The Fighter and the Baroness: A Modern-Day Fairy Tale

by Sunniva Dee

  I haven’t seen Victor since last Sunday when he left for Miami. I texted him, congratulating him on the win, but his reply was short and to the point, not instigating further conversation. All I know is he wasn’t happy with the way his win played out, and his friends haven’t seen him much this week.

  Zeke’s got eyes that smile no matter if he’s serious or not. Now he’s serious, watching me carry chilled jugs of beer to a table with both hands. Once Allyn leaves, I walk up to them and greet “my” wild warriors. A couple of them get up for a hug. “Mmm, she’s nice,” chip-toothed Marty says, grinning as he pulls back.

  “My turn,” Jaden says. “I’ve known her longer, so I should’ve been first.”

  “He always does that,” Marty replies as if Jaden isn’t even here. “Loves to talk about how he’s known you from before you moved to the U.S.”

  I love the way he says “Moved.” I do feel like I live here, far away from the problems looming in Germany.

  “Have you seen Victor?” I venture, a small blush heating my ears. It’s hot in here though, so they might not notice.

  “Ooh, she wants to know about Victor.” That’s Zeke telling Keyon, loud enough for me to hear. “She likes Victor.” Keyon smiles, giving me a short wave before he continues his conversation with a fighter I haven’t seen before.

  “Oh yeah, she does. Look at that. Have we seen Victor?” Jaden says, exchanging meaningful looks with Marty and Zeke. “Hmm?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I blurt. I’ve put myself on the spot, and they’re loving it.

  “Let me check if he’s coming,” Zeke says.

  “No!” I burst out. “No, I mean, I was just wondering. Don’t tell him—”

  “That you miss him? Wow, she’s hot when she’s blushing,” I-don’t-even-know-who says, so playful and so annoying. Crap, I wish I hadn’t mentioned Victor.

  Zeke doesn’t listen, just keys out messages on his phone. “Yep. Yep. Now he’s asking about you. Yep.”

  “Don’t tell him that, that…” I’m not even sure where I’m going with this, but my expression must be one for the comic books, because I’ve got Keyon’s attention again and he’s biting down on a snort.

  “That you’re here with us alone? And that the entire restaurant is chockfull of fighters on the prowl?”

  Ugh, Zeke is having so much fun.

  “Ah okay,” he murmurs to himself. “Yeah, he wasn’t going out tonight, he says. I guess he changed his mind? Oh right. He’s on his way. Whoops. Says to keep an eye on you until he’s here.”

  I’m safe behind the bar counter, serving from the tap when Victor barges in. He’s got fire in his eyes and no expression on his face. It doesn’t take him long to locate me even though the place is hopping with every seat occupied and someone getting a birthday shout-out in a window booth.

  His friends wave, amused, but he only offers them a small bob of his head before he weaves through the crowd and leans his elbows on the counter in front of me. With his biceps twitching under the short-sleeved shirt, I can actually hear him blow anger out through his nostrils.

  “Hey, warrior,” I murmur, letting my eyes float up to his. He’s on the verge of losing it, which brings me back in control. He’s so freaking hot like this. “Did you decide to come out and watch the fights?”

  “No. Are you all right? Any assholes giving you trouble? Like those ones, for example?” He jerks his head in the direction of the ACW pack. “I swear to God…” He trails off, rubbing his eyes.

  “Hey, Victor!” Cass chirps in passing. “Can I get you something? Helena’s just on the beer tap—unless that’s your thing tonight?” she adds, knowing Victor isn’t a drinker.

  “No, thanks,” he clips. My heart jumps happily at his tone. Clearly he doesn’t want Cass’ interruption.

  “All righty then,” she says.

  Victor makes me feel like I’m the only one in the room. Most of the time, he also makes me feel like he regrets that I’m there.

  “You’re smiling.” Those perfectly perfect brows of his sink.

  “Maybe,” I say. “Had a good week?”

  He lifts his shoulders and leaves them high for a moment. “Working out, mainly.”

  “So good then?”

  “Yeah, good.”

  “Eating too, right? Maybe sleeping?” Apparently that’s the wrong question, because now he crosses his arms and leans on the counter as he stares at me.

