* * *
Grace's absence from First Strike was noticed by all, and one by one, Yves, Ike, and St. Clair came to check on her. Assuring them she was fine had not been as easy as she had hoped, but by the middle of May, Grace no longer had any doubt that she was with child, and it was her obvious happiness more than her words that dispelled their concerns. Dr. Haviland confirmed her suspicions on the fifteenth of May.
“Congratulations, Grace,” Dr. Haviland announced. “You are going to be a mother.”
Grace was overjoyed.
“I'll see you in four weeks. Your nausea should be gone by then, honey, and so should the fatigue. Hang in there. We'll have a look at the baby then, too. I guess your husband is proud as a peacock about now!”
“Oh, Dr. Haviland, the truth is, he doesn't know yet,” she confessed. “I wasn't certain before he left, and I didn't want to get his hopes up in case it was a false alarm. Please, can we keep this hushed until I see him? I don't want to tell him over the phone.”
The older man's eyes twinkled in conspirator's glee.
“Say no more, Grace. Consider it our little secret.”
He patted her arm.
“Here is a prescription for vitamins. You can continue all normal activities, but no intense workouts. Your body temperature shouldn't get too high, so no hot tubs or scalding baths either, all right?”
“I understand,” she said.
It was not going to be an easy secret to hold.
“I'll see you then. And thank you,” she smiled.
* * *
Jean Luke proved to be as eccentric as Guy had warned, but his variations on positioning and technique were valuable assets to Drago's arsenal. Jean Luke was quite different than any other trainer Drago had encountered in his career. No schedule governed the man; he worked at all hours of the day or night, but Drago found success under his tutelage. The patterns of his structured life had no place in Jean Luke's small studio gym. The man believed that to be prepared for a fight, one had to expect the unexpected.
And train for it.
Roused from sleep on more than a few occasions, Jean Luke produced a sparring partner, and work commenced whether it be midnight or three in the morning. They regularly traveled to outdoor venues to train, using nature's settings and props instead of man made ones.
Despite the irregularity of the situation, Drago took an immense liking to Jean Luke, and in the foreign environment he discovered a side to Guy Antolini not previously revealed. Away from the responsibilities of running First Strike, Guy was less commanding. He studied alongside Drago, gleaning the nuances of form that made Jean Luke successfully unpredictable, and the men grew closer during the shared experience.
By June's end, Drago was stronger, faster, and more mentally prepared than he had ever been before a fight. Victory was never assured in the ring, and Drago knew that one mistake, one miss-step, could cost a fighter dearly. But he also knew he was sculpting the best Drago Zadrovec he could for his match against Elian Souva.
Each Sunday and Wednesday he telephoned Grace. The absence of her moodiness returned the easy companionship between husband and wife as they shared the day to day happenings of their lives.
“I'm missing you terribly,” Grace sighed.
“Only a couple more weeks, žena,” he comforted. “You have your tickets already?”
“Mm-hmm,” she purred. “I'm counting the days – fourteen to be exact – until I meet you in Pittsburgh. The Friar and I should land just after noon, so I should be at the hotel by one o'clock.”
“I will be glad to see you, Grace, but I must insist on a few conditions.”
“Conditions?” she laughed easily. “And what conditions would you impose, Mr. Zadrovec?”
His low chuckle sounded in her ear, sending tremors of anticipation down her spine.
“That night,” he husked, “there will be no dinners to attend. No meetings, no welcomes to contend with, milovnik, but our own. Promise me.”
“Such an easy man to please. Yes. I promise.”
Her playful manner continued. The days could not pass quickly enough, so great was her wish to spill the secret she held. It was becoming difficult to hide the growing bump of her abdomen, but she refused to share her wonderful news with anyone besides Dr. Haviland until Drago knew. Caring for Kady was the perfect excuse for reluctance to spar with Yves, and Grace was assured that no one's suspicions were aroused. Carson remained reserved after his encounter with Drago, and the two rarely spoke about anything – save Kadence.
