The weeks passed, Grace's life taking shape in new routines even as the landscape about her changed. Winter's icy chill lurked around each corner. Temperatures hovered at levels similar to Pennsylvania's winters, but strong winds from the nearby mountains cut through whatever number of layers Grace donned.
Ilija and Grace met each Monday, first drinking tea at Stjepanovic's Dairy with Anja and friends, and then sightseeing, shopping, or cooking on their own. The two women grew closer each week as they discovered how much they shared in common.
A few years older than Grace, Ilija had married Drago's cousin, Dubravko, five years earlier. For their final Monday in December, she suggested they stay in and cook instead of braving the icy rain that fell. Arriving with her husband, who was loaded with the bags of groceries she brought, Ilija directed Dubravko to drop the purchases in the kitchen.
“When should I pick you up, drahy, darling? This weather is too foul to be out! Besides,” he grinned, “I'm hoping you will have many delicious dishes you'll need me to carry.”
“Pssh,” Ilija lovingly chided, “This man will be led astray by that stomach! Come for me at five, all right?”
“See you then.”
Waving cheerfully, Dubravko headed for the door after planting a kiss on his wife's forehead.
The pair unpacked their ingredients, spreading them across the blond wood of the kitchen table.
“What will we make?” Grace asked. “And where did you get all this produce? I'm surprised with this nasty weather that anything was open.”
Ilija nodded as she answered.
“I thought maybe a vegetable, tomato soup. My cousin owns a larger grocery further out from Center Square, so he has plenty of stock even with this treacherous weather. Dubravko took me by this morning on our way over. What do you think?”
“Anything warm sounds good to me today.”
The hiss and groan of the pipes signaled that heat would soon roll out from the radiators. At first the sounds had been disquieting to Grace. But now she found them comforting somehow, maybe because they promised much wanted warmth.
“So, I have news,” Ilija tempted with a smile.
She said no more as she went over and grabbed a mug.
Grace peeked up from the large cabinet beneath the counter-top.
“Well...Let's have out with it. Si v poriadku? Are you all right?”
“Your Slovakian is sounding good, Grace!”
“Ilija! You must have something wonderful to tell to keep me in suspense like this. What is it?”
Grabbing the soup pot, Grace joined her friend at the table where two steaming mugs of tea waited.
Laughing, Ilija divulged, “Dubravko and I are expecting a child! Can you believe it?”
“That's wonderful, Ilija! When?”
“April – spring! I would have told you sooner, but...,” her voice trailed off.
Grace covered her hand.
“Nonsense. Don't think a thing of it.”
She squeezed Ilija's hand gently and steered her friend away from painful memories.
“I'm so happy for you. Have you been thinking of names?”
Of course, Ilija's eyes lit at the chance to talk freely about the happy event. She had waited what seemed an eternity to reveal her secret to Grace. Four times in five years, Ilija had found herself with child, but each time she neared the twelve week mark, she had miscarried. Now safely past sixteen weeks, she indulged the dreams she had never allowed to take shape in her mind.
Two mugs of tea later, they put the soup pot on to simmer for the day and contemplated a dessert to make when Grace offered, “I've got news too, but it's not nearly as nice as yours!”
Ilija let out a guffaw.
“It wouldn't have anything to do with the invitation we received in the post, would it?”
Her mischievous grin drew a groan from Grace.
“Oh Ilija! That woman is awful. And... our invitation is addressed to Mr. Drago Zadrovec and guest!”
Peals of laughter rang out in the snug kitchen as the women resigned themselves to attending the wedding of Josip Igrec and Anika Oreskovic. Josip was Drago's friend and an asset to the gym, and that was reason enough for Grace to suffer Anika's abrasive personality. Dubravko, being the financial genius of the family, handled Josip's financial portfolio, and this necessitated that Ilija do the same.
“I'm so glad you're here, Grace,” Ilija choked out between fits of laughter. “I've wanted a sister my entire life. Now – through cousins and marriages – I have you.”
Underneath her laughter, Grace was touched.
“I'm glad to have you, too.”
