Dear Reader,

Welcome to the fourth and FINAL installment of the Violet Femmes round-robin story, Castle of Dreams.

First, I have to say how much FUN I had writing this. Jaye, Maria, and Michele gave me such great characters to work with and the rest of the story just seemed to write itself. I really only saw one way to wrap this up, but in talking with the other Femmes on Friday it seems everyone had different ideas of how it would all come together. We laughed about time travel (the cape!), the dead brother coming back to life, and someone longed for a secret baby. (That might have been me.)

If you haven’t read the other bits of the story, start there first:

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the finale. I tried to keep it as short as I could.

Joanna

“Quite a showpiece you’ve got there.” Amelia tipped her head towards the necklace. “You’d look right at home wearing that back in Jersey. But I wonder if the owner misses it much.”

Primma Donna, whose real name according to the dossier was Francesca Paladino, tried to look affronted. “Owner? I do not know what you are talking about. This necklace was a gift from Rafaele. He gave it to me while we were naked…in bed.”

Picturing PD and Rafaele together made Amelia want to punch something. But now was not the time. She recalled her training, pushed her emotions away, and schooled her features into a cool mask. “Is that so? Funny, I seem to remember that necklace coming up for auction at Sotheby’s not even three months ago. And the buyer was a Greek tycoon who is actually a U.S. citizen. Demitri Lachonaris. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

Something flashed over Francesca’s face. Something like fear. Amelia almost laughed. Yeah, lady, I know all about your former lover Demitri and how you stole everything your greedy little hands could touch before you disappeared to Italy.

Francesca drew herself up. “I do not know what you are talking about, but I think it is time you pack up your bad hair, cheap shoes, and fake Fendi, and get the hell out of here.”

God, did this woman not know when to quit, or what? Francesca had no idea who she was messing with. Amelia had kicked so much ass in her hand-to-hand combat course that the instructors at Quantico had nicknamed her “The Karate Hottie.” No one puts this bambina in a corner.

Her body went on full alert. “Or?”

“I will make you very, very sorry, puttana.”

“Ladies. Signorinas. Let us—”

Amelia sliced her hand through the air, cutting Rafaele off. She didn’t want to deal with him. Not just yet. “I think you, Francesca, will be the sorry one.” The other woman’s eyes widened a fraction. “Yes, I know all about you as well as the little scheme you’ve been pulling all over Europe. You and Rafaele thought you were so smart—but I’m here to stop you.” She reached behind her, to the small of her back, where her I.D. rested in the waistband of her skirt. With a flourish, she pulled it out and flipped it open. “Ever seen these letters before?” she smirked. “They stand for—”

Francesca spun around and darted into the hallway. Without missing a beat, Amelia broke into a run and gave chase. She sprinted down the long hall and kicked her legs hard—no easy feat in wedge sandals, thankyouverymuch. Just then she remembered her gun was back in her fake Fendi back in the library. Damn.

Francesca’s feet began flying up the staircase. Amelia stayed close—jeez, how many steps were there?—with no choice but to continue climbing. She hiked her skirt up to her waist and hurdled as many steps at a time as she could. Her heart smacked against her ribs but thanks to adrenaline and a double shot of espresso earlier, her body seemed invincible. Flo Jo had nothing on her.

Before the halfway point, Amelia had already gained on Francesca. “Stop! United States federal officer!”

A few more steps and Amelia knew she could catch her. Five more…three…now one. Taking a risk, Amelia propelled herself forward with everything she had. Her hands clutched giant handfuls of one fuscia silk shirt and Francesca tumbled down, tripping on the stairs, until Amelia landed right on top of her.

Panting for breath, Amelia quickly sat up, grabbed Francesca’s hands, and yanked them around her back. With one finger, she released the catch on her funky-looking bracelet, designed to serve as handcuffs in a pinch. Once Francesca’s hands were secured, Amelia leaned down. “Just so you know, these shoes were not cheap.” She tightened the cuffs, satisfied when the other woman gave a gasp.

Rafaele stood at the bottom of the steps, his sharp mahogany eyes focused on Amelia. “This is quite the surprise. I thought your degrees were in design and architecture?”

Really? After everything that had just happened, that’s what he wanted to ask about? She’d just outed the man and his girlfriend as international jewel thieves, for crying out loud. Her jaw clenched. “Yes, but I also have a degree in lying, cheating, grappa-swilling, jewel-thieving boyfriends.”

A slow smile spread over that handsome, tanned face. Her stomach warmed but she straightened her spine. She would not—repeat not—be writing letters to a federal inmate. No matter how gushy he made her feel.