The little girl had taken her first steps earlier that day on the padded floor of First Strike, St. Clair capturing the momentous event on camera before he took Grace out to dinner. She rattled off the details happily, wanting Drago to be included in her day to day activities. Profitable as this experience was, she knew he longed to be at home.
“Gracie, are you sure it is wise to allow Kadence to become so attached to you? It may make it difficult for her when we return to Bratislava.” The line fell quiet, and Drago added, “I don't mean to upset you, žena...”
“No, Drago,” she cut in softly, “I'm just realizing you may be right. I've enjoyed having her around so much that I didn't consider how my leaving may affect her. I've been a bit selfish...”
Her voice trailed off.
“There is another way to look at it, too,” he said. Drago would never believe his wife was selfish and he didn't want her to believe it about herself. “You have been placed in the little girl's life for a reason, even it is only for a time. Your love and care are helping to shape her, moja žena.”
He sighed, regretting his earlier question.
“It is never wrong to love a child, sipková. I am a fool.”
“No love, you are no fool. You were loving Kady in your own way by bringing it up. I think there's truth in both of your observations. I'll pray about it.”
They lingered awhile before saying the goodbyes that became harder with each passing week.
* * *
Leaning back on the small sofa, Drago stared into the bland efficiency flat, sadness tugging at his heart. There had never been any mention of a baby. He had felt so certain that Grace was pregnant, but surely she would have mentioned it by now if it were so.
Thank God I kept my suspicions to myself, he thought. Grace would have suffered if her hopes had been raised.
He pushed the sobering truth away, heading for his cot to seek his sleep. But his mind refused him rest, taunting him relentlessly, whispering that maybe he, not his wife, was unable to produce a child. His heart ached for her more deeply as he imagined Grace torturing herself in this manner. Sick dread invaded the little peace left in the recesses of his soul as a new, more terrible thought dawned.
Carson Khaler could have given Grace what he could not.
No. Sleep would evade him this night, he knew.
* * *
Suffocating heat pressed in from every angle as Grace rolled her luggage over the steel plated track that marked the exit from the terminal building, and the heavy thunk of the glass panels closing sealed her out with the oppressive July haze. Yves pulled up in the compact rental, a blessed sight to Grace's weary eyes, and he rushed to toss her bag into the trunk after helping her into the passenger’s seat. Temperatures hovered precariously near the one-hundred degree mark, taxing even the monstrous climate control units of Pittsburgh International Airport. The car's tinier unit hummed noisily, working overtime to extract moisture from the humid air.
Her white, cotton sundress, wilted and wrinkled from travel, hung loose and light on her frame, but Grace's skin protested its presence. A cool shower and nap was the only cure for her ailment, and she thanked Yves for handling everything.
“Don't mention it, Gracie,” he laughed amiably. “I'm good for it.”
“How far to the hotel?” she questioned.
“Maybe ten or fifteen minutes once we get out of this place. Don't get your hair up! Drago and Anto won't be back until late i
n the afternoon. We'll beat them by a few hours.”
“Honestly, I'm more worried about how long until I can take a nap!”
She sighed, tired humor evident in her voice.
The sibling like pair navigated toward the cool sanctuary of reserved hotel rooms, their senses dulled from the heat even after they arrived and were able to make their way to their rooms.
Burgundy walls trimmed with white crown and chair moldings enclosed her ample unit on the third floor, and a queen-sized bed draped in white and gold coverings was the room's focal point. Driven by her desire for order, Grace dutifully hung her belongings in the brightly painted chifferobe before she allowed herself the luxury she craved.
Her body cooled in the chilly room as she placed her toiletries in the stunning marbled bath. Creamy taupe swirled in through the shiny tiles and traces of the deep burgundy color were feathered in randomly. The chrome fixtures gleamed against the backdrop. Bliss permeated her being when the tepid shower water washed over her, the stickiness from the heat sliding away with the suds of her honeysuckle scented soap. Soothed and relaxed, she dried her skin with the soft terry-cloth towel and reached for the revealing nightgown she had purchased for her reunion with her husband.
