Mikalo's Flame by Syndra K. Shaw

stopped, turning to me.
    “It is a thing that is impossible,” he said,
his eyes on mine. “To destroy my heart, to weaken my feeling, this
thing, it cannot be done.
    “You are the woman I love and that is not
because of what someone thinks or someone decides. It is because of
my heart. And I have very little to say about what my heart feels.
I only follow it and it says that you are the woman that I want to
be with for my life. For many, many years.
    “So this Abby or her boy Marcus or, I do not
know, whoever else there may be, they cannot change what we have
because they cannot change my heart.
    “Unless ...”
    He stopped.
    “What?” I asked, my eyes shining with happy
tears. “Unless what?”
    “Unless it is your heart that has the change
and there is a day when you decide that, no, this man, this Mikalo,
he is not for me.”
    “Never,” I said. “Never, never, never, never,
never, Mikalo. Never.
    “I, too, have a heart and I’m listening to it
and I just can’t imagine finding someone or loving someone more
perfect for me than you. It’s just impossible.”
    He drew me into him, wrapping his arms around
me and holding me close.
    “Then the problem with this Abby and Marcus,
it is not a problem for me or for you, I think,” he said, the words
warm against my forehead.
    “It is,” I said, snuggling into the lapel of
his coat, comforted by the masculine scent of his skin and the
expensive feel of the fabric against my skin. “It’s work. It’s my
reputation. My ability to do my best for those who hire me.
    “It affects everything, Mikalo. And that’s
why it’s important to fix it. Somehow.”
    “How?” he asked.
    I shrugged.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “Speak up, correct
the lies, work even harder to prove them wrong. That’s all I can
think of.”
    He pulled away, his eyes watching me.
    “That will not work,” he said. “You will give
more to that than to the work you need to do and then there will be
no energy for anything else.
    “Protecting what you have will be all you do.
And the rest, it will not do so well.
    “Is this a way to live a life, my Grace?” he
then asked. “Is this a way to spend weeks or months or years? Is
this what you want to do?”
    “It’s what I have to do,” I said. “I love my
work --”
    “Ah,” he interrupted. “But do you love where
you work? Must it be a necessary thing to do your work only there
with those horrible people?”
    I stopped, stunned by what he said. Not
because he said it, but because it was an honest, valid, stunningly
simple question.
    Why put up with Abby and her machinations at
all? Why not look for greener pastures elsewhere? Why not just put
the word out, quietly, that I was open to having discussions with
other law firms?
    Why not?
    God knows I was good. God knows I would
easily find work elsewhere. Similar firm, similar reputation,
similar strength and standing. Similar paycheck.
    Why not?
    He watched me.
    “Sometimes it is best to ‘lose’ this thing
than to ‘win’, especially against those who do not speak the
truth,” he said.
    “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Are you giving
up the fight with Silvestro and Caugina?”
    A brief moment as he thought, rolling the
words in his mind, aware he’d set himself a trap he probably
couldn’t get out of.
    “No,” he finally said. “This is a fight for
my father and my mother and what they worked to build. It is not a
fight I can easily escape from. It must be fought and it must be
won.”
    “I agree,” I said. “The fight I’m now
fighting is a lot like yours. A fight for what I’ve worked so hard
to build. The years of school, the debt, paying back all those
student loans, the hours spent doing nothing but work when others
were getting married, having children --”
    “You would like children?” he suddenly
asked.
    “I ... uh ... um ... You know, I don’t, I
don’t really know,” I finally said. “In all honesty, it isn’t
something I’ve really