When the Gloves Come Off
The Cesar "The Emperor" Sota Story

By Elizabeth and Emmmmannie

"That's it. Put your head down now and stop moving around so much..." I surveyed the glistening, dark body before me, rigid and unrelaxed. How easy is it to scold a grown man?? Especially when all your instincts tell you to go lie down with him!!

You're so tense, Cesar," I said, gently lowering his head down on the massage table. His arms were folded and his deep brown eyes closed, perfect black lashes against the soft skin of his face. Rolling back my sleeves, I placed my hands on his broad shoulders, watching the muscles in his back shift ever so slightly as I did so. Caressing his ravishing body with my eyes, I mumbled, "Let me see if I can't work these kinks out for you…"

So engrossed was I in the feeling of his skin beneath my fingertips that I didn't even give a second thought to what I had said until Cesar turned his head to look me in the eye and flashed me a little grin that caught me completely off-guard. Blushing and shaking my head in amusement that he should find something ordinary to be so funny, I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Okay Chico, my fault."

"Si, tu culpa," he smiled, mimicking in Spanish what I had just said. Then, he asked very sincerely, "Chica, would you please play that song that I love?" Of course, I knew instantly what he meant. Cesar put on that beautiful, pleading expression that he knew I was powerless to resist and I laughed as I reached over to retrieve the overly played tape and honor his request.

Pressing the 'play' button on the tape recorder, I rumpled his thick, dark curls playfully and said, "Now get that head back down, Chico." Cesar willingly obliged and the familiar notes of his favorite song, "Blue Spanish Eyes," filled the room. He began to hum softly, the low, seductive notes causing me to stand in a sort of paralyzed wonder and do nothing but listen for a few moments.

His eyes were closed once again, features suddenly tense and troubled as I began to knead the back of his neck, waiting for the little moan Cesar would give, telling me that he had hit the right spot. I hated seeing him like this, so anguished and worried, and I watched his face intently for some sign that I was helping. My fingers moved over a particularly tight place on his back, and I heard with satisfaction a little sigh escape his lips.

"There we go. Much better, Chico." My hands still tremble every time I do this for him. One would think that over the past year I would have gotten used to touching him like this, but I never had. Each time my skin touched his, a warm tingle passed through my body, and ever time I laid eyes on him it was as if I were seeing him for the first time. Looking down fondly upon the still, silent figure on the massage table I was instantly reminded of a sleeping angel. Calm and serene like this, Cesar's face was the very picture of innocence, though a single glance at his dark, well-toned body could cause all my thoughts to turn carnal.

Moving my skilled hands down his shoulders, I suggested that he take off the pink tee shirt he was wearing. "What is this, like your lucky tee shirt or something?" I asked him, sorry to break the silence but genuinely curious. For as long as I had known Cesar he had always worn this shirt after he had finished each fight, although for whatever reason I had never thought to ask about it until now. "No, don't sit up," I told him. "I can take it off for you."

Cesar lowered his head back down onto the table and began to sing softly under his breath, "Blue Spanish eyes, teardrops are falling from your Spanish eyes…" How I'd grown to love that song, I thought as I closed my eyes and listened, but only the way he sang it…

I pulled the tee shirt over Cesar's head, holding my breath as his body was slowly revealed to me. Buff, muscular chest covered by an abundance of thick, beautiful, hair… As strange as it sounds, I think it took every ounce of self-restraint in me to refrain from taking him in my arms right then and there. Heaven knows I wouldn't have hesitated a moment had Cesar made some sort of advance himself! Of course, he did not.

Tossing the pink tee shirt on the chair beside the table I asked Cesar, choosing my words with care, "You do realize that it's not possible to win every single boxing match that comes along."

"Humph," he said, keeping his yes fixed on the wall in front of him. "I should have won that one, Chica, and you know it, too. It should have been an easy match!!" I could hear the anger rising in his voice.

Trying to be the voice of reason, I replied, "I don't think one loss is going to kill you, Cesar. Your record stands on its own." I slid my hands down his back, massaging every inch of him. For now, this was my way of owning his body…I only prayed that someday he would seek to own mine. I moved down his legs, taking my time, watching his body relax as I moved lower and lower. The way he smelled made me weak with desire. I reached his feet and took the left one first, manipulating each toe, nice and slow. Cesar laughed unexpectedly, nearly kicking me with the foot that I held in my hands. "Be careful!! You know how ticklish I am there!!" He swung his legs around and sat up.