Shortly after Dubravko came for his wife that evening, Drago came up from the gym, the rich aroma of the soup greeting him on his ascent. Stopping in the kitchen on his way to the shower, he planted a kiss on the nape of Grace's neck as she tossed a salad.
“Something smells delicious, žena.”
“It's only soup and a salad tonight, nothing fancy.”
He pulled her back against his chest, damp still from the exertion of the gym. He wanted her attention.
“I'm hungry for something else.”
His breath caressed the back of her neck, and the words entering her ears sent paralyzing shivers through her, stilling her hands from work.
“Leave it for later. Come with me, milovnik, lover.”
Hands on her hips, he stayed behind her, kissing down her neck and steering her slowly toward their bathroom. As steam filled the room, Drago eased her from her clothing piece by piece until she stood naked before him, and he motioned toward the shower. Stepping under the heated spray, Grace felt his hands smooth over her sides before stopping on the flare of her hips. No words were necessary. She knew what he wanted, what he needed.
Often he came in after the grueling days of his training and loved her with fierce intensity, purging the day's concerns from his mind by losing himself in her sweetness. She was his refuge from the world, draining his physical tension with her body and calming his thoughts with her soft way and gentle words. Slowly, she bathed him, massaging the lather into his taut muscles until they eased into compliance under her fingers. Upon reaching his muscled thighs, she felt the tension leave him, and she rinsed him carefully. Low groans told her of his pleasure under her touch, igniting her desire with each knead and caress of his flesh. Clean and more at ease, Drago took on her role, cleansing her skin and soothing her as his large hands worked over her with deliberate care, his enjoyment of his work obvious as the thick erection between his thighs nudged at her abdomen. Warm shower water washed over her, pulling a pleasurable sigh from her throat as he finished.
He sought her lips, his kiss quickly growing insistent, and Grace met his ardor, knowing this intensity would not be sated until he claimed her body. His hands roamed her curves, grasping her bottom and pressing into her. Her back rested against the patterned tile as her lover trailed kisses across her collarbone. Closing his mouth over her sensitive nipple, Grace moaned softly, cupping his dark head and clasping him to her breast. He suckled her, starved for the peace he found within her. Her breasts grew heavy and full under his attentive mouth, and she gasped as his hand trailed between her legs.
He stilled.
Grace could not look away from his burning gaze. She would have pleaded for more, but before the words could take form in her mouth, Drago rubbed over her again, catching her delight in a sensual kiss.
Again, he stilled.
The weight of his eyes upon her heightened her desire, the knowledge that his arousal grew from seeing her take pleasure still brought heat to her cheeks, even as moisture pooled in her sex. Across the rippled plane of his abs, Grace trailed her caress, continuing until she brushed the length of his hardness. Wrapping her delicate hand around him and stroking back to the tip brought the rough groan she loved hearing him make. Again she stroked down and up sensually, knowing he would only endure so much before his need to be inside her won out, and at the though
t, a wave of delight washed through her.
Drago's fingers slid over her. He slipped a solitary finger inside her, almost taking her over the edge. Panting, she squeezed him, rubbing him in encouragement. He growled, breaking his gaze to slant his mouth over hers in a punishing kiss, driven to claim her body. His hands palmed her nether cheeks and lifted her above his engorged shaft before he entered her in a upward thrust. Again and again he buried himself deep inside her until she cried out against his shoulder as pleasure rippled outward from her center. She could do nothing more than cling to him, lost in her joy. Gentling his pace through her completion, Drago turned the spray off and carried her to their room.
His massive form covered her as she lay atop the rich, chocolate duvet, and he surged into her anew. Purposefully urgent, then languid, he altered their rhythms, building to crescendo over and again until she climaxed around him, and with a final thrust, he spent into her. Enveloped in his strong arms, Grace kissed along his jaw and neck. He withdrew from her, pulling her close.
“Som tu, moja žena, I am here, my wife,” he murmured against her ear. “Som tu.”
“I know, love.”
* * *
Drago unpacked his well worn duffel.