Grace caught Drago's familiar, spicy scent, sending a pang of longing through her in delicious anticipation of the night ahead, and casting the gown aside, she sought its origin.
A cadet-blue dress shirt.
Holding it close, she inhaled the masculine smell of her lover before wrapping herself in the large garment and wandering to the beckoning bed. Drago's long absence combined with the hormones flooding her body had her wanton with desire for him, but sleep came easily in her exhaustion, thoughts of his arrival filling her dreams as she drifted off.
Darkness greeted Drago as he entered the room a few hours later, the steady sound of air rushing from the vents all that met his ears, filling him with anxiety that his wife was out, and that their reunion would be delayed. But his eyes adjusted to the low light, revealing what the closed draperies' darkness had concealed a minute before. Grace's sleeping form lay curled upon the bed, tucked beneath a chenille blanket.
His eyes feasted on her silky, black hair covering the pillow she rested on, and he shed his shirt and shoes silently before climbing into the bed beside her.
“Som tu, moja žena,” he breathed huskily into her ear as his hands covered her shoulders.
She rolled to face him, but he covered her lips with his, pinning her on her back, plundering her mouth in a searing welcome. Breaking the kiss at last, he regarded her with his dark eyes.
“I have missed you,” he shared.
“I've missed you, too,” she answered softly.
Shyness overcame her suddenly, and she lowered her lashes, a smile playing on her lips. She eagerly awaited the moment his hands would rove over her and discover the evidence of their child in her body, realizing that for all her excitement and anticipation, she could not form the words to reveal her long kept secret.
“You wear my shirt...,” he murmured as he began unbuttoning it slowly. “But not for much longer.”
Grace reveled in the feel of his strong, muscled shoulders and arms beneath her hands. Her lips parted willingly under his hungry mouth, and frissons of electricity coursed through her veins as he bared her flesh inch by inch. Dipping his head, he covered her newly exposed breast with his mouth, bringing her off the bed with a moan.
He raised his head and looked questioningly into her eyes.
“Your breasts are fuller, milovany,” he observed aloud with a peculiar glint in his eyes.
He skimmed his lips over the tight peak, wrenching another low moan from deep in Grace's throat.
“And much more sensitive.”
Grace could not respond. Her body screamed for his touch, all thought replaced with need for his lips upon her flesh. The sultry look in her eyes sent fire to Drago's loins, and he hardened instantly under her hungry, liquid gaze. His hands fumbled with the remaining buttons, his mind racing.
Her full breasts, so sensitive to his touch, and the way her eyes, at first lowered shyly, now boldly dared him to bare her flesh further, intimated her secret. With impatience to look upon her nakedness, to discover the evidence that her body ripened with his child, Drago ripped the shirt open, scattering it's buttons to the floor in a swift motion.
Grace smiled carnally as he beheld her small, protruding belly.
Voice choked with delighted emotion, he asked, “Why didn't you tell me sooner, moja žena?”
“Because I wanted to see your face when you first knew.”
He palmed her lovingly, fanning kisses across the small swell.
“Welcome, moja dieta, my little one,” he whispered against the curve of her body before returning to her side and cradling her against his chest.
Drago's arms cocooned her protectively, and she held him fast to her, safe and secure in his potent embrace.
“When, Gracie?” he asked.
“Mid December.”
Rubbing his cheek against her hair, he murmured, “Milujemtá.”
* * *
If the previous night was any indication of how pregnancy affected his wife, Drago vowed he would keep her that way as often as she would allow it. Their lovemaking left him hungry to test his theory again this morning, but he would wait until she awoke on her own. He wanted her to rest after their vigorous congresses, and a smile played on his lips as he stepped into the shower and considered how soon that would be.
