* * *

I couldn’t help but wonder what I was getting myself into. Couldn’t help but speculate if my sister knew she was being chaperoned by a photography-loving mafia goon, or if Vincent Accardi was lying and Sydney was safe and sound. Couldn’t help but notice how hot Violet was when she was fired up.

A flush to her face, her chin jutted out, her chest heaving with each determined, angry breath. Why didn’t I go home with her after I kissed her under the mistletoe? I could have enjoyed being with Violet in the intimate confines of her apartment, accept her offer for a nightcap, follow that up with a kiss and then, if she asked me—and only if she asked me—fuck her senseless, make her come time and time again until she was spent and falling asleep in my arms. This would make me happier than I’d been in years.

Nice fantasy.

Sadly, this wasn’t going to happen for any number of reasons, the obvious being that Violet was White Glove’s client, therefore my client. The other embarrassing problem which no one knew except me was that I hadn’t been intimate with a woman in years. I’d sworn off sex years ago. Why? That was another story.

Violet caught me staring. Her eyes widened and she glanced away. Problem was, there weren’t that many places to look on a mid-sized luxury jet so she stared at her shoe. “It’s so hot in here. Why is it so hot in here?” She fanned her face, struggled to pull off her coat, but got tangled up with the seatbelt. She unsnapped it in a huff.

“Sit down,” her mother said.

She stood and yanked off her coat. “It’s not safe to stand. It’s not safe to start my own business. It’s not safe to date someone who’s not a Catholic.”

I unsnapped my seatbelt and stood up. “Why don’t I take your coat?”

She thrust it toward me. “Why don’t you just plastic wrap me, Mom? Put me in one of those zip bags, and stick me in the freezer. I’ll have a longer shelf life.”

“So dramatic.” Uncle Vincent rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me.” I signaled the immaculate flight attendant seated at the front of the jet. “Is there someplace we can hang the lady’s coat?”

His face folded in on itself, turning sour like a pickle.

“Risk takers! That’s hot!” Florentina said. “I too was a risk taker back in the day.”

The attendant grabbed the intercom’s handset and pressed it close to his pursed, pale lips. “We’re winging our way through choppy air. Please take your seats and buckle up.”

“Perhaps Violet doesn’t have big news. Maybe it’s just another one of her ridiculous efforts to separate from the family,” Uncle Vincent said. “Be perceived as independent.”

“Excuse me? Violet said. “I am independent. I have my own company. I pay my own bills. I’ve already left the nest. Years ago.”

“And yet the nest’s mother is still waiting for her big news,” her mom said. Her mother clicked open her belt and stood up, squaring off against her daughter like a worthy opponent in the ring.

“I repeat,” the flight attendant said, “the captain has not cleared us to walk about the cabin. Please, take your seats.”

“Born an Accardi. Always an Accardi,” Vincent said, still firmly seated.

“Really?” Violet grabbed my hand, entwined her fingers between mine and squeezed them hard like she was drowning and I was a life preserver.

Finger-to-finger contact, her palm small, but warm in mine. Beat-beat-beat went my heart, my pulse mimicking the rhythm as it reverberated down to my hand. What would happen if I touched Violet Accardi’s hand for a few minutes, or hours? If I caressed her skin for days? If I worshiped her body by kissing, licking, touching, fucking her for days, weeks, God willing—years? Would her magic sink through my skin, melt on my tongue like a communion wafer? Would the blood and body of Violet Accardi grant absolution to my damaged soul?

“Someday, Violet, you will come to the realization that you can’t escape your family,” Vincent said.

I searched her eyes for reciprocity, a sign that we were good, but her gaze was firmly directed at her mom and uncle. It dawned on me that I’d already committed to this ride a few days ago when I told Salvatore the Meatloaf that Violet and I were engaged. Now definitely wasn’t the time for me to back out.

“Someday, Uncle Vincent, you will come to the realization that you don’t own me,” Violet said. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Still waiting on the big news,” her mom said, crossing her arms in front of her.

The plane suddenly dropped.

“Ahh!” Violet’s mother screamed then stumbled.

“Air pocket!” the flight attendant yelled.

Violet fell into my arms where I caught her, cradling her firmly against my chest with one hand while I lifted gripped the jet’s ceiling with the other.

She inhaled sharply, and stared up into my face, her chocolate eyes wide.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yes. Things are going to get rockier, Cuoco. You up for that?”

“Yes.” I pushed an errant lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead back, and tucked it behind her ear.

“Good.” She reached up and kissed me, her lips lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Beat-beat-beat. “Violet?”

“Aiden?”

“You know a few nights ago when you asked me to go back with you to your place the other night?”

“Yes.”

“I was an asshole for saying no.”

“I know, Cuoco. But no one’s perfect.” She swiveled and faced her mom. “Aiden Black asked me to marry him and I said yes.”

“Ahh!” her mom screamed. “You’re engaged? I feel light-headed. I’m going to faint!”

“Sit down, Jeanie.” Uncle Vincent latched onto her wrist and guided her into her seat where she landed with a thud.

“I wasn’t kidding about the safety issue,” the flight attendant said.

“Don’t do it!” Florentina sprung up from her seat on the sofa toward the back of the plane. “Marriage is a patriarchal trap designed to enslave women. That’s why I’ve stayed single all these years.”

“The captain apologizes for the bumpy ride,” the flight attendant said. “Please stay seated and keep your seat belts securely fastened. The flight will be smoothing out and I will be taking drink orders shortly.”

“It’s different these days, Florentina,” Violet said. She pulled away from me. My heart sank.

“It’s only different if there’s a legitimate exception to the rule,” Florentina said.

“What do you mean, a ‘legitimate exception’?” Violet asked.

“You have to tame the patriarchal beast. Subdue the one-eyed monster. You can only do that if you truly love him.”

“What are you talking about, Florentina?” Mrs. Accardi asked.

“Marriage,” she said. “Only then can you can earn a well-deserved marriage of equals. Enjoy home cooked meals, mutual respect, night after night of fabulous sex, day time quickies, weekend noon-ers, switch off on the blow jobs, and live out your happily-ever-after.”

“TMI, Florentina,” Vincent said.

“Sounds good to me.” I stared at Violet and bit back a smile.

The plane jolted, more lightly this time, but she grasped my arm again, tighter this time. Her touch felt warm. Needed. Wanted. Necessary.

“But only if you truly love your fiancé, this man you plan to marry,” Florentina said. “Do you, Violet? Do you truly love Aiden?”

“Um,” Violet gazed up at me and blinked.

“Do you?” Mom asked. “Because marriage isn’t just the act of falling in love. It’s hard work. It’s shared goals. It’s partnership.”

“Do you love him?” Uncle Vincent asked.

I couldn’t help myself. “Do you, Grande Formaggio?”