Page 30 of Beauty and her Billionaire Beast
Me: They’ll find someone else tofight.
Foster: You’ll kick yourself if you missit.
Me: I’ll befine.
Foster: Yeah. Right. Don’t come crying to me after thefact.
Me: Whatever. I’m out. See you when I seeyou.
Messages like these are a clear reminder that what Isabelle and I have can end before it even starts. I’m not the kind of guy they write fairy tales about. I want her now, but she can’t expect a happy ever after with thisbeast.
Because that’s what Iam.
Abeast.
A fucking animal, brutal, violent, andsadistic.
Later in the afternoon when Isabelle is up at themain house with Pops, that reality hits me again. I watch the two of them as they sit on the balcony outside admiring the view. She has a mug of hot peppermint tea cupped in both hands, sipping from time to time. Coffee is her drink of choice, but she mentioned waking up with an upset stomach, and explained that she might’ve been fighting a flu or cold all week. It’s blazing hot outside, yet she sitsin the sweltering heat, wearing a long sleeved off the shoulder sweater and shorts. It’s sexy as hell. Pops says something to her and she looks over the top of her mug to pay attention to whatever he’s explaining. Then she smiles at him and takes a few more sips before continuing theirconversation.
I don’t know what they’re talking about, but her answer causes Pops to let out a boomingpeal of laughter that makes it inside through the closed French double doors. I love that they can make each other smile, and hope that one day I can be the one that brings laughter to herface.
But I have my doubts that I can be that guy for any period oftime.
I sit inside, letting the cool air of the central air conditioning do its work. I need to keep my cool. As I look out atthem, Isabelle turns and waves for me to go outside to be with them. I smile broadly but shake my head, mock fanning my face so she knows it’s way too hot out there. For meanyway.
My mind is still on Foster’s message about the underground fight I’m going to miss. It’s not been three hours since I texted him saying that I’m going to cancel, and I already want to kickmyself.
Whoam Ikidding?
Fighting is like breathing tome.
I can’t do without the thrill of all that adrenaline flowing through me, the feel of pain that tells me I’m still alive and able to throw another punch, jab, or kick, or the overall uncertainty of living moment to moment because no one who enters the ring knows if they’ll stay alive long enough to get to the closingbell.
That’swho Iam.
Not this mild-mannered, watered down version of myself that Isabelle has seen so far. Although, she knew about the fights back then. She hated knowing that I did underground fighting, and detested seeing me after leaving the ring with a busted face, cuts and bruises all over my body, or having to be seen at a hospital to take care of any internal bleeding, or worse, broken bones.She couldn’t handle knowing that side of me. Since we’ve reconnected, she hasn’t asked me whether or not I still fight, and I haven’t volunteered the information. Sooner or later it’ll come up. She’ll find out and she’ll hate it, and who knows how she’ll react when I let her know that I have no plans to stop fighting forgood.
The same way I won’t put a label on what Isabelle and I are,I hope she won’t put conditions on ourfriendship.
Time willtell.
