Mikala's Passion (Pulse Series Book 2) (39 page)

“The only thing left to take care of would be flowers. What are we going to put on the tables if it’s not going to be flowers?”

“Is it really necessary to have centerpieces, I mean, is it that fucking important?”

From the jaw dropping glare Eden bestowed upon Mikala, you would have thought she had asked her to drown a bag full of kittens instead of trying to get past the subject of floral bullshit for which she had no interest what-so-ever.

“Maybe you would prefer asking your guests to sit on milk crates while eating with plastic cutlery and paper plates seated on their laps?”

Mikala burst into laughter. “Eden, you can be such a drama queen sometimes. There has to be options out there. Let me show you what I’ve been looking at in place of a regular bouquet.”

Mikala scrolled through photos she saved on her phone until she came to the one she wanted to show her.

“I’ve been thinking, and I decided, I want a feather and pearl spray bouquet like this. Since my dress is white, it can be made from swan feathers with white sprays of pearls.”

“That’s amazing, we’ll talk to Marcel he’s one of my designers, he adds all the personal touches at work. This will be right up his alley,” Eden said, sending him a quick text.

“We can’t have bare tables and I’ve googled centerpieces to death. Maybe we’ll have to settle on a few dead twigs in a vase or a goldfish swimming in a bowl.” Eden was trying her hand at humor, it wasn’t working.

“I so give up,” Mikala shrugged with disinterest.

“Let’s punch in unusual centerpieces and see what we get,” Eden said, as she shot her another death stare and fiddled with her phone. “I think I may have an idea, look at these.”

“They’re flowers stupid,” Mikala laughed, as the waitress set a sharing platter in the center of the table. She inhaled the spicy aroma of Indonesian chicken wings, Brie and pesto flatbread, hot spinach & artichoke dip and Asian chicken bites. “Next time we order salad or you’ll be rolling me down the aisle on my wedding day.”

“Take a closer look, they’re cupcakes decorated to look like flowers. It’s the best of both worlds. You get a flower free wedding; I get pretty flowers of sorts on the tables. And your guests can eat them.”

“You win,” Mikala said, as she scanned through picture after picture. “I want this too.” She handed Eden the phone with a picture of a three tiered wedding cake made from cupcakes. All decorated in white icing with pearl candy beads.

“It’s got flowers on top,” Eden teased.

“I have the perfect cake topper, Mason gave it to me,” Mikala announced with pride. “It’s a traditional bride and groom kissing, but she’s got her legs wrapped around his waist, it was either that or the bride giving the groom head, I think he made a wise choice, don’t you?

“I think so,” Eden laughed, then made an appointment with the bakery.

They finished the platter, changed the conversation to honeymoon destinations and googled endlessly to find the perfect place. Not that they had any plans to go anywhere, it wasn’t in the stars, as they put it.

As Eden paid the bill with Chase’s credit card, a strange man approached them. He was an older man dressed in a dark gray suit, wearing a fedora type hat. He tipped the brim of the hat without removing it and asked, “Mikala Santino?”

“That’s me and you are?”

“My name is Granger with the law firm of Heath and Lyle. I’m here to deliver a message.” He slipped his hand into his breast pocket and Mikala swallowed when she envisioned him drawing out a gun and holding it in her face. “You ladies have a good day,” he said, handing her a business size envelope and walking out the door.

“What the hell?” Eden murmured. “Who’s it from?”

“Department of Corrections.”

“I feel compelled to go.”

“Why?” Landon looked to Mikala without hiding his confusion.

“I don’t know I just feel like I have to go, like it’s my chance to finally cleanse my soul of him, maybe then this bitter taste will go away. Maybe I’ll be able to go to sleep at night or go outside alone without being scared to. Just to have one day without Ross Stiles entering my thoughts would be a blessing. If I do this I think it’s going to help me wash my hands of him. I don’t know how else to explain.”

“I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him think he still affects you.” Landon advised.

“The sad part is he still does. I think he always will because I never got closure, not really. I need to ask him why.”

“Didn’t that all get sorted out in court?”

“Not really. My mind wasn’t in the game it’s all pretty much a blur.”

Mikala rubbed her hand over her knuckles, lifting the letter to reread it for the umpteenth time.

Dear Miss Santino,

Against the advice of council I am writing this letter. As you know I will be sentenced in a few days. I saw you in the courtroom, I know you were happy with the outcome and wish me the maximum sentence and I completely understand.

I have one request before I go away. I wish to meet with you. I believe we both have unfinished business, things that need to be said. I mean you no harm. Please allow me this last request.

Ross Stiles

“I’ve made up my mind,” she looked at Landon with trepidation. “I must be out of my fucking head, but I’m going.”

“Let me know when, because you’re sure as hell not going alone.” Landon ordered.

His attempt at being a badass was cute at most. He was her bodyguard/bouncer but he felt more like her best friend, the big cuddly bear that protected her.

“Yes sir.” Mikala rolled her eyes and saluted. “I wasn’t planning on going without you.”

She chewed at the inside of her cheek as she dialed the number to make an appointment. Landon watched her closely as she scribbled the date and time on the back of the letter. When she hung up she looked at Landon, knowing exactly what he would say next.

“No.” she said.

“No what?”

“I’ll tell Mason after the meeting, he’ll only worry for nothing.”

“The fact that he’ll worry is why you should tell him.” Landon warned and she knew he was right.

Mikala placed her hand on his forearm. “I have to do this, if Mason knows he’ll stop me. I can’t let that happen. I’m not asking you to lie, I’d never do that. Just keep it a secret until after the meeting. I promise I’ll tell him everything. Please?”

Landon grinded his teeth and shook his head. “Wish I could tell you no.”