"Feeling better now?" I asked, handing him his towel.

"Much better, thank you," he replied. "What would I do without you? You always know how to touch me to make me feel better, Chica," he sighed, flashing me that wonderfully sincere smile that had kept me enthralled with him for the better part of a year.

This time it was my turn to raise an eyebrow and ask, "Tu culpa, Chico??" He laughed as he started doing those little head turns that I found so cute and endearing.

"Come and sit here," he told me, patting the table beside him. "We have to plan our next strategy. There is no way I feel anywhere near ready for the Las Vegas match." And then, with desperation in his eyes and voice, "Emma, it's only two days away!!" I jumped up and sat next to him.

"Listen," I tried in my most soothing voice. "You're just panicked because of this loss. You're not used to losing, that's all." I tried to keep a straight face but smiled as I watched him still doing those little head rolls, slower now as he was deep in thought. "Maybe you should lay back down and let me work the front of you," I suggested hopefully.

"No, I'm okay, really," he said. Needless to say I was disappointed. "You," he said as he tweaked my nose, "have to come up with in the next few days a more vigorous training routine for me. Sometimes I think you take it too easy on me."

In a flash, I jumped off the table and began pacing, my hands on my hips. "Oh, that's just great. Not this again!!" I glared to let him know that I meant business. "How many times do we have to go over this?! Haven't I proved myself by now?" I realized that I was shaking my fist at him, and looked at the ground, suddenly exasperated and tired.

Softening my tone, I looked at him and said, "Cesar, I was born into this life. I know practically everything there is to know about boxing, and your record shows that I do, doesn't it?" I was pacing around the locker room like a caged animal. Time and time again I had to prove myself! Because I was a girl trainer in a man's world of boxing, I was never taken seriously, and it made me sick… It didn't matter that my sister and I were born in the ring.

TG's Boxing was a family tradition that had been handed down to us due to a wicked twist of fate that had killed our parents and left us the sole heirs to the business. The trainer's gym that our family had devoted their lives to for generations was suddenly and quite unceremoniously left to the two of us.

My sister, Francesca, and I had a terrible time to start out with- managing a business is never an easy as it looks! - but the mere fact that we are women increased our tribulations tenfold. Because we were considered inferior to and by our male counterparts, to even receive half of a chance we had to work twice as hard! Never mind that between the two of us we could quite easily outdo any boxer) or gym full of boxers, for that matter!), and I am proud to say we could each hold our own in a dark alley any day! But of course we had to prove ourselves at every turn, and the last thing I needed now was Cesar joining our disgustingly lengthy list of persecutors! Lord, no, not at this point in our relationship…

I turned to face him, exasperated beyond words. "Listen, you don't want me here?? Fine, just tell me." Determined to stick to my guns and terrified that another moment spent with him might cause me to falter, I bolted out the door, Cesar hot on my heels. Abruptly, he grabbed me by the arm, profusely apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I do want you, of course I do. Emma, you are so much more talented than everyone gives you credit for…including myself. Trust me when I tell you I respect you, Emma, more than you know. I wouldn't have hired you in the first place if I didn't." I lowered my eyes once more, staring at the floor. He took a moment to reach over and tilt my chin to look at him. I didn't want to look into his eyes, to run the risk of my eyes betraying how I truly felt for him. How it had all been building up inside me these past few months! He reached out to me again, but this time just let his hand brush my cheek.

"All I meant was, please don't be so easy on me these next two days, that's all… Now come back in here, Emma."

Only half reluctantly and having already forgiven him in my heart long before, I let myself be led back into the room.

"I can see where you have that fighter's instinct in you," he said as he nudged my shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," I replied as I smiled back at him.

"I have to go and take my shower. Please stay till I finish and we can talk about it some more, okay?" he asked me.

I nodded in agreement, already engaged in scolding myself inwardly for the inexcusable behavior that I had just displayed. When would I ever learn?! I felt so foolish for flying off the handle like that!! There was no way on earth I would actually have left him…I wondered if he knew this. Perhaps it is stupid to let oneself get so emotionally tied up in a man who is not even returning the affection, but of course, none of that had even crossed my mind until I was in the pathetic state at present. I would die if I lost him!!