Sayre Mainn. The next link in the chain.
He knew the man was powerful, but nothing would stop him from gaining victory. Six months of intense training backed up his confidence. In three days, he would claim his victory here in Las Vegas, Nevada.
Glancing at his wife's sleeping form, he smiled. They had wisely opted to fly in days ahead of time to combat the toll of jet lag and allow time for visiting with Grace's father, who had arrived last night as well. Drago was glad to see her resting. She worked so hard to help him. The six months they had been married had been the happiest of his life. Grace was his rock, and he could not imagine life without her after knowing her love.
Determined to be more than just his rock at home, Grace had taken over the jujitsu aspect of his training and added classes in their gym, Spar-Slava. Everyone in the gym adored her. She pushed him harder than anyone, earning the respect of the team.
She stirred beneath the blankets, and he went to her.
“Dubre rano, good morning,” he whispered.
“What time is it?” she asked sleepily.
“It's early, milovany. Sleep if you like.”
“But you're awake,” she laughed softly.
“I'm going down to the gym to run. Stay and rest, Gracie.”
Kissing her shoulder, he pulled the covers about her snugly before heading to the gym.
* * *
Drago sparred with Guy on the ten by twelve mat in his room keeping his muscles loose and limber before his fight.
Grace's father had been correct in his predictions concerning the media. A week after their wedding, photos of them departing the reception had been splashed across InsideOut, the popular tabloid magazine with the yellow journalistic headline reading, Antolini Heiress 'Graces' Slovakia With Her Happy Nuptials. Not to be outdone, their rival, Updated, featured a spread on the bride arriving at the cathedral with her father.
From then on, the competing magazines had churned out a number of pieces ranging from happy wishes for the newlyweds after an outing to Bratislava Castle was documented on camera, to feigned concern over the reason for the couple's lack of travel to the United States. But Grace had taken it all in stride.
Now, an hour before his bout, Drago thanked God that her strength had helped him get to this moment. He would not let them down.
* * *
Sitting among the crowd in the vast MGM Grand Garden, Grace wore a relaxed expression. St. Clair and Yves were with her, discussing the changes taking place in the AMMAO in between the running commentary on each successive bout while she listened. It was easy to fall back into familiarity with the men that were like family to her, and Grace was thankful to have them at her side.
She knew the decision to let Frentz and Gabriel corner Drago was the right one. Still it was difficult. In her heart, she knew the best hands her husband could be in were her father's. But that was an issue she was not willing to force upon him. Drago would rise through the ranks of contenders, and before his title fight Grace would have him back at First Strike. It wasn't that she didn't love their life in Bratislava. On the contrary, she preferred it. But Drago wanted to become the world light-heavyweight champion, and to achieve that he needed Guy's experience and team Anto-Engage.
Timing, she knew, was everything.
Disturbed's Indestructible brought Drago Zadrovec and team Spar-Slava into the arena. Packed with fans, the Grand Garden throngs' roars almost drowned out the deafening song until the Slovak took his place inside the caged platform. When the Brit entered, tension crackled in the air between them.
The build up to this fight had been charged with animosity. Sayre Mainn's interviews were laced with disrespect toward his opponent, and when asked to reply in his own interview, Drago had answered, “This man talks much when he should train instead. He will need it.”
If the previous morning's weigh-in was indicative of the tone of this fight, it would be nasty. Mainn had taunted Drago throughout the formality, causing Grace to fear it would come to blows when the man had drawn his fingers across his throat in a mock death sign. But Drago only promised flatly, “Mozem byt' velmi neprijemny, I can be most unpleasant, be warned.”
Refusing to touch gloves, Mainn grabbed his crotch crudely and backed to the metal cage's side. True to form, Drago remained expressionless. At the call to fight, Drago advanced, ready to answer the Brit's taunts – but not with empty words. He moved, testing the responses he would encounter, protecting himself well in the knowledge that his opponent's reach equaled his own. Throwing his jab, Drago sought the target range that would allow his hands to inflict punishment.