  “I’ll have a club soda and lime. Or mint leaves if you have them.”

  “Ice?”

  “I’ll get if for you,” Allyn says, ponytail dancing as she passes us. “You’ve got to get me four drafts for table 5C, Helena.”

  Did Victor just growl? He relaxes again when Allyn simply puts his soda in front of me and tells me where to find fresh mint leaves. Ice and water with mint leaves. God, he’s adorable.

  We’re surrounded by LCD screens blasting the same image over our customers. A few rowdy newcomers lift their fists in the air, cheering as someone gets in a good punch. Oh yes, tonight we’re all MMA.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” one of them yells from behind Victor. “You got a cocktail menu to spare?”

  “They’re next to the spice rack.” I jut my chin toward the stack leaning against a ketchup bottle.

  “No-no, I wanted it from you, beautiful,” he brays. “And then I’ll choose something, and I want you to make it for me, probably something with champagne in it, and I’ll have you shake it before you open it and whoops, wouldn’t it spill all over that white top and make your pretty titties—”

  Victor’s grip is around the guy’s neck so fast I don’t even see him move.

  “The fuck?” the guy croaks. He might look beefy, but from his reaction, he’s not a fighter.

  “Watch it,” Victor growls. “You don’t mess with Helena. You’re going to treat her like she’s your sister, understood?”

  “His sister isn’t drool-worthy,” his buddy laughs behind him.

  “What did you say?” Victor launches a stare-down that would intimidate even in the cage.

  “Nothing, man. Sorry. Is she your girl?”

  There’s a short pause before Victor says, “If I catch either of you as much as looking at her again, I’ll be beating you within inches of your lives.”

  “Victor,” I say. “I can handle them.” I can’t tell him it’s not the first time I’ve dealt with drunk idiots who think they’ve got a free pass to dirty-talk. Most of my customers are polite, but this kind of thing happens almost weekly.

  Victor ignores me. “Now, move on. Find another waitress. Helena won’t be serving you, and you will treat your new waitress with respect. They work here, and their jobs are not what you seem to think.”

  “You’re so worked up, baby,” I say once they leave, having a hard time not smiling.

  He slides a hand over the counter and runs a slow finger over my elbow. “I thought the owner made sure this crap didn’t happen?”

  “Johnny-boy, you mean?” Their former run-in was interesting; my boss chewing Victor out over kissing me. Then not so fun when I got reprimanded for kissing a customer.

  “If you’re in a relationship, sure, boyfriends and husbands can visit you at work,” he’d told me. “But there is no PDA in my restaurant. It defeats the purpose.”

  I can’t tell Victor this. He wouldn’t like Johnny-boy’s “purpose,” to create repeat customers through innocent flirting. Me, I’m okay with that unless the customers become obnoxious. It was just bad luck that it happened tonight and Victor saw it.

  “Yeah, where’s your boss now?”

  I nod toward his office. The door’s open, and he’s staring daggers into Victor. He apologizes his way through the crowd and gives the thumbs-up to a question from one of my colleagues. Then he’s here, next to Victor, and I’m suddenly very busy filling those drafts for Allyn.

  “Helena. Everything okay here?” he asks, pitch gravelly.

  “Yeah, it is now. Victor took care of it. Rowd
y night.”

  “Right.” Neck craned, Johnny-boy meets Victor’s gaze. “You’ve got an eye for trouble. Good job handling that. You two are friends, right?”

  I raise my voice over the sudden explosion from a commercial. “Yes!”

  “You’re a fighter, I assume?” My boss examines Victor’s corded neck and thick forearms.

  “I am, sir,” is Victor’s short but polite answer.

  “Listen, I’m planning more of these nights. It’s lucrative, but it can get wild. At the moment, I’m only offering fight view once a month, but I want to up it to once a week.”

  The alarm in Victor’s eyes is instantaneous, and my urge to laugh is hard to choke.

  I think of all the craziness in my life. Kyria, Gunther Wilhelm, my father, two jobs, school hopefully coming up in fall. The last thing I need is this magnetic, closed, hyper-masculine man in it. I don’t know what to do with him, and the mixed feelings seem to be mutual.