I followed Cesar back into the dressing room, watching every move he made. "Stay here now, please," he told me. "I will hurry." He was wearing only the smallest of towels as he stepped toward the shower, and with a single backward glance just long enough to smile and see my reaction, he tossed it out to me.

I remember the first time he came into TG's. He walked into the gym with an entire entourage of people, each probably as fascinated with him as I was, I thought to myself now as I heard the water being turned on in the shower a few feet from where I stood. I watched the blurry figure behind the tinted glass for a moment, immediately finding myself wondering why showers really needed doors at all.

But I digress. On the first day that Cesar came into TG's, Francesca and I had the music cranked up at loud as it would go, playing, of course, Blue Spanish Eyes. My sister always said that it was the best music to learn to box by.

I will never forget what he was wearing…that bizarre pink tee shirt, for one thing! I smiled at the memory. The shirt wasn't my first impression of him, though - thank God! - as it was covered by a gray sweatshirt and matching pants. And besides, why on earth would I really be concerned with his clothes when it was his face and body that first caught my attention?!

The entire group walked over to Francesca and demanded the best trainer that we had. Just my luck - that was me. As always, of course, it was totally unacceptable.

"Your best male trainer," they said. Those were fighting words to my sister. Of course, we stood up for each other without hesitation by nature, but any mention of inferiority because of our sex, and you could really expect to get us going. So I too stepped in.

"Okay, who's the fighter here…you?" I said as I walked around Cesar, sizing up my competition. I had fought bigger men than this- and won, too.

"What's with the music?" he asked. "You like it very loud, si?"

"Get into the ring," I told him.

"I'm not fighting any women," he declared.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Afraid of a girl, are you?" I asked as I poked him in the chest.

"Fine then, go," Francesca said, giving him a look that showed she was not prepared to take any more from him. "Emma's the best we have."

As we turned to walk away in a synchronized fashion that I suppose we would have found funny, had our blood not been boiling in anger, Cesar stopped me and said challengingly, "Okay, you are asking for it! Just so you know," he continued. "I have trained in Malaga, Spain, with some of the best trainers there are, young lady. And for further information, I am not afraid of you being a girl. I am afraid of hurting you, that's all."

He knocked into me as he made his way into the ring and began disrobing, dropping his jacket and sweatpants on the floor while I did a few quick warm up stretches a few steps behind him.

"Blue Spanish eyes, prettiest eyes in all of Mexico…" he sang in a loud, clear, strong voice, forever embedding a memory in my mind. It became his song from that moment on…

I think one of the things I remember most about that fateful day when we met were his bright red, satin boxing shorts. I took one look at them on the man who was trying so hard to be "macho" and couldn't help but laugh!

"Francesca, do you see this?" I pointed to my opponent, exchanging a meaningful little glance with my sister that was not at all lost on Cesar. Francesca was already way ahead of me, though, doing a bad job of stifling a laugh, and struggling to compose herself.

"Now what?" he asked, looking down at himself. A faint blush rose and then disappeared in his cheeks.

"It's nothing," I replied in the most earnest tone I could muster under the circumstances. Of course, this only made the situation that much funnier! Covering my mouth to hide my smile, my only thought was how well I was doing not to laugh out loud.

"Let's do this," I said. Assuming a boxer's stereotyped stance, I watched him prance and jump around for a few seconds until my sister hit the bell.

I almost hated to bloody such a beautiful face. Focusing my concentration, I stepped up close to him and clocked him one right on the jaw. Cesar stumbled backwards, a look of shock on his face, and the slightest bit of blood started to trickle down from his nose. I had better take it easy on him; I probably could have knocked him out on the second punch! But I enjoyed toying with these men who didn't think much of women trainers.

He put his glove to his nose and wiped the blood from his face. I let him chase me around the ring for what seemed like forever, nimbly dodging the wild, uncontrolled punches that I managed to consistently stay just a step ahead of. Dancing around him, it was all I could do to keep from laughing. The man looked positively spastic!

Before long, we were both covered in sweat, our shirts clinging to our bodies. Me, I had been in this business far too long to be bothered by a revealingly sweaty shirt, but nonetheless, I felt a certain excitement as I noticed Cesar's eyes moving up and down my body now, thoroughly interested in a typical, male way.