In between his forays into striking distance, he began his assault on Mainn's lead leg. Methodically, Drago pressed in with the jab, only to retreat as Mainn attempted to counter, taking advantage the moment the Brit placed his weight on his lead leg to throw the short, powerful kicks that would quickly erase the spring out of a man's step. Frustration showed in Sayre Mainn's face, and Drago used it for the rest of the round, picking the man apart before his corner could change his strategy.
At the bell, respective corners rushed to tend to their fighters. Gabriel quickly grabbed Drago's attention.
“You're doing great. When you're throwing that low leg kick, he's starting to counter. Go ahead and pivot your hips like you're going to throw it again, but instead, throw high. Mix it up to keep him unsteady on the lead leg. He's not liking that kick right now. Believe me.”
Spitting the water from his mouth and standing, Drago heard Frentz add, “He knows he took a beating in that first round. He's gonna come out like a raging bull for the first forty-five seconds or so. Don't give him an in. Hands up! Move! He'll discourage easily. He's tired.”
With that, the men were gone and the second round commenced. Mainn came out aggressively, desperate to land a heavy blow, to gain momentum, and he managed to catch Drago with a few strikes. Circling, Drago maneuvered to add separation, and sensing the distance correctly, he delivered a brutal kick to the body. He followed with a jab and uppercut combination, returning once again to Sayre Mainn's lead leg, which glowed red on the spot that had absorbed the worst damage. The kick was checked. Capitalizing on Mainn's expectations, Drago swung his hips. Mainn pressed in viciously, sure he would catch the Slovak, but his advance only added to the impact of the left head kick Drago landed, and a rocked Sayre Mainn staggered to Drago's right.
Instinctively, Drago knew the Brit was in serious trouble and pounced upon him, gaining a full mount. Smothering his opponent as he secured the dominant position he postured up, leveling Mainn with a full swing hay-maker before raining down one hammer fist after another. In desperation, the Brit turned over in an attempt to protect himself, giving up his back. Sinking his right arm across the jaw and bringin
g the left under the chin, Drago locked up a Rear Naked Choke. Squeezing his elbows together, the choke tightened, incapacitating his adversary. As Mainn flailed his hand in the sign of submission, the ref intervened, pulling Drago from the suffocating choke he continued to hold.
Caught in the intensity of the moment, it took a moment for Drago to realize it was over. Mainn slumped forward unconscious to the mat as Drago released him. Rising above his opponent, Drago Zadrovec let out a barbaric roar. Frentz and Gabriel rushed into the ring, embracing Drago in the thrill of victory.
* * *
Together in bed, late in the night, Drago broached the subject he had been wrestling with since Derrick Sloba had visited his locker room after the fight.
“I fight again in fourteen weeks, Grace.”
Her silence was deafening.
“Derek Sloba came to me after the fight. I have to do it.”
“I know, love.”
Grace warred with the conflicting emotions in her heart. After the six months of training, she had looked forward to a few weeks of reprieve from the demanding schedule, a time to have her husband to herself before it consumed him again. But it was not to be. Inwardly, she chided herself. If not for the events of earlier tonight, she knew she wouldn't be taking the news so hard. She longed to pour her heart out to Drago, to tell him what really troubled her, but she would not. He needed her to be strong so that he could focus on this sudden, upcoming fight.
Kissing his shoulder, she reassured him.
“It's all right.” She smiled up at him. “You know, you were amazing tonight.”
Feeling her disappointment, he pulled her closer, wanting to comfort her as they drifted into sleep together. His breathing slowed as he fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion, leaving Grace alone with her thoughts in the darkness. Even with Drago's warm body beside her, she felt alone as she relived the evening.
The crowded ballroom pressed in on her from all sides as she stood with the Friar. Guy and Drago had not yet arrived, and she realized that without Drago beside her, she felt small and alone. Even the ever steady presence of the Friar paled in comparison to the security Drago impressed upon her. She had never enjoyed crowds, but tonight the feelings were intensified, perhaps because of the quiet existence of the last six months.
Claiming The Prize Page 15