Chapter 18
A simple brunch was laid out upon the table in Guy Antolini's suite, neglected as the men drilled kick set ups in the sitting room's center. Furniture lined the walls, moved to accommodate the mock session. Their scheduled gym time would offer a thorough run through of strategy, but Drago was not one to waste precious time. Methodically, they viewed Souva's fight clips, timing his movements and memorizing his footwork, then mimicking them as Drago practiced the counter maneuvers that would allow him to evade Elian's forays and get him into striking distance.
“When you go left there, pivot your hip,” Guy coached. “Yeah, like that.”
Drago worked the combination a few times over. Just like he had been doing for months.
“It'll add more power to the hook. Run through that sequence again.”
The Friar acted as Souva, having studied the man for months, and Drago demonstrated the moves perfectly.
“Wrap it up, boys,” Guy announced. “We'll work through takedown defense on the mat.”
Drago checked the time before downing a liter of water while Guy and the Friar replaced the furniture over the indentations in the carpeting.
“Final drink until after weigh-ins tomorrow?” Yves guessed.
“Nie. I'll have a half liter after the mat time,” Drago responded. “I was a pound under last night, and floated off another overnight. I'll check the scale before I drink though.”
The Friar laughed. “You should sweat off at least two pounds on the mat. You'll be on weight tonight even with the water. Have you eaten?”
“Some fruit this morning. I'll have a protein shake later if I'm at least two pounds under weight.”
“Tomorrow, Drago, we'll have you hydrated and get you fed. Weight can be a real...”
Drago chuckled, knowing exactly what the man meant.
“There's my Gracie girl,” Guy boomed when his daughter appeared.
After kissing his cheeks, she spied the waiting brunch and directly began to fill a plate.
“Everything looks delicious! I'm famished!”
Her presence erased all thoughts in Drago's mind besides the news he wanted to share.
Leaning over her shoulder, his voice hummed, “May I now explain that you are eating for two, žena?”
Her smile was his answer.
Turning her around, his hand rested upon her mid-section, its weight molding the navy material of her sundress to the rounding swell of her body. A broad smile stretched
across Drago's face, pride evident in his voice as he spoke.
“It appears that you, Anto, are going to be a grandfather by Christmas.”
He watched understanding dawn, and his father-in-law's face lit with eye twinkling mischief.
“It's about time! Frankly, I was beginning to wonder about you two. Thought perhaps...”
Grace broke in before her father could tease on further.
“That'll be quite enough out of you, Dad.”
Her mock sternness lost its bite under her blushing smile.
“Ah, Gracie girl,” he beamed, “Come here and give this granddad a hug.”
Yves shook Drago's hand in hearty congratulation.
“I don't know why I'm smiling, Drago. Truth is, there will be no living with him now.”
Yves motioned towards Guy, who was absorbed in conducting an inquisition about his daughter's nutrition and exercise routines before continuing with a chuckle.
“Better you than me, my friend.”
Drago grinned his reply.
“But Guy will be here with you, Friar. Grace and I return to Slovakia before July's end.”
“And I thought you honorable,” Yves declared with feigned disgust.
* * *
“Steady...,” Guy's command hung in the air.
Souva was stalking him, looking for a takedown, and Drago knew another attempt was imminent. The slight drift of his opponent's eyes toward his lead leg gave him away. Halfway through the first round, he had stuffed three shots from Elian Souva, and his jab was landing at will, the telltale signs of its cumulative damage manifested in the bubble under Souva's right eye. Drago inhaled deeply through his nose, pushing air from his lungs with a hiss as it seeped from his closed bite.
A fighter never let his jaw hang open. To do so was to court a knockout.
The practiced lead-ins were highly successful, and again he jabbed at Elian's eye before the bell sounded, sending both men to their corners.
“Perfect round,” Guy praised. “Keep working the patterns, but add the low leg if it's there for the taking. We're definitely up on the cards.”
Claiming The Prize Page 20
