The flurry of activity around Carson and Savannah with the announcement of their engagement allowed Drago and Grace to slip out together quietly. This would be their last evening together, and neither wanted to waste a single moment. Drago's early morning departure would separate them for an indefinite time, and Grace wanted to capture each minute to turn over in her mind. After a leisurely meal with their group and talk late into the evening, Drago walked Grace to her room. Outside her door they paused, not wishing to separate.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked.
His eyes darkened as he spoke.
“Ty si krasna, sipková, You are beautiful, sweetbriar.”
A faint smile touched his lips, but his face wore a pained expression as he denied himself the yes he longed say.
“There is nothing more I would like than to remain with you, but here is where I must leave you.”
The sight of her furrowed brow ignited a burn in the pit of his stomach. Taking her into his arms, he crushed her to his chest.
“If I stay, milenka, sweetheart, I will seek to take what is not yet ours to share. My honor and my respect for you will not allow me to do this.”
And even though Grace never wanted him to take his arms from around her, she knew she loved an honorable man. Inhaling his scent, her face nestled at the base of his neck, she murmured against him.
“I can hardly stand the thought of your leaving.”
He took her face in his hands, tilting her chin until their eyes met.
“You will be in Slovakia with me before the first frost.”
He lowered his head to brush his lips across hers, stealing her breath before hugging her tightly again. As her mind realized what Drago had claimed, she lifted her head exclaiming, “That will only leave three months to arrange everything!”
Her eyes were lit with excitement at the thought of only a short separation, the color heightening in her cheeks to a dusty rose. The sight brought a smile to Drago's face and an ache to his chest as he considered his situation. Three months before he could make her his, before he could awaken with Grace beside him.
Breaking into his thoughts, Grace spoke aloud her own mind's considerations.
“But Drago, there's the nine weeks of premarital counseling. And the engagement dinner, and...”
“Nie, No,” he cut her off, shaking his head.
She paused, regarding the half grin he wore and the gleam in his eye.
“Well, I suppose we will have to skip the engagement dinner. It would be hard to have it when we'll be on two different continents.”
“Ano, Yes,” he agreed.
“But the counseling is mandator...,”
“Nie.”
“You'll check to make certain?”
“Ano.”
He waited, his pleasure evident, to see if she would offer any further obstacles for him to dismiss, but she sighed contentedly and leaned against him.
Where she belonged.
“I'll miss you,” she whispered.
Her words sobered him.
“Be ready. I will send for you soon, milenka.”
Tenderly, he pressed his lips to hers, reveling in their softness. Wanting so much more but unwilling to compromise their beliefs, Drago denied himself a deeper taste of her. He reached for her hand, stroking the finger that wore his ring as his gaze lingered on it purposefully. Raising it to his lips, he kissed its underside, trailing kisses over her palm and the inside of her wrist.
Every nerve from her hand to her spine pulsed with energy, rippling inward to her core.
“I'll be ready.”
“Goodnight, Gracie. Goodbye.”
“Telephone when you arrive safely.”
She would say no more. She would not make this more difficult for him. Laying her hand aside his cheek, she rubbed her thumb along his skin and turned, slipping inside her room.
Drago felt the loss of her touch as if he had lost a piece of himself.
Awake in her room, a few fitful hours of attempted sleep later, Grace knew she could join her father and the Friar in seeing Drago off at the airport, but chose instead to lie alone in the bed and linger over their exchange of the night before. It was a goodbye she could relive during his absence. Pulling the blanket around her against the chill of the air conditioned room, Grace closed her eyes and drifted in and out of a half-sleep, half-dream world where she was still in Drago's arms.
* * *
When Drago's regular Sunday call came nine weeks after his departure, Grace began to update him on her tremendous progress. The weeks had flown by, but she desperately missed him. Each week, she anticipated his call, longing for the sound of his voice. Her gown had been picked up the day before, the alterations complete, as well as those for her father's tux. Her belongings had been packed, and were en route to him. Things were coming together nicely. But when he spoke, her heart soared within her.
“All is ready, milenka. Come quickly. We will be married on October 20, less than two weeks from today.”
Chapter 9
The massive, stone cathedral loomed above the surrounding buildings. Grace's first impression upon entering the side door with her father was that it seemed to be carved from a mountain. Her excitement was greatly tempered as she took in the holy surroundings. The church's atmosphere was solemn, and Grace could almost sense the ancient echoes within the cavernous space. Thick walls of stone hinted at a long ago age, and she marveled at the impression of being transported through time.
Father Svalina appeared and greeted Grace and Guy Antolini warmly. His presence and kind face eased the dank chill of the place, and Grace relaxed slightly. Ushering them toward his office, Father Svalina exchanged pleasantries with Guy as his daughter took in her surroundings. Opening an arched, wooden door, they entered a small room, stone as well, having a brightness of atmosphere due to four leaded-glass windows on the opposite wall, which flooded the room with light.