He pulled something out of his back pocket, climbed the stairs to meet her. A billfold, similar to her own badge. He opened it and—wait, what? Her confusion obvious, he stated, “I am with the Guardia di Finanza. I’ve been trying to catch her for months. The diamond necklace, it was the final piece. I planned to take her into custody tomorrow but then you…” He waved a hand toward the stairs.

She gaped at him. Who was this man? They’d been intimate, sure…but had she ever really known him? “What are you, some kind of Italian James Bond?”

“No. He’s…shorter.”

Amelia laughed, then sobered. “All this time, the Feds have been after you and…you’re not a thief?”

“No, nor am I a teacher. I was in New Jersey, undercover, on a case. When it finished, the Guardia ordered me home. I could not tell you the truth, and I hope you will forgive me—especially since you were not exactly truthful with me yourself.”

She sagged, relieved. For months, she’d thought she’d fallen in love with a criminal. But first, she had a job to do. Tilting her head, she spoke in the mic taped to her chest. “Yellow team, I have the perp in custody. Stand down. And turn my damn mic off.” She waited a beat, then looked at Rafaele. “So us? Was that a lie as well?”

“No. I meant what I said.” He dropped down onto the step below her. “Francesca was not my fiancée. It’s only been you, Amelia, since I left. I love you. I want you here by my side. I’ll quit the Guardia and grow grapes, if that’s what you want.” He found her hand, linked their fingers. “Don’t leave me, dolcezza.”

“You two make me sick!” Francesca spat, still face down on the stairs.

“Shut up, or I will shoot you and make it look like an accident!” Amelia turned back to Rafaele. “Even when I thought you were a thief, I loved you. It broke my heart to think of arresting you, but I had no choice. Let me just say, I’ve never been happier to receive bad intelligence.” She gave him a sly glance full of mischief. “You must be very good to have fooled the FBI for so long.”

With a tug on her hand, Rafaele snagged her right up against his broad chest. “Oh, cara, you have no idea.”

Hi! It’s time to wrap up our month of short stories to celebrate Valentine’s Day here on the Femmes. Below is mine, a Regency Valentine. I hope you enjoy it, and don’t forget to comment to be entered for a chance to win a bouquet of flowers with a box of Valentine’s chocolates!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy Robert and Alex.

Joanna

Mr. Robert Giles slapped his riding gloves against his thigh. He glanced at the clock on the mantle and swiftly calculated Wortley’s tardiness at a quarter of an hour.

Almost every morning, the two friends rode together along Rotten Row, long before the tedious precession of ladies and carriages came out. Wortley hadn’t sent over a note to cancel and he was a punctual sort of fellow. So what the devil could be—

The slide of metal from behind the study wall caught Robert’s attention. Before he could discern the cause for such a sound, the bookcase began to swing open, creaking under the strain. He leapt to his feet, bracing himself for whatever may appear. Was this Wortley’s idea of a joke?

A petite brunette stepped out from behind the bookcase, and his shoulders relaxed. He grinned and offered Wortley’s younger sister a polite bow. “Lady Alex.”

“Mr. Giles.”

She strode into the room, seeming very composed for a girl of eighteen in her modest lilac morning dress. He’d known her forever, of course. Alex had been following him and Wortley around since they were lads and she wore pigtails. At some point in the last three years, she’d gone from an awkward, brown-haired imp to a beautiful young woman.

“Quite a clandestine entrance, Alex. I had no idea there was a passage back there. Where does it lead to on the other end, if I might inquire?”

“The kitchens. I assume it was a servants’ passage before the house was rebuilt after the fire. Shall we sit?” She gestured to the chairs facing the desk.

“Well, your brother may come along any minute.” He glanced toward the closed door of the study. “He might interpret this as unseemly. Perhaps we should—”

“Please sit, Robert.”

Resigned, he took a seat and Alex did the same. She carefully arranged her skirts, and it struck him again how grown up she appeared. Her body had lost its willowy boyishness in favor of…breasts. Lovely breasts, small and high and perfect for a man’s hand—not that he’d noticed.

“My brother has been delayed. There’s an issue with his boots, so I suspect he’ll be some time.”

It was the way she said it, the pride in her voice that gave her away. “I know that tone, Alex. What have you done?”

She pressed her lips together in an attempt to keep a straight face but failed. “Nothing serious. But his boots will take some time to clean, I suppose.” Raising her head, she looked him square in the eye. “I needed to speak with you. Alone.”

“Me? Whatever for? Is there something wrong?”

“Did you hear I’ve received two offers of marriage?”

