Seconds, minutes, an eon or two, I’m not sure since I wasn’t counting, Ricco was still kissing me. At first, I was hesitant, expecting a quick peck on the lips like I gave him. Good. Dreamy. Fun. Not full-on, mind blowing, tongue-in-your-mouth kissing. I thought it was more about him seizing the moment to exert his status in the romantic heat department.
Oh, God, no.
He was into it, and this was no fairy tale. He had all the right moves down in perfect order and I loved every one. At first he seemed determined to be tender, teasing me, nipping at my lips, making me strain my shackled neck sideways to lean into his kiss. Then, parting my lips with the tip of his tongue, he devoured my mouth with swirling motions that left me dizzier than him spinning me around in the box. Kissing me deeply, and with a hunger that surprised me, exploring every inch of my mouth with his tongue.
I relaxed my body, which was hard to do in my scrunched up position, and allowed myself to enjoy it. My fear was gone and the only thing I regretted was knowing it had to end. No Happily ever after neon sign blinking over my head, no What are you doing next week? Let’s have coffee. It would end here in Monterra and I wanted to remember every second. I moaned from the pure joy of it, and then parted my lips before I forgot how to breathe.
I sucked in a sharp breath, startling him.
“You okay, bella?” He worked his jaw and I saw real concern for me in his eyes. Nice.
“Why do you call me that?” I asked, curious.
“Because you’re beautiful . . . every inch of you.”
“But you haven’t seen me every inch of me.” A disturbing comment since my costumes weren’t that revealing. I had to make it clear I’d never go farther than a kiss with him. I had no desire to be his next conquest even if I was falling for him. My obligation to my sister came first. “I have no doubt that even with your reputation, you’re a count and a gentleman.”
That amused him. He tapped his fingers on the box, unnerving me, but he never took his eyes off mine.
“I’ve seen the part of you that you try to hide from everyone,” he teased me, tenderly pressing a kiss to my cheek. His breath was hot. I was in utter bliss.
“Seriously?”
“Your soul.”
I didn’t ask him to explain. I was too embarrassed.
I was still reeling from the ache in the pit of my stomach when he delivered magic words in Italian in deep, dramatic tones. I held fast to every word as he made a grand gesture over the split royal boxes with those magnificent hands of his. As if he wove an ancient spell, he lined up the two boxes back together again. Then he untied the straps and removed the boxes, revealing my quivering body still shackled to the table.
Then he did as he promised.
And finished his tale.
“The old man spoke in haunted tones, mesmerizing the boy,” Ricco said, not moving to release me, but I was so into what he was saying, I didn’t care. “He showed him a simple trick, but he emphasized that a true magician would never reveal his most difficult illusions. As he spoke, he made coins appear, bent a spoon, and captivated the boy’s mind with card tricks. Finally, he had the boy secure him in locks and handcuffs and then he escaped before his eyes.”
“Who was he?”
“A famed illusionist who’d traveled the world until a fateful night when a rival for the woman he loved framed him, accusing him of being a spy. He wasn’t, he told the boy, though the lad would never know if it was true. The magician went underground to practice his art. He fell in with thieves and ne’er do wells, but he never gave up magic. And his belief that good can come from it. To prove it, he reached behind the boy’s ear and voilà, he pulled out the stolen watch.”
“Oh!”
“The magician told the boy to go back to school and never come here again or next time he might not be so lucky. But the boy wouldn’t go. He wanted to learn magic. He had a quick mind and clever hands, and he knew he’d found his purpose. A way to make himself rise above the taunts and bullying. He begged the magician to teach him and so he did, emphasizing that a great magician needed not only skill with his hands, but also a passion for creating his illusions that made him bigger than life.”
Ricco paused a beat, giving me a chance to ogle him. He looked magnificently charismatic in that the-man-is-a-god way every girl dreams of, strands of his longish dark hair coming loose from the strap binding it and flying about his face like a tempest.
“The magician made him promise,” he continued, “never, never to reveal the secrets he’d taught him.”
I listened as Ricco finished his story while he unlocked the stocks around my neck, then my ankles. How the boy returned to school and never spoke about what had happened to him.
He helped me up from the table, taking my hand in his, and then he bowed to an imaginary audience. I looked at him, amazed. Then I looked down at my tummy. Every sequin was in place.
Wait, did I . . . I mean, was I really sawed in half?
Then I remembered him whispering in my ear when he began the trick, telling me what to do along with the signal I must give him if something went wrong when we performed the illusion at the festival.
We talked for a long time about magic and my passion for the silks, but no way did I tell him that kiss was the best kiss of my life. I was still wary of Count Ricco the magician, but Ricco the man was awesome.
Someone I wanted to know better.
I’ll never forget how kind he was with the children from the clinic, doing magic tricks for them to raise their spirits, and the story he told me about himself as a young boy and what inspired him. Maybe I was a fool, but I believed him. The deep emotion I saw in his eyes when he spoke about that boy and his struggles became an intimate experience between us that wasn’t physical, but spiritual. It took me to a different level in my feelings for him. I felt his passion for his art.
How well I understood that. That surge in you that makes you climb higher and higher to achieve that feeling when you know the moment is yours. That became part of me, too, but I didn’t tell him that. I was his assistant for this week only. I had my life back in Philly. He had his work here in Monterra.
He went over the trick again, step by step, making sure I understood what to do to create the illusion. He shared with me the secret of sawing me in half and, like the old magician had taught him, he trusted me that I would never reveal it.
I smiled, the sting of his kiss still upon my lips.
And I never would.
* * * * *
I waited until the buzz of Ricco’s Vespa was long gone.