  “Do you need a side job? Fight view will be every Thursday starting next month, and I’ll need a bouncer. Usually, I handle unwanted elements myself, but as you can see, when we’re at max capacity and I’ve got nine girls working, it’s hard to be everywhere at once.”

  Surprise flickers in Victor’s eyes before they go blank, hiding his thoughts.

  “The pay’s decent,” Johnny-boy adds. “I’ll be using most of my girls on these shifts, Helena included, and I don’t mind if you have ulterior motives for sticking around.”

  His little speech makes me recall what Cass told me when I first started working here. Johnny-boy is manipulative and shrewd in business. I wonder how long he stood in that doorway watching Victor interact with my customer and me before he came over.

  “No thanks. My job is in the ring,” Victor says.

  “I see. Think about it though.” Johnny-boy pulls a card out of his breast pocket and hands it to Victor. “If you change your mind and want to give it a try, help the girls on the toughest nights, give me a call.”

  After he leaves, Victor sinks his face into his hands and takes a deep sip of his club soda. “Fuck,” he mutters. I shove my tray to the edge of the bar so Allyn can take the drafts to her table.

  “No chance you’ll tell me you won’t work fight-view Thursdays from now on, right?” Victor asks.

  “Nope, the tips tonight have been awesome.” I smile sweetly. “I’ll be here every time.”

  Victor scrunches his eyes shut, brows drawing together. Then he straightens. Sends me one last look before he heads to the back of the restaurant and knocks on Johnny-boy’s half-open door. I see him walk in. I see him nod. And I know that Hooters just got itself one kickass, damn hot bouncer.

  HELENA

  It got late last night at Hooters. There was plenty to tidy up once we closed, after Alpha Reds’ win in two weight classes. That fight gym, I learned from Marty, is the closest competitor to Alliance Cage Warriors in Tampa, and their invite to Vegas meant an enormous jump in notability.

  The doorbell rings at our apartment. I didn’t even know we had one to be honest—people usually just knock on the door here. I hear Cass shuffle down the hallway.

  “Can I help you?” Her voice cracks when it’s unused. In complete discord with every other human being, she sounds younger than she is in the morning.

  “Who? No, I think you’ve got the wrong apartment. Have you checked downstairs with the landlady? I know there’ve been some changes lately.”

  “Isabella…? Sir, I’d love to help you,” she continues as I bolt out of the bed, grab a pair of shorts, my bra, and the closest top. I wrangle into it, locating my own crazy look in the mirror just as she repeats the name the person outside utters: “Isabella Maria Helena Ludenlowe Von…? Goodness, that is a mouthful. I’m sorry, but we’re four in this apartment, and I’m pretty sure there are no Isabella Marias here,” she says, pitch clearing through the conversation. “Wait, did you say Helena? Who are you?”

  I’m out of my room and stalking to the front door. I hope so hard that I’m wrong. I slide on the socks I for some reason put on—Hooters socks to accommodate our always-white sneakers—and all but screech to a halt a few feet from Cass.

  Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth.

  At my front door in Tampa.

  Crap!

  “Oh there she is. Hi, honey. I’m sorry, my plane landed on the early side. I meant to let you sleep in, but”—he whips a glance at his watch—“I didn’t realize you’d be in bed after nine. Nothing wrong with that, of course,” he adds, lifting one cheek in an insincere smile.

  “What are you doing here?” I say, tongue clicking hard on each consonant. There’s nothing I want less than Gunther Wilhelm in my apartment. I’ve apologized for what I did. I’ve even answered most of his calls. I don’t know what more he could want from me, and I definitely don’t know why he calls me “honey.”

  Cass doesn’t budge. She’s staring at his suit, lots of rusty red fabric that’s too thick for this weather. He even wears a tie. I’m no suit expert, but he’s so wrong in this place.

  We’ve got simple, old wooden floors polished down to their original essence and lacquered. White walls covered in canvases splattered with Angelo’s abstract paint. Tables and couches straight from flea markets. This isn’t the place for investors gone filthy rich, and I’m not the girl they should be looking for.