He nodded. “Indeed, I had. Congratulations are in order, I suppose. You’ll choose between a marquess and a wealthy earl. Well done, Alex.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Robert flinched at her tone. He’d heard her angry plenty of times, like the time he and Wortley used all of her dolls as soldiers in a war inside the gardens at Fairbrook Estate. She’d screamed at them and then sulked for two days.

This, however, was something else entirely.

“Stop calling you what? Alex?”

“My name is Alexandra, Robert. Or haven’t you noticed?” She flew out of her chair, so he stood as well, of course, now watching as she paced the floor of the study. Wisps of brown hair slipped out of her coiffure, making her more like the girl he remembered, the one who’d climbed every tree she could find. “Really, Robert. You are not as smart as I credited you for.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand. I’ve called you Alex since you were—”

“A little girl. Yes, I know.” She stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Did you know today is Valentine’s Day?”

No, he hadn’t. What was it but a silly holiday for young girls to imagine themselves in love with—

Oh, no.

No, no, no. His eyes flew to hers. “Alexandra,” he began, carefully.

“You know what they say about Valentine’s Day, don’t you? That the first man you see is the man you’re going to marry.” She walked toward him, slowly, her eyes locked on his. “I stayed in my room, waiting for you to arrive, and then—”

“Alex, wait.” Robert backed away, his hands up as if to ward her off.

“—I took the secret passage straight here. You are the first man I’ve seen today. Well, besides Harold, the footman, but I don’t think he counts.”

His back hit the wall but Alex—no, Alexandra—kept coming. Stalking him, her gait steady and confident as she approached. He had to stop this madness before it got out of hand. “Wait, I—”

“It means you are going to marry me, Robert.”

She stopped barely an arm’s length away. So close he could see that her skin, normally as smooth and creamy as a fresh peach, was slightly flushed. His insides were a strange mixture of dread, amusement, disbelief, and…arousal. Christ. Wortley would kill him.

He swallowed. “Alexandra, this is crazy. You don’t want to marry me. I’m the third son of a viscount, for God’s sake. You can do better than me.”

She tilted her head, faced him calmly almost as if she expected this argument. “I do not care about a title. I never have.” She lifted her hands and placed them square on his chest. Her touch was warm and soft, but had she taken leave of her senses? Disbelief had him trying to get away, only to find himself trapped by the blasted wall.

Then her lids fell and she let out the softest, prettiest sigh he’d ever heard. Small, delicate fingers worked their way up his cravat to the bare skin of his neck…and he forgot all about getting away.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you,” she breathed, darting a quick glance to his mouth. His skin prickled, suddenly alive with need. Need for the one girl he’d been friends with his whole life.

“And I’ve seen you look at me when you think I won’t notice.”

True, but he hadn’t wanted to look at her. She was his best friend’s little sister. He shouldn’t have feelings for her. While he had money, he had no title or lands. Alex deserved better.

Then she rose up on tiptoe, and his mouth went dry. Part of him longed to kiss her, and the other part wanted to run out of the study—because if he kissed her, everything would change. Without a doubt, he wouldn’t be able to let her go.

Holding perfectly still, his heart pounded in his chest as her hands slid to his shoulders, gripping him to pull herself up. She came closer until her lips were a mere whisper from his, her warm breath teasing his skin. “Kiss me, Robert.”

Before he could stop himself, his head dipped, lips pressing against the sweetness of her mouth, nibbling gently to taste her. His hands found her back and brought her into the cradle of his body while he learned the shape of her. She kissed him back, eager and innocent, encouraging him. When her lips parted, he took advantage and found her tongue every bit as hot and urgent as his own. It was so much—more than he’d ever hoped for—but still not enough.

Without releasing her mouth, he spun them around, reversing their positions, to press her into the wall. Barely registering the bite of her fingernails as she clutched him closer, he deepened the kiss. Had he ever wanted a woman with this all-consuming desperation? The smell of her, the taste of her, all so familiar, as if he’d lived it in his dreams a hundred times.

He pulled back and fought for breath. Her eyes, heavy and glazed with passion, had never appeared more beautiful. A smile broke out on his face. He’d made her feel that way, this delightful, feisty girl he’d grown up with. Primitive, male possession swept through him. “You’re mine now, Alexandra. I’ll never let you go.”

She grinned. “Good. And I’ll never—”

The latch on the study door clicked, the heavy wood swinging inward, and they both froze.

“Sorry about that, Rob. I—” Wortley stopped short, quickly taking in the scene before him. Adopting a brittle smile, he propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “I hadn’t thought to get up at dawn tomorrow, Robert, but if you’d care to oblige me—”

“Wait, Evan.” Alexandra took a few steps toward her brother. “Robert has asked me to marry him.” She glanced back. “After a proper courtship, of course.”