The Father went behind his ornate desk and eased into a high backed chair, encouraging them to sit as well.
“Well, Grace, I understand you're a member of the Eastern Orthodox church in the United States. Correct?”
“Yes, Father,” she replied as she opened her bag to retrieve the documentation of membership from St. Cecelia's.
Handing him the paperwork, the priest's hooded eyes caught and held hers with kindheartedness. The priest glanced at the papers and handed them back.
“We will need to make copies before you go, of course, but all seems to be in order. However, I would like to speak with you privately. Mr. Antolini, you understand?”
Guy's eyes lit as he discerned the old priest's meaning, and he rose to excuse himself.
“I'll see you shortly, daughter. I think I'll take a look around these impressive grounds.”
Grace sat wondering for the moments Father Svalina and her father spoke amiably in the hallway. Re-entering the office, the Father sat opposite Grace on a cushioned bench, giving the intimate sense of being with a dear grandfather.
“Dear girl,” he began, “Before I can consent to perform the marriage between yourself and Drago, there are some things we must discuss. I have had communication with your priest, and he informs me you were active in your congregation.”
“Yes, Father,” she answered. “I helped in the church offices once a week with basic secretarial duties.”
“Do you plan to be an active member of this congregation?”
“I do, Father. Although I'll want to speak with Drago before I commit to any extra activities.”
“Of course, child,” the priest said as he shifted on the bench, leaning slightly toward the small oblong table separating them. “Marriage is a holy institution. Yet today, many young people enter into it without considering that they make a vow before the Lord of the universe! They marry in the church more because that's what is normally done. It is my responsibility to ensure that the couples married here enter into this covenant fully aware of the commitment they make
to God and to one another. Therefore, I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to think about the answers you give me over this next week as you prepare for your wedding. Will you do this as I have asked?”
Grace's soft brown eyes met Father Svalina's, and he understood the young fighter's decision to take this young woman to wife. Her eyes spoke for her. Indeed, she would contemplate her answers to his questions. She would examine her heart. She would take her vows to love, honor, and cherish seriously.
“I will, Father,” was her honest reply.
The holy Father continued with a light heart, for he would perform this wedding with gladness. Nearly an hour elapsed as the elderly priest gently challenged Grace to consider how her marriage promises would affect her attitude toward serving her husband to ease his burdens in life, creating a refuge and haven for them both from the world, and living with joy amongst the stresses of life.
Grace took all these things into her heart and offered up a silent prayer, asking for the strength to carry out her good intentions, a prayer asking God to mold her into the woman and wife He created her to be.
* * *
Many toasts were made up and down the great, pine tables in the church's fellowship hall, and the mood was festive. The feeling of community pervaded the air, leaving no dull moments during the rehearsal dinner. Simple yet delicious looking fare laid out on bright red on white patterned tablecloths had been prepared by the women in Drago's extended family who were also members of the church, and it seemed to Grace that there was plenty enough to feed an army.
Her father was seated opposite her with Drago's uncles, animated and laughing on either side, sharing their humor in heavily accented English, and she observed her father enjoying the camaraderie wholeheartedly. Aunts and cousins surrounded her in a sea, most wanting to offer happy wishes and to meet the newcomer to their large family, and a few to openly gawk at the American girl who didn't differ in manner half as much from themselves as they had imagined. Curiosity satisfied, the myriad of family members found their way, squeezing together on the long benches to enjoy the feast after Father Svalina spoke the blessing.
Now, Drago sat next to her, his thigh fitted closely to hers from the press of the crowded bench, sending small jolts of electricity up her own thigh to gather in her abdomen. Learning the people closest to her groom was important to her. Her welcome from Drago's Aunt Visnja and Uncle Slavko had made her immediately comfortable. Their son's wife, Ilija, and her befriending was invaluable to her. So with some difficulty, she focused her attention on the wonderful friends around her conversing happily and away from the solid body affecting her so beneath the table.
“After your bride's week, Ilija and I will show you around the city better, Grace,” Aunt Visnja announced with a wide smile.
“Oh yes,” laughed Ilija. “You will need to know the butcher shop's location to feed Drago's appetite! You must memorize that address quickly.”
Grace smiled, knowing they would indeed show her all around, and she hoped the friendly overture would develop into a close bond with the two women.
“I'll need to get a map, or else I'll become disoriented and end up across town from where I want to be! My internal compass is not helping me on these unfamiliar streets,” Grace alleged in light-some humor.
Drago turned at this and countered, “Don't listen to her Auntie Visnja! She will learn easily, and before I know what has happened she will be giving me directions!”
His easy laughter surprised Visnja, and she wondered at her nephew's change since returning from America, since meeting this American girl. She had known upon his return that he was in love and worried as a mother would for a son's heart. Drago had always been smart, focused, and driven. Visnja had prayed that he would find love and marry to experience the support and comfort of having a partner in life. The path he walked was brutal. That world could harden a man. Visnja recognized the tranquil gentleness within Grace in her first encounter with the young woman, satisfying that motherly wish. Each further interaction with Grace Antolini strengthened her belief that this girl was the answer to her prayers.
