Chapter Fourteen
Chiara
“That’s it for today’s session.” I thank my students who respectfully thank me back. I smile, body still buzzing from endorphins. The fourteen women who have become regulars have made great progress and I am proud of each one of them.
“Marla, your boxing sessions with Ethan are really paying off, you do throw a mean punch.” I grin at a brunette woman in her mid-forties. She had been shy and reserved when she started, but now there’s no stopping her. She grins back, waving her goodbye. “You’re both great teachers, that’s why.”
“Nonsense.” I laugh, and wave back at her.
I’m still grinning when I dry myself off with my towel as I watch them collect their belongings and file out one after the other.
Our sessions feel less like lessons, and more like a weekly ritual of women coming together to sweat, laugh and reclaim confidence with each punch.
Even though I help with instructions, I wouldn’t call myself an instructor per se, just a fellow woman with some advice about self-defense.
The girls seem to enjoy it, and I love to feel the connection with them and helping them to find their strength within.
It reminds me of the women’s shelter back in Boston where I used to volunteer regularly.
Connecting with women and children gave me a purpose, made me strong.
And now I feel strong and in control of my life.
I start to collect the soft-sticks and shin guards from today’s session to put them back on the racks.
Once everything is stashed away, I give a cursory look around the room, careful to leave it clean and tidy for the next use.
My back is to the door, and there are slow footsteps behind me.
One of the girls probably forgot her bottle.
“Did you forget someth—” I stop dead.
No… It can’t be.
But it is…I instantly know from the shiver of awareness slithering down my spine.
Lucas.
He is standing so close now that I can smell his cologne. Even months later, I’ve never forgotten his scent.
I hear him take another step forward, then his intake of breath.
But before he can speak, I strike, fast as lightning.
I whirl around before he can register the movement and smash my two fists into his solar plexus.
Then, using the momentum of him going down with a low Oomph, I lift my knee in a swift upward motion.
It connects with his jaw with a low thud.
He drops heavily on all fours on the mat, struggling to regain his breathing.
“What the fuck, bella?” He growls low after several seconds, head bowed.
I inhale sharply. That arrogant, conceited jerk.
“Don’t call me that, I’m not one of your girlfriends,” I snap. “Now get up so I can beat you to a pulp.”
After several seconds of collecting himself, he stands slowly, ever so slowly, unfolding his big frame inch after inch. I slide my right leg behind me and raise my fists, taking on a defensive stance, bracing for his retaliation.
He lifts his face at last and our eyes collide, his gaze dark and arrogant.
I notice with smug satisfaction that his lower lip is split, and blood is dripping out of the wound.
His gaze rakes over me, hot and hungry, and suddenly I feel too exposed in my tank top and the yoga shorts I favor for a workout.
I clench my teeth, waiting for him to strike.
He might also just shoot me, and it’ll be game over, my mind rants in panic.
But he does neither. Instead, a slow unhinged smile spreads over his face as he wipes away the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand.
“Chiara…” His deep voice rumbles. “You look… Wow.”
I frown. Have I hit his head too hard?
“Chiara does not exist anymore,” I snap. “You can return home and tell everyone that she’s dead.”
A dark chuckle rises from his chest, and he still has that crazed smile on his lips. He remains silent, his gaze boring into me, hot and intense. Then he nods slowly.
“Well noted.” His eyes flash with something that looks like madness. “Whoever you are, you’ll be seeing me around. A lot.”
And with that threat, he turns to leave. Before I can fully realize what he meant, he is gone, leaving me shocked and confused.
The event has thrown me off balance, and my mind keeps replaying the encounter with Lucas over and over again as I sit with my legs drawn up on the sofa of my two-bedroom rental.
I’m not really renting it—Edna lets me stay as part payment for me working at her café downstairs.
I still make a small income and I have good tips.
Expenses are minimal in this small town, so life has been pretty uncomplicated and uneventful. Until today.
I nervously chew on my lower lip, wondering what Lucas showing up means for my future.
How did he find me? Will he drag me back to my old life?
But he can’t force me back there. What does he want from me?
Did Father send him? Why is he even here?
I groan as I bury my face in my arms. My mind is running in circles and I’m going crazy wondering.
He hasn’t changed, physically at least. He still is that handsome bastard with bright blond hair and sky-blue eyes.
His clean-shaven jaw is as sharp as ever, his lips as sinfully inviting—nope Chiara, don’t go there!
His impeccably tailored suit stretched over his broad shoulders and hugged his tall frame like a second skin. It irritates me that I noticed.
But that’s the outside. Inside, there’s a darkness in him now.
I can feel it, I see it in his eyes. Gone is the teasing golden boy with the easy grin on his face, and I can’t help but wonder what had happened to him.
Is he sick maybe? My stomach drops at the thought.
No, he wouldn't be here if that were the case, he would be at the private clinic he co-owns with Damiano and Matteo, being taken care of by the best doctors money can buy.
Lily’s words come back to me. ‘He hasn’t been himself lately.’
I see it now. It seems like the man I’ve known has been replaced with his darker twin. This new side of him unsettles me. I push my worry down, deciding to wait and see what he wants. Whatever it is, I won’t let him or anyone dictate my life again. He will simply have to find out.
The next day, I am restless and nervous, jumping every time the bell of the door to the coffee shop chimes, expecting him to walk in. But he doesn’t, and Saturday goes by as usual. After the noon rush, I receive a text from Ethan.
Hey babe, still good for going out after the gym?
I hesitate. Maybe I should cancel, I am in no mood to go for a night out.
Ethan has been taking me out every week, and even though I enjoy the quiet conversations we have over dinner and the tender kisses afterward, the situation begins to take a strain on me.
I feel like I’m leading him on, and maybe I should have pushed for a no-strings attached kind of relationship three months ago.
It’s too late now, and I know I’ll have to draw the line soon before he gets any more attached. Maybe I should tell him tonight.
Sure, see you then.
Coward, my mind screams.
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