"Are you ready to give up, Chica?" he asked challengingly, still bouncing back and forth, a twinkle in his eye.

This got him another hard punch from me, surprised and just a bit annoyed at such unashamed arrogance. He faltered only momentarily when I hit him, jumping out of my reach again before I had the chance to get in a second blow.

Cesar had plenty of stamina, that's for sure! He also had the look of a fighter in his eyes, something I liked in a man and that particularly became him. I was impressed by the way that he fought as if his life were depending on it. What I didn't know at the time was that other lives were depending on it.

Suddenly, he grabbed me around the waist and pushed me to the floor so hard that it knocked the breath from my lungs.

"Hey!" Francesca yelled from the ringside. "No dirty fighting!"

Cesar raised his eyebrows apologetically and held out his hand to me. I grasped it and pulled myself to my feet, brushing myself off and smiling, "Nice move."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -" he started, but I cut him off.

"No apologies in the ring, Chico."

As we both stood there for a few awkward seconds, seemingly unsure of what to do next, I figured it was time to end it. I'm not sure how much longer we would have lasted, anyway. The two of us were far too much alike, neither one able or willing to admit defeat. Cesar momentarily let his guard down and when I saw my chance, I took it, landing him a punch in the dead center of his face.

He had not been prepared for this last move, and I was able to knock him completely off balance. All I saw were his feet go flying up in the air, and then his body hitting the mat with a dull thud. The match was over.

He hired me as soon as he regained consciousness. That was almost a year ago. In the time that had followed, we became close, sharing countless long hours of conversation which I relished as my feelings toward him grew deeper and less like that of a friend.

I'm not sure there was a single topic in the world that went unaddressed during those dear, confidential talks. Cesar spoke to me about his family that he was supporting back in Malaga, Spain; a family of ten, no less. This immediately won my sympathy, and I assured him that we would do everything possible to get him into top shape and to make him the best fighter that the United States ever knew.

It wasn't hard to fulfill my promise either, because he was a quick learner and always wanted more. Often our training sessions would run late into the night, and I enjoyed every moment of his enthusiasm, humor, and willingness to please. Cesar was constantly improving his ever-expanding skills.

Of course, Cesar had an inevitably huge following of female fans that were impertinent enough to beg him for autographs and sneak into his room at night. Some nights I even took to standing guard outside his hotel room door so he could get the sleep he needed for the next day's competition.

The red satin boxing shorts I so loved quickly became his trademark, and it wasn't long before almost all the women- not just the super-fanatic- would come to his matches wearing similar red shorts. I tried my hardest to make him keep his mind focused and clear in spite of all this, for I knew that letting himself get caught up in the fame and glory could cause both of us to lose our sanity!

Outwardly, this was for his career's sake. Inside, I had to admit that I was intentionally diverting his attention. There were far too many lusting after Cesar…my Cesar… Forget those women. I wanted him for myself.

As Cesar stepped out of the shower, I couldn't help but notice what a work of art his body was. The way his long, wet hair touched just the top of his well-tanned shoulders, and the little droplets of water remained, glistening on his cheeks and eyelashes. Once again I found myself turning my eyes towards the floor in a vain attempt to still my wildly beating heart.

About this time, Francesca burst into the room, bringing with her the usual ambiance of tense emotion. "Well, what happened out there, Cesar?!" she demanded, pacing around the room , arms flailing in her usual, perfervid manner. "It looked as though you had forgotten everything I told you!" She stopped and sighed. "You lost all concentration tonight. Where was your head, Chico?" Tapping her fist on his head in such a way that I would have laughed had Francesca not looked so serious, she seemed to study his face.

Cesar merely stood there, listening ashamedly at what he knew was nothing more than the simple truth. Averting his eyes so that he wouldn't have to meet her gaze and shrugging his shoulders like a young boy who has gotten himself in trouble, Cesar answered meekly, "I don't know," and glanced over in my direction.

I was still focusing my attention on the opposite wall, mindlessly counting shower tiles in hopes of somehow removing myself from the awkward situation at hand. When I looked up his eyes met mine.

"Is there something going on here that I should know about?" Francesca asked, looking back and forth from one of us to the other, her hands on her hips and her foot tapping the way she always did when she would get anxious or annoyed. Knowing of my sister's occasional lack of tact and of Cesar's extreme sensitivity, I prayed it was not the latter.