  “I worked late last night,” I volunteer though it’s none of his business. “How can I help you, Gunther Wilhelm the Fourth? What are you doing in my city?” Yeah, that sounded big, whatever, but every fiber of me screams that I don’t want him here. I wish Victor hadn’t left after kissing me senseless on the doorstep last night. He could have been here right now, tousled in my bed.

  “Well, are you going to invite me in?” Gunther Wilhelm has very blue eyes. He knows how to use them, and now he pleads with them. It doesn’t do much for me though.

  My manners kick in when I least need them. I straighten, tip my head up, and gesture for him to follow me. His eyes move to my chest, which is when I realize I’m wearing my Hooters top.

  He frowns.

  “What is that shirt?”

  “From my workplace. How did you know where to find me?” I bring iced tea out from the fridge and belatedly top it off with ice. He tsks at too much ice, but I don’t care. He’ll get to fix his own drink if he doesn’t stop.

  “Your father mentioned it.”

  “‘Mentioned it?’ That’s an odd way to put it.”

  He smiles a wide, gleaming smile, showing off polished teeth.

  “Well, your dad and I, we talked about the roof. Unfortunately, he doesn’t want a stone roof, so we went with the patching.” He rolls his eyes playfully, maybe trying to seem endearing. “Anyway, he gave me your address.”

  Whoa, thanks, Papa.

  I can’t believe he came all the way here. It irks me to no end. Although I’m the girl who left him at the altar and fled the country.

  Yeah, I’m the bad person here. Really, he’s done nothing but help my family, to the point of shelling out large sums of money for Kyria. The poor guy is in love with me and probably still wants to marry me. The least I can do is be nice to him.

  “Well, Isabella Maria Helena, how about I take you out for a nice breakfast? I’ve heard all about the breakfasts in America,” he lilts out. “I’ll tell you about my business here. Since I was in Florida anyway, I wanted to come by and say hi.”

  The word “business” makes me relax. I don’t have a reason to reject a breakfast invitation, but unconsciously or not, I take him to the coffeehouse across the street from Alliance Cage Warriors. Not sure what that says about me.

  “I wanted to catch up since I’m here anyway,” my former fiancé says, leaning rusty suit sleeves on the breakfast table. “How are you really doing?”

  “Really well, Gunther Wilhelm. I told you I love it here. So what’s your business in Tampa?”

  “Oh investments, you know. Boring stuff.”

  “I’ll
be a Business Management major in a few months, so why don’t you try me with the details?” I ask sharper than I should. Guess I’m more defensive here than on our polite home turf.

  He blows air out through his nose, touching its center with steepled index fingers. “Hmm. It would be a good idea for you to rethink this plan of yours. Kyria is suffering without you. The pond and the flowerbeds. And the children at the village library have no one to read for them.”

  What he says only highlights how insignificant my efforts were. The flowerbeds? Sure, I love them, but the grounds are so extensive there isn’t a way for me to take care of them on my own. All I’ve been doing is to guide the groundskeepers—which we pay of course, another expense for my dying heritage.

  The labyrinth rose garden is my favorite, but I personally only take care of the two bushes that flank its entrance; both Isabella Helena hybrids, bred by a long-time gardener at the castle and unveiled the day I was born.

  “Who takes care of the Isa roses?” I ask, instantly regretting it; for a while now, I’ve had this sensation that Gunther Wilhelm toys with my guilt.

  “Well, the younger gardener. What’s his name?” He’s referring to an apprentice who still hasn’t learned the difference between weeds and actual plants.

  I can’t continue this conversation. Nothing he says will be fruitful, and I’ll just feel worse. I cut it short and say, “Right. So I gotta get going. Have a great business trip. I’ll see you back home in a month or so.” I stand and nod solemnly, how I bid farewell after a night at a ball.

  He stands too, reaching for me with a thin hand. His fingers are cold around mine, and somehow he manages to turn my palm up and tread it with his fingers. Our hands are the same size. His are much softer than mine, and suddenly I find that appalling. Maybe the problem is that Victor’s hand is warm, big, and calloused.

  “Don’t leave yet, Helena. Where is the restaurant you work at? I know about Hooters, and the heiress of Kyria Castle should not be seen in promiscuous establishments like that.”

  “Excuse me? Hooters isn’t a brothel or a gentleman’s club. It’s a freaking restaurant.”