I’d asked him to drop me off at the end of the road. Riding on the back of his motorbike, it felt natural to hold him around the waist and lay my head on his shoulder. It would be nice to feel that burning ache inside me grow into a simmering fire. A yearning I got when I was near him. To let him wrap me up in his arms, snuggle against his hard chest. Kiss him.
But I would never fall for him. He needed an assistant and I fit the bill. Nothing more.
I had to keep telling myself that.
He didn’t kiss me goodbye, but I didn’t expect it. He did run his finger down my cheek and touch my lips, lingering a moment as if deciding what to do. I felt him tense and then exhale with a loud whoosh. Then, with a longing in his eyes that sent me tingling all over again, he jumped back on his motorbike and took off. But not before he smiled at me, making me wish it was tomorrow already. He’d promised to stop by my rehearsal.
The wind blew colder after he left.
Which brings me back to reality. That is, if anything in Monterra resembled reality. Which it doesn’t. The festival opens in the morning with art exhibits, street artists, magic tricks, and food displays. Dancers, singers, and musicians from various countries perform every day, but the magic show starring Count Ricco was the big attraction everyone waited for on the last night. It was Princess Katerina’s idea. She wanted to bring together performers from her native country—five American girls—and costar us with Monterra’s greatest attraction.
Count Ricco.
I’d bet a lifetime supply of sequins she never dreamed one of us would end up as his assistant.
With every woman in the audience wishing they were me.
Even I wished I were me.
Everything looked so glamorous, so dreamlike.
But it was a lot of hard work. Every day my roommates and I worked our butts off perfecting our art. Now more than ever, I needed to wow the crowd. With everything riding on my performance, I didn’t want to slack off. I was filled with new energy. My biggest fear was letting down Princess Katerina. She brought me over here and paid for Emma, though when I dropped a casual hint to Signor Freddie, he looked mystified. As if he knew something, but he wasn’t at liberty to tell me.
I have to admit, I also wanted Ricco to be proud of me. I have no illusions we’ll ever see other again after the festival is over, but it was way important to me to show him my princess routine on the silks.
Then I could go back to being a nobody and be okay with that.
Stuffing my hands in my jeans pocket, I started walking.
I made my way through the woods behind the hostel like a night creature tiptoeing on the soft grass. When I saw the lights in the two-story country house go out downstairs, I headed toward it.
Now I could sneak back inside.
No way was I going to answer the girls’ questions about Ricco. Including Emma. Most likely she was in our room, sewing spangles on my gold lamé bodysuit dripping with beads since several ripped off when it fell out of my suitcase.
I was more worried about how I was going to get out of explaining what I had no intention of explaining. To anyone. Somehow, I didn’t think they would believe me.
Me and a real count as biker buddies.
I walked slowly toward the house. I was careful not to step on the broken tree branches scattered on the ground. I didn’t want to make any noise. I pulled my light sweater tight around me to keep out the chill. I wore jeans over my leotard and flats, but I swore a heavy mist wet my cheeks. I looked up. Dark clouds gathered overhead. Where did they come from? And was that thunder I heard rumbling in the distance?
I prayed Mother Nature was part Monterran and wouldn’t rain on the festival.
When I was nearly at the back gate—Signor Freddie left it open, thank God—I stopped when I saw the French doors at the rear of the house fly open.
I held my breath.
Slam.
Emma ran out, looking over her shoulder and, satisfied no one heard the doors shut with a bang, she jammed into the woods in my direction. I panicked. She’d see me if I didn’t act fast. Instinct told me not to confront her. Not until I knew what she was up to. I was shocked to see a long blue silk scarf edged with sequins and spangles loosely wrapped around her neck. It was a leftover piece of silk she’d played around with before we left, adding a pretty design of glittery objects. I remember she took special care with it, grabbing a mouthful of pins and getting to work. I’d catch her smiling and I assumed she made it for herself. But she never wore it, just looked at it.
Now she glowed like a beauty queen. This was so unlike her. She was always underfoot, fixing seams and cutting off loose threads. Settling into her world of make-believe and content to remain in the background.
Now her cheeks were flushed and she’d discarded her plain gray, long-sleeved smock which had become her uniform. Wearing a simple, dark cotton dress and ballet flats, she moved with the lightness of a hare staking out her share of the woods. Ducking below low-hanging tree branches, she turned her head left then right, looking for something.
Or someone.
A boy? Emma?
She had a boyfriend before she fell silent, but afterward she discouraged him from coming over to the house until he gave up. She left school and didn’t formally graduate, but she was so far ahead, she earned her diploma. I’ve been hoping to get her into college so she can study design, but that will come later. When she’s ready. The one thing I regret is that she missed her prom.
Every girl deserves to go to her prom.
But this new happening was crazy. In one way, I was happy she’d broken free. But my maternal gene kicked in and made me untrusting of anybody she had to sneak out to meet.
I pulled back behind the wide trunk of a tall willow, its graceful branches swaying like palm fronds and giving me a good view of her. Twilight cast a willing shadow on me like a cloak of invisibility as I watched her.
I could see she didn’t have that distant stare in her eyes I’ve seen so often. She stood next to a tall oak tree, waiting. I almost expected to find her initials heart-entwined with a beau’s carved into the trunk. Then she began humming. And did I hear faint whispers, like she was singing? A shiver went down my spine. I’d totally lose it if she spoke a few words—
Hold on. Footsteps. Closer. Closer.
A figure came into view. My jaw dropped. No, it wasn’t a boy. It was a woman. I couldn’t see her face, but the way she held her right hand close to her body seemed familiar. The mist seemed to glimmer around her, giving her an unworldly look. I leaned in closer. Floppy hat with pink and yellow fake flowers. Sunglasses. Plain, navy coat. Rain boots.
Holy fricking fairy tale.
She was no wood spirit. Or gallivanting godmother with a magic wand. She was very human.
It was the woman stalking me.