"What's going on??" she asked again.

A sudden attack of anxiety overtaking me, I felt as if I were suffocating in this room where tension had descended like a giant, menacing cloud. Fighting an odd urge to cry, I mumbled something to the effect of, "I have no idea what you're talking about," and brushed past Cesar and my sister, escaping the room.

Waiting just outside the door, I could feel my heart beating in my chest as I prayed desperately, hoping against hope that Francesca wouldn't tell him what I had told her earlier.

"I just don't understand what's going on here," Francesca told Cesar, her voice gentler now and more concerned. "Chico, you have a match in two days…I don't have any idea what to do to pull you out of this rut you're in…" There was silence for a brief moment or so and then, a new plan in her head to give her conviction, she stated simply, "I want to see you at 3 a.m. tomorrow morning, and we'll see what we can do, okay?"

"Si, si," he agreed quickly, and then his voice dropped to a low whisper, "Francesca, do you think I can win this match on Sunday?"

"Come on, Francesca!" I shouted impatiently from outside.

She turned toward him and said matter-of-factly, "Cesar, if you're willing to push yourself hard…harder than ever before, then you can do this. Emma and I will see to that!"

The drive back to the motel was uncharacteristically quiet for the two of us. One thing we never had a problem doing, Francesca and myself, was talking to each other. When our parents died we were all that was left of our family and that in itself had created a special, inseparable bond between us. Even though I was the older of the two, I felt like she was always bailing me out of trouble.

To be honest, Francesca was actually the one with all the faith in running TG's; she's the one that made it the place it was now. Francesca seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to running things, and she had inherited the dynamic, rather domineering personality that tended to run in our family. Though small in stature, Francesca never had any problems making herself heard, and more interestingly- obeyed. If there was one word to describe my sister, it was spitfire, and I had never in my life known her to keep her mouth shut for as long as she had been quiet now!

Minutes passed. I knew her silence couldn't be good. The air seemed charged electrically as we sat not speaking, each perhaps waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, to my relief, Francesca spoke.

Listen, Emma, I think that until you can figure out what you're going to do about your feelings toward Cesar, you're better off staying out of his training sessions." She stopped a moment, giving me time to process all that I had just heard. Then she continued, more gently. "I hate to say this, but I think he lost tonight because of you." I had been totally unprepared for this.

"What?!" I shouted. "Because of me?!"

"Yes," she touched my shoulder. "Because of you."

I watched as she seemed to fight an inward battle, trying to choose the perfect words to break the knowledge and break my heart. Perhaps she was anxious to get it said and over with and out in the open, and maybe it was simply her typical brusqueness, but at any rate she blurted out the end of her explanation: "You don't see it, how he looks at you when he's in the ring. It's like he wants to win for you, and not for his family anymore."

Francesca paused again, and I wondered dryly just how long she could possibly draw this out.

"If you don't tell him soon, I will. Emma, listen to me, this is ruining him…I know you don't want that."

At that point, all that I knew I didn't want was for Cesar to find out how I felt about him…to know those secret emotions and desires that had consumed my year and altered my life irreparably. I wasn't the same now.

"What if he thinks I'm crazy?" I lamented out loud. "I just don't think I could handle it."

"Well," Francesca sighed. "All I know is that it's affecting everything. You have to come to some sort of a decision."

For a single moment she shed that maddeningly logical way she had been dealing with the situation and let her emotions and her feelings for me as a sister take over.

"Oh, Emma," she said as if she were about to cry. "I hate seeing you so sad."

Francesca pulled over the car and sat thinking, for a moment. She was obviously struggling between what she knew I wanted and what needed to be done. Apparently in the end, the latter side won. I suppose it was what one calls 'tough love'.

"I don't want you near him for two days. Do you understand me? Figure out what it is that you want to do, but I can't have you around him. Listen to me now, if you never do again: I know you love Cesar, and if you love him, you will do what is best for Cesar. You must be strong, Chica." She reached over and hugged me. "He's got so much riding on this match."

I reluctantly agreed to stay away.

3 a.m. Friday morning

"Come on Cesar, rise and shine!" Francesca knocked on his hotel room door a few times, unlocked it, and walked in, taking in the discouraging sight that met her eyes. Cesar was already awake, although his expression and downcast eyes wouldn't have suggested so. He was sitting at a little table beside a window that he was not looking out of, and staring down blankly at a cup of cold coffee that he had not drunk.