He nodded and pulled her to his side. “Indeed, I have.”

Wortley smiled and strode forward to embrace Alexandra. “Then congratulations to you both.” He shifted to shake Robert’s hand. “I wondered when she would finally wear you down, Rob.”

“Really? You knew?”

“Seems you were the only one who didn’t.”

Alexandra pinched her brother’s arm. “Evan, do shut up and give me five minutes alone with my fiancé before you tell Mama.”

“Five minutes, Alex. Fiancé or not, she will have apoplexy if she finds out the two of you were alone in here.”

“Fine. Go, go, go.” She shooed him out the door, closing it behind him. When the latch clicked, she spun around. “Now. What were you saying before we were interrupted?”

Robert reached her in three strides and kissed her, hard and swift. “I believe I promised never to let you go.”

“And you do want to marry me, don’t you? Under the circumstances, I thought it the best way to appease my brother, but I don’t—”

“I do want to marry you.” He rolled the idea around in his head and realized he meant it. Desperately. To spend the rest of his life with her was precisely what he wanted. Tugging her hand, he led her to the sofa. “Come and sit with me, darling, and let me show you exactly how much.”

Hello, readers! Lucky me, I get to post my romantic short story the day before Valentine’s Day!

We at The Violet Femmes really appreciate our readers. To show our love, we are awarding a very special prize this month to one lucky reader – a bouquet of flowers and a box of Valentine chocolates.  To be entered to win, all you have to do is comment on our blog. So please share with us (if you can without blowing a surprise)…what are your plans for Valentine’s Day this year?

And now, here is my personal gift to you…a short story about a second chance at love.

Hugs,

Jaye 

***

Love is a Garlic Knot

“I think he’s going to pop the question!”

“That’s wonderful!” Anna replied, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her reply. She wrapped another skein of Brandi’s hair around the curling iron and rolled it tight.

“Ouch!” Brandi yelped.

“Sorry.” Anna released the curl and rested the iron on the countertop.

Brandi went back into full swing, blabbing on about how her wonderful boyfriend, soon to be fiancé, was taking her out for a really expensive Valentine’s Day dinner. After which he was sure to give her an even more expensive engagement ring. At least two carats. Did she mention, Ricardo was rich?

In the twenty-seven years since Anna had become a hairdresser, she had heard all sorts of things from her clients. Weddings, funerals, babies, who was an alcoholic, who had just gotten out of jail. She was the best kind of therapist. She listened without judgment, kept her mouth shut, and her clients left feeling and looking great. Seriously, she should write a book.

She gave the Brandi/Ricardo relationship two months, tops. Then Brandi would move on to her next rich boyfriend…was it number five, or six? Brandi got bored.

Anna would settle for a “Hi, you look nice today.”  Or even an interested gleam in the eye. Since her divorce ten years ago, and for five years before that, her love life had taken an extended vacation. In fact, at this point, it had probably moved away.

She put the finishing touches on Brandi’s updo, and sent her off to pay. Anna retrieved the broom from the back hallway and started sweeping up the hair on the floor. They were short-staffed today. The trainee had called in sick…she probably had a big date tonight, too. Anna didn’t begrudge her some fun. She had nowhere else to be, anyway, so she might as well stay late. It beat going home alone.

At nearly fifty, her three kids away at college, the walls of Anna’s empty nest were closing in. She missed the constant flow of teenagers that made her home feel alive. The peace and quiet she had reveled in when Alison, her youngest, had gone off to college had grown old rather quickly.

She rested her hands on her chair and examined herself in the mirror. She had tried to keep up her appearance, regular dying covering the gray that had started to invade her chestnut hair. She was blessed with good skin, and she didn’t look her age, despite the crows’ feet and laugh lines. Her eyelids might be beginning to sag, but her hazel eyes were still as striking as ever. She wished she had the guts to go looking for love, but the idea of hanging out at the local divorcé pick-up joint turned her cold. The closest she got to trolling for men was watching “Cougar Town”.

“Anna, can you lock up today?” Meredith, the shop owner, asked. “I’m meeting Bob for dinner.”

Wow. It seemed everyone had someplace to go except her. She suddenly felt tired. “Sure. No problem.”

Meredith peered at her, her brow furrowing. “You okay?”

“Fine. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Shut up.

“Hey, do you want to come out with us?” Meredith offered lamely.

