned about my father. The people of Orsino will understand if you cancel the ball for the sake of their King's health.”
Magdalena scoffed. “Cancel the ball? Have you been drinking today, Marco? Because you're not making any sense. There's not a chance on this green earth that I'll cancel the ball. Arrangements are already being made. The party will be held at the Palace on July fourteenth and that's final.”
“And m
y father is actually okay with this?” Marco asked.
“Of course he is,” she said. “He's agreed that this is a good opportunity.”
Marco rolled his eyes. He could see straight through her lies. He knew his father, and there was no way that he was looking forward to his palace being filled with strangers. But until he had a chance to actually speak to his father himself, he'd have to take Magdalena's word for it.
“I'd love to hear him say that on his own,” Marco said. “But something tells me that you're not going to let that happen.”
“Marco, I'm warning you one more time, you bite your tongue.” Magdalena sounded even more upset than usual. “You've already caused enough trouble by abandoning your family for some silly meandering around a foreign country, and now you think you can just speak to me however you wish? You had better show me some respect, my son, or else I will make your life a living hell.”
“I didn't abandon my family,” Marco said, defensively. “I simply took a little bit of time off to spread my wings. That's all. I don't deserve to be chastised for it, especially since I had my father's blessing to take this trip. He's the only one whose opinion I respect anyway, for your future reference.”
Magdalena was silent for a moment and Marco knew that he had managed to strike a chord with the last comment. It satisfied him in one way, but also made him feel uneasy. For every point he scored, Magdalena seemed to find ways to even it.
“I'm curious what your father will say when I tell him the things you've said in this conversation.” She threatened him as though he was still ten years old. “Then maybe you'll learn a lesson in respect.”
“Please, save your threats for the dirty politicians at the party,” Marco said. “I've got more important things to worry about.”
He couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth. Normally, he'd have been able to hide his real feelings a little better. But something about that morning, with the news of his father's surgery, had given him distinct confidence in the face of Magdalena. He wanted to get her riled up. He wanted to make her squirm, like she had been doing to him for years and years.