The thick, fluffy, white robe that he was wearing stood out in the dimly lit room, and was a stark contrast when compared to his dark, toned body. Cesar reminded Francesca of a statue, for he had not moved a muscle since she entered the room. Seeing their championship boxer so depressed, suddenly all Francesca wanted to do was put her arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

Lights were reflecting off the hotel room wall in an eerie sort of way, making the whole picture and situation seem rather surreal. Through a narrow part in the curtains the blindingly lit Las Vegas casinos made the town resemble a Christmas spectacle.

Cutting through the silence, Francesca asked, "Did you get any sleep at all?"

"No," he replied. "Where's Emma?"

Francesca made no reply but began impatiently tossing his workout gear at him. "She's not coming. Get dressed."

Cesar stood up, his eyes still glazed over. "She's not coming…"

Francesca couldn't tell whether he's meant it as a question or a statement.

"I can't," he said miserably, and then catching himself- "I mean, we can't train without her help. What's wrong with her, anyway?" His face fell. "It's what I said the other day, isn't it? Let me go to her and find out what's going on."

Cesar tried to walk past Francesca, but she held out a hand to stop him. At once, her gesture seemed ridiculously feeble, and as he towered over her, the sudden feeling of his overwhelming masculinity caused Francesca to know intensely for a moment why her sister loved him so.

"Listen," she said. "I think it's best that you don't see Emma for now. Just give her some time. She has some things she needs to sort out, that's all."

"Please tell me what's going on, Francesca", he whispered, touching her arm. The sensation mixed with the sadness in his voice was almost more than she could bear. His eyes were begging her for some kind of answer, but there was nothing that she could tell him. She had promised Emma that she wouldn't.

In her mind, Francesca tried desperately to sort out the hopelessly muddled events and feelings. Was it possible that Cesar did indeed share Emma's feelings? She was so tempted to just ask him and be done with this grim farce, but she had no choice but to remain silent, for her sister's sake and his. He needed this prize money; there were lives literally depending on it. It was very simple: His family couldn't survive without his help. If Cesar didn't win this match, it was back on the plane to Malaga. He had one chance to make it in boxing, or else he needed to go home. So it was for Emma's sake as well as his hat she pressed him.

It wasn't easy to do, but Francesca knew that there was far too much at stake now to let Cesar wallow in his own self pity.

"Get dressed. You have one second or I will do it for you!" she warned, laughing inwardly when she thought of carrying out her threat. Francesca folded her arms across her chest and waited expectantly.

"All right, all right," he said, mumbling something in Spanish, undecipherable to Francesca, as he begrudgingly got dressed.

Francesca looked down at her watch, immediately wondering what her sister was doing. It was probably the first time in years that Emma had not participated in someone's early morning training session. Francesca frowned, thinking of this, and checked Cesar's progress. Pants, shirt, socks... Too deep in thought about her sister, Francesca did not notice Cesar's scowl.

She gazed out the window at the sun that was just beginning to peek out from behind the clouds…

Distressed, Emma stared silently out the window, watching as the sun rose in the sky, her thoughts on her sister. Of course, she loved Francesca more than anything else in the world, but it was still extremely difficult to accept the decision she had made- especially now, when Emma should have been out coaching a workout, and she was missing Cesar more than ever. Burying her face in her hands, Emma let out a long sigh and wondered for a moment how she would be able to go on. "Be strong," she reminded herself. "It's only two days…"

"It's only two days, Cesar!" Francesca thought she would go out of her mind if the man asked about Emma one more time! Already she had repeated the phrase at least ten times, and they had only begun their workout fifteen minutes or so ago.

"You can do it," she urged Cesar on as his running pace slowed a little. "Run like the Chico we know you to be."

With a sigh, Cesar replied sadly, "He is not here, Chica." Muttering under his breath, he added, "And without Emma here, he never will be."

The two jogged on in silence for another mile or so, each knowing well what was going on in the mind of the other without troubling to communicate. Returning to the hotel's gym at the end of their run, Cesar immediately began preparing to train for his boxing match, and Francesca, to supervise him.