“Of course she will, nephew,” Visnja retorted, patting Grace's hand. “Zadrovec women are such.”
The eruption of laughter from the older men gave proof of the matriarch's assertion.
To this, Drago lifted his hands in the air in mock defeat, eyes alight with humor. Grace took in the playful exchange, warmed by Visnja's inclusion of her into the circle of Zadrovec women.
“What is this, Drago?” Slavko instigated. “No defense of the Zadrovec men's authority in the home?” Chuckling merrily, he continued. “He pummels giant beasts of men in those cages but raises his hands in submission to my Visnja!”
And once again, laughter reigned over the meal.
Easy conversation sprinkled the hall the duration of the meal. Grace sat half listening, pushing her food around in the pretext of eating, excitement and nerves quelling her appetite. Tomorrow she would be a bride. Elation was kept in check by the knowledge that she was leaving her family behind in America to join her life with the man she sat next to. Her mind swirled with unspoken questions. Would she make a good wife? What did she even know about it? Her own mother had died when she was very young. It had been only Grace and her father since before she could remember, and her father rarely spoke of her mother. How would she survive so far from her father? And how would he get along without her? She knew he had the gym, and his partners were like family to them, but it had always been the two of them. He had taught her everything she knew about life, commitment, hard work, and faith.
Steaming tea was brought to the tables, and the women began to go over the details for the post ceremony celebration. Grace held the small, etched glass in her hands and breathed in the warm, rich steam, listening to the chatter as she took in the tea's calming scent, spicy and sweet. Having gone over all the stations of the ceremony earlier, Grace could sit back and allow these capable women to their behind the scenes coordination. Once they were satisfied, they rose to begin cleaning the tables. Grace moved to join them, but Drago's hand covered her knee, holding her in place.
“Stay with me, Grace,” he murmured, leaning close to her.
Visnja, seeing the exchange, gave a knowing smile.
“We can take care of this. You stay,” and continued about her work.
The men moved, some to assist with the morrow's preparations, and the others to collect their families to go, and all stood to say their good nights. Taking Grace by the hand, Drago took a few steps backward.
“Walk with me. I will show you the courtyard where our wedding dinner will take place.”
They exited the hall and followed a covered portico which stretched the length of the great cathedral. Arched openings embellished with iron lattice allowed the creamy moonlight to pattern the stone floor. Reaching the end, they turned through the last archway, its heavy, latticed gates opening into a vast, stone courtyard. A high wall surrounded it on the remaining three sides, and the far end held a solid, wooden gate which led to the street at the front of the church. Potted plants laden with lingering autumn blooms dotted the stone garden, and long boxes suspended from the walls dripped additional color and greenery.
In front of them, a fountain curved out from the wall, gurgling as swiftly flowing water danced down its tiers. It was a magical place, Grace thought, and she quietly said so, not wanting to disturb the pleasant moment of appreciating the scene, nor to lose the connection of Drago's warm hand wrapped around hers.
“This cathedral has stood for many centuries,” Drago stated. “It has had much history come to pass within. Tomorrow we become another piece of that story.”
They strolled, each quiet for the moment, and Grace understood that Drago had more to say. After a pause he continued slowly and softly.
“I have worked many years, and I am well prepared to take a wife. I take my commitment to you seriously, Grace. Never doubt me. Of anyone in this world, it is
your trust and confidence I need.”
“Drago,” she responded, laying her free hand on his arm, “My trust and confidence are already yours.”
Knowing he did not doubt her, that he needed to declare aloud his feelings, Grace assumed he had finished, but he pulled her close, wrapping his arms about her and holding her. His lips brushed the top of her head, and she melted into the embrace. His scent, warm and masculine, clung around her, strong and reassuring.
He began again, but his voice had thickened.
“Tomorrow night I will claim you as my wife, Gracie. I will possess your heart and your body fully.” He cupped her head and ran his fingers over her hair. “You have not known a man's touch, milenka, and I want no fear to stand between us on our wedding night. I will come to you full of passion, but our joining will be tender.”
His deep voice so near her, reverberating through his chest and into her sent chills up and down her spine. He stroked his hands up and down her back, and she raised her chin to look up at him.
“I'm not afraid,” was her soft-spoken yet powerful reply.
“Ah, Grace,” he husked, holding her tilted face and feathering kisses over her forehead.
Her arms wound around his solid frame, and he paused to stare at her upturned face. The high cheeks, flushed pink, and eyes gently shining under his gaze drew him closer. He was undone. Lovingly, he slanted his mouth over hers and drank deeply of her lips, feeling her first startle then soften in his arms.
Claiming The Prize Page 10