Like being a third wheel was all she dreamed of.  It was nice of Meredith to offer, but she’d take a pass. “No, I’m good. Have a drink for me.”

Who was she kidding? An extra large bottle of Pinot Grigio and her beer mug from Germany were waiting at home in her fridge.

“Have a good night, Anna.”

“You too!” Anna pasted a smile on her face as she shooed Meredith out the door.  “Ta ta!” Anna turned the key in the lock, and drew down the blinds on the front windows of the salon.

Shoulders slumping, she picked up the phone and called Palazzo, the pizzeria three doors down in the strip mall. She placed a pick-up order for a calzone…might as well pile on the cheese to go with her wine…and some garlic knots.

Anna finished sweeping the floor. Then she closed out the register, placing all but the starting money in a deposit bag to drop off at the bank on her way home.   As she went to retrieve her coat from the back closet, there was a knock on the glass door of the shop.

It was Carmine, from the pizza place. A first generation Italian-American, he had taken over when his father retired. He was ten years younger than Anna, handsome and charming, flirtatious without being offensive. His sexy accent, along with the best pie in town, was probably what had a lot of women, including Anna, coming back to Palazzo for more. It also helped that he habitually put a little extra treat in the bag with her order…a zeppole, or some garlic knots. The girls in the salon called him “The Italian Stallion”, like Stallone.

Smiling, he held up a large brown shopping bag with the shop’s logo on it. Anna unlocked the door and let him in, leaving the key in the lock. “You didn’t have to bring it down, C. I was just coming to pick it up.”

“It’s no problem,” Carmine replied. “Besides, I thought you might like some company. Mama’s watching the store. You got a table?”

Somewhat dazed, Anna motioned in the direction of the nail tech’s station. Carmine put the bag on a chair, and pulled out a checked plastic tablecloth.

He carefully laid out the tablecloth, his back to her. He reached into the bag, and drew out two plates, silverware, napkins, and two glasses. Then he took out a bottle of red wine. The smell of seafood, olives, garlic and herbs began to overtake that of peroxide.

 Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!

“R-really, Carmine, I appreciate it, but you…I mean, um…that is…I have to meet someone,” Anna lied, as panic set in.

He smoothed the tablecloth and turned, his espresso eyes warm and kind as they met hers. He came to her, still standing by the door, and took her chin in his hand. His mouth quirked up at the corners.

As his eyes searched hers, Anna’s mouth went dry. She felt herself lean into his hand. Wow. Carmine. Really? It was the stuff of her fantasies, but she hadn’t thought it went both ways.

“Do you really have somewhere to go?” he asked softly. He still wore his white chef’s jacket, and he smelled of pepperoni and Acqua di Gio. This close, she could make out each individual hair of his five o’clock shadow. Her heart picked up speed, and a muscle under her eye began to twitch.

“No,” she admitted, sighing.

“Good,” Carmine said. He reached over and re-locked the door. Then, he laid his lips on her cheek, where it quivered, and pulled back. Anna’s eyelids moved to half-mast. Suddenly, his full lips were on hers, soft, tentative. Her hands, which she had shoved into her pockets to keep from shaking, made their way to his shoulders.

Carmine deepened the kiss, the rasp of his beard at odds with the softness of his mouth. Anna trembled. The kiss was exciting, and Carmine made her feel desirable, in a way she hadn’t felt in far too long. It was like coming home, and she wondered how she had wandered so far.

He broke away, and rested his forehead against hers. His hands drifted up her arms, to take hers and hold them to his chest.  “Anna, bellissima. I am tired of waiting for you,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning back just a little, but maintaining this contact she so craved.

“For twelve years, I have been running my father’s store. I have watched you come in, flirted, tried to get your attention. I couldn’t wait any more.”

He had been waiting? For her? “I had no idea,” Anna said.

“How could you not?” he asked.

“You could have anyone, any young, single, beautiful girl with no baggage. Why would I ever think you would want a middle-aged divorcee?”

“Because you are more beautiful than any young girl I know.”

She wondered if she should be flattered, or take offense at that.

“No, no, that is not what I mean!” he hurried to correct himself. “It’s because, not only are you beautiful, you are kind, sympathetic, unselfish. Like my mama.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Argh!” he groaned, breaking away. “I am making a mess of this. You are so not like mama! I could never think of you as my mama!” He slammed his hand against table top, and the silverware clinked.

“Carmine?”

He turned to her. “Yes?” he asked miserably.

“Could you please just shut up and kiss me again?” Anna asked, smiling.

“Absolutely,” he said, and gathered her to him.

And just like that, the ride of Anna’s life began, the Italian Stallion by her side.