Losing herself in the beauty of his muscled body as he stretched, Francesca found her thoughts turning guiltily toward her sister. It was Emma who was suffering now. Cesar was undeniably a beautiful man, but as Francesca reminded herself, she was engaged to be married!! Just thinking about the roles being reversed…if Emma weren't allowing her to see her fiancé, Tony…

This gave Francesca new insight into her sister's situation, reminding her quite painfully how hard it must be for her. Emma must certainly be missing those massages she loved so much, Francesca speculated sadly.

Emma sighed miserably. How she missed the little things about her relationship with Cesar…those early morning runs…the sight of his body after the shower…and oh! Those massages…

10 p.m.

Emma could hear them coming down the hall toward the room, Francesca's small, quick steps and Cesar's heavier, more masculine ones. Emma hurriedly jumped into bed and pulled the covers up over her, pretending she was asleep as Francesca entered the room.

"Yeah right, you're sleeping," her sister said, seeing at once through the ploy.

"How did Cesar do today?" Emma rolled over on her back, folding her arms behind her head.

"Oh, he was fine," Francesca answered, making a dismissive hand gesture as she said it and faking nonchalance. Abruptly changing her tone, though, she burst out, "No, if you must know, it was terrible!! Oh Emma, you should have seen him out there today. He wasn't focused on boxing; his heart wasn't in it. If he goes on this way, he will lose for sure! If he doesn't win this match, do you realize that he goes home?"

"He won't lose, you won't let him," Emma said assuredly.

"Oh, it's that simple, is it? Right." Francesca asked with barely concealed ire. She slumped over in the chair, resting her head in her hands and staring wearily at the ground. "You have too much faith in me, Big Sister."

Emma walked over to her, put her arm around her little sister and asked affectionately, "What would I do without you? When Mom and Dad died, you pulled everything together. I was ready to give up, do you remember? You were the one with all the faith. You believed so much that we could do this together."

Tears began to course down Francesca's face in a sudden onslaught of mixed emotion. Emma pulled her up by her hands, wiping the tears from her face and hugging her protectively.

"You would have made Mom and Dad so proud. I hope you know that. But now it's my turn to have the faith, to help you." Placing her hands on her sister's shoulders and looking into her eyes, she asserted, "Cesar is going to win this competition, Francesca." These confident, heartfelt words were exactly what she needed to hear to get back into her fighting spirit once again.

The mood becoming light almost as quickly as it had turned serious, they suddenly began laughing as they fell back on the bed, listening to Cesar snoring in the room next to theirs.

"I thought he said he never snores," Emma managed between giggles.

"The poor chico didn't get any sleep last night," Francesca explained.

"We had better get some sleep too, you know," Emma advised her sister. Francesca readily agreed, and within minutes they were turning the lights out. Try as they might, though, neither of them could manage to get to sleep- laughter came fast and furious as they listened to Cesar "not snoring,"

A scant three hours later, long before sunup, Cesar and Francesca were both already awake and in the gym, practicing, earlier than the day before. It was the day of the big match. Nerves undeniably frazzled, Cesar's and Francesca's workout had a frantic, hyperactive energy about it, even in spite of the sleep deprivation. Emma, allowed to see him only after the match, couldn't force her mind to stay on a subject for more than a few seconds at a time.

Pacing nervously around the locker room, Cesar punched sporadically at invisible enemies. He was clad in his signature red satin shorts and a gold robe with the letters, TG's, on the back in big, bold letters. His typically wild, black hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail to keep it from falling in his face.

Cesar was never calm before a match, but today he was particularly restless, ill at ease and consequently erratic in his behavior. He and Francesca could hear the deafening noise of the enthusiastic crowd in the stadium, but his unstable, anxious mood remained unchanged as he began to walk up and down the hallway, looking for Emma.

"I can't believe she won't show," he said irritably.

"I told you she wasn't going to," Francesca retorted. "As I said, she left to go back home."

"I don't believe you," Cesar replied. "She wouldn't do that, not now. Not today."

Francesca grabbed him by the shoulders. "Listen, do you hear that? Do you hear the crowd?" She paused for a moment, allowing him to hear the rhythmic chanting of "Cesar! Cesar! Cesar!" coming from the stands.

"You have the backing of the crowd, your following!" Francesca was trying her hardest to get him excited and charged up for his battle, but he remained as unmoved as ever; stoic-like in his unwavering blank expression.