***

Several days later, Mikala stood on the bottom step staring up at the Nashua Street Jail. To say she felt intimidated would have been an understatement of gargantuan proportions. In fact she was quaking in her boots quite literally.

“Do I look alright?” she asked Landon.

“Sure if you’re going to church or a PTA meeting, kidding, you look very nice.”

“Very nice, those are words every woman wants to hear.” She fussed with her t-shirt, tugging at the hem. “As long as nothings showing I’m past caring.”

She had been informed of the strict dress code, and followed it to the letter. No skin, no short skirts, no shorts, no baggy anything, no sweats, no hat, scarfs or jackets etcetera, etcetera and no jewelry. So she chose fitted black dress pants, a plain white t-shirt and tennis shoes she had to borrow from Eden. She slipped her engagement ring off and placed it in Landon’s palm, watching as he tucked it deep into his pocket.

“You don’t have to do this. We can turn around and leave.” Landon put his hand on her shoulder as a reassuring gesture.

“Landon, I’ll be fine, I promise you,” she said, as Landon held open the huge double doors and she stepped inside.

Patted down, made to walk through metal detectors and questioned as if
she
were the criminal, Mikala gave a nervous smile to the burly, miserable looking officer that glared from the photo in her passport, to her face and back again. Once he was satisfied she wasn’t some kind of psycho mass murderer on America’s most wanted list, he showed her to a waiting area. A dozen or so other visitors sat silently fiddling with the visitor pass they were given to gain access to the inmates lounge. Some looked to her as if they were on the wrong side of the doors, making Mikala edgy as hell. She flinched when her name was called over the loud speaker in the corner of the room. All eyes homed in on her the minute she stood.

A large steel door opened into the room and a female guard waved her past. She was relieved of her pass and patted down again, then taken to a room that resembled a café with small tables and two seats at each, bolted to the floor. Told to take a seat, she sat as close to the door as possible, for a quick escape, she tittered at how illogical her thoughts were, since the doors had a magnetic locking system that couldn’t be opened from inside.

Once the visitors for the set time period were all seated a guard shouted, “Keep your hands on your side of the line at all times, you have one hour.” Mikala looked at a yellow line painted across the table, then a bell rang and the inmates came into the room. All dressed in orange jump suits like something from a crime drama, she watched as one by one they sat with friends and loved ones and hurried conversations started. One hour seemed like a short time if you wanted to visit, but for Mikala one hour felt like far too long to spend with a man she detested so vehemently.

When Ross Stiles spotted her, he raised his cuffed hands to wave as a guard escorted him to the table. “Stiles, you have twenty minutes.” He stepped back without taking the cuffs off and not far enough away for privacy. Not that she wanted to be alone with the man.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, when Mikala made no attempt to speak. “You look nice.”

He sounded different. It was disturbing to expect the severe, dictating tone that spewed from his mouth so easily, only to be greeted by the even-tempered voice of a person seeking exoneration. A prickle of anxiety raced up her spine and her scalp tingled causing her to visibly shiver. She wrapped her arms across her belly and breathed in a deep cleansing breath.

Big girl panties, she recited again and again in her head, until she grasped hold of the ounce of courage she needed to get through the twenty minutes.

“Can we get on with this, Mr. Stiles?” Mikala swallowed back a huge lump in her throat. It was bizarre that her trepidation from earlier had been replaced with annoyance as he attempted to play nice so she could get this over with. “I don’t have all day, say what you have to say.”

The clunk of the hand cuffs on the metal table made her flinch. She stared at his interwoven fingers and noted bruises on his knuckles and dirt under his unkempt nails. Her mind wandered to thoughts of making an appointment for a manicure, such crazy things to think about at a time like this, she thought.

“Miss Santino, please bear with me, I have so much to say and so little time to say it.”

“Then say it,” she snapped.

“I understand your anger, I do. I did terrible things to you, things I myself have trouble comprehending.” Ross lifted his hand to his face rubbing his jaw, the chain on the cuffs rattled and he lowered his hands to his lap.

Mikala sat glowering, too numb to notice a single tear run down his cheek.

“I can’t take it back, what I’ve done to you, but I’d be willing to if I could. You are my only regret through all of this. You are the innocent victim of a raging beast that knew no other way to deal with the pain of a severely broken heart.” His eyes meet Mikala’s stare and he tilted his head as if to study her silence. Little did he realize what was seething behind her eyes.

“I am your
only
regret?” Mikala asked, with a grain of venom injected into each syllable. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have a clue?  Let me fill you in on the amount of people that suffered because of you.”

She leaned into the table’s edge as she spoke. “While you were hell bent on revenge and you thought that you were making
me
pay, it was the people that work for me that paid, their children that paid, the homeless shelter and the charities that I donate money to on a regular basis, they all paid. You see, what you do to one can hurt so many innocent others.”

He opened his mouth to speak and a single glare from Mikala stopped his progress. “If you’re looking for forgiveness, think again you bastard. What about your wife and her lover, I’d say they paid the highest price of all. I may not be a religious person Mr. Stiles, but I do believe in a higher power and I believe that come the day, you will be punished for the evil things you’ve done. And…” Mikala took a deep breath before standing. “If there is indeed a place that we refer to as hell, may you burn there for all eternity, you sad-ass piece of shit!”

“But Miss Santino,” He attempted to stand but the guard put a quick stop to that idea by placing his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, slamming him into his seat. “I need,”

“Your needs are of no concern to me.” Mikala nodded to the guard taking a step before stopping and turning. “Mr. Stiles, I hope you never sleep another night for the rest of your life and that should your eyes try and give into sleep, that the faces of your wife, her lover and everyone you ever harmed including myself will haunt you. Sweet dreams you son-of-a-bitch.”