"Si, I hear it…but how can I be ready without Emma here?" These last words, spoken with the sadness of a little boy, pushed her over the edge. Guilt and remorse flooded over Francesca all at once, along with the resignation that having Emma stay away had been a big, big mistake.

"Oh Cesar," she sighed, "This is all my fault. I insisted that Emma not attend the fight today, thinking that maybe you would have a better chance of winning if she weren't there to distract you. If I would have known you would react this way, though, I never would have even considered something like that."

Before the words had left Francesca's mouth, he was all over her, an ardent mixture of emotions pumping in his hot, Spanish blood. He wasn't sure whether to be angry with her that she had done this and kept it so long form him, or merely grateful that his mind now at last had a reason for Emma's disappearance.

"Why would you do that?!" Cesar demanded, looming over Francesca and gripping her shoulders angrily rather harder than he really intended. She stared into his eyes, but was at a loss for words, and remained silent. The two watched each other somewhat warily for a few moments, and then Cesar's expression changed ever so subtly.

"That's why Emma wouldn't come yesterday?" Cesar asked, bewildered. "I thought it was because…" He smacked himself in the forehead with his glove. "I really thought it was because she didn't want to be around me anymore." He started to laugh.

"So, you love her too then?" Francesca asked, trying to hide a smile.

He turned and looked at her.

"This is your five minute call," someone yelled from the other side of the locker room door. "Five minutes!"

"Si Chica, with all my heart I do."

A speaker in the locker room crackled and a booming voice announced: "Boxers, please make your way to the ring."

When the two could first be glimpsed, walking down the long corridor leading out into the stadium, the crowd of ten thousand people rose to their feet, cheering. It was overwhelming for the both of them.

"You're ready for this, Cesar. You can win this, I know that you can!" Francesca insisted in a passionate, last minute pep talk. He seemed to be looking past her, though.

"Are you hearing me, Chico?" She looked up at him indignantly from her full five foot two inches, annoyed and ready to give him a piece of her mind when she saw a slow smile spread across his face, staring over her head. Francesca turned around to see what Cesar saw, and there stood Emma.

Cesar's knees went weak, and the once consuming roar of the crowd was reduced to a dull murmur in his ears. The sight of them was no more than a blur. All he could see was Emma now.

Time seemed to stand still, and there was not another person in existence as she walked toward him, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Each advanced, moving closer and closer to one another, their passion building with each step…

He was slowly untying the strings of his gloves with his teeth, never taking his eyes off the woman ahead of him. Emma gazed longingly at Cesar, seeing the exposed portion of his chest under his loosely tied robe.

She walked with confidence toward him, their eyes locked, each behaving as if hypnotized, caught in the mutual spell they held over each other, living for the moment. Was she dreaming, or was this really going to happen…?

"Please God", she meditated, her lips moving in a wordless, soundless prayer.

Cesar finished with the laces of his gloves and tore them off of his hands, letting them fall to the ground beside him. There was but one, urgent thought in his head: He wanted to feel her skin…to touch her…to kiss her…

As they stood in the middle of the entranceway of the boxing arena their eyes were fixed only on each other.

Cesar reached out his hand to her and pulled Emma closer to him. He could feel her body starting to tremble. With one hand around her waist while his other was holding her left hand. He turned it over and raised it to his lips and began to kiss the inside of her palm, making slow brushing movements with his lips back and forth. Emma's head tipped backwards and she let out a sigh. Cesar then began to work his way up to her wrist, stopping to take little tastes of her with his tongue until he reached the top of her shoulder.

He tipped her head to the side and started to kiss her neck then gently turning her around he lifted her hair and began to kiss the softness of the back of her neck. Cesar was so hungry for her he didn't want to miss one spot on her body. Emma closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth of every kiss. Tears started to fall from her eyes. It was all the passion she had held inside for him finally letting go. Cesar started to sing low in her ear. "Blue Spanish eyes, teardrops are falling from your Spanish eyes." Please, please don't cry. turning her back around so they were face to face. He continued to sing to her. "Prettiest eyes in all of Mexico." Kissing the tears from her face. He leaned his face to her right side and playfully with his teeth tugged at her ear

"True Spanish eyes" More Emma said. more.. A mischievous smile came across his face.

As the roar of crowd came back into focus, Cesar turned and walked toward the arena. Emma watched him as he went knowing no matter how the match turned out they would be together from that moment on...