I was still daydreaming about him when the shiny black town car with the Monterran royal crest etched on the doors showed up. I’ve never ridden in a limousine before. Neither had Emma.
A uniformed driver hopped out, tipped his cap, and opened the doors for us like we were royals. I must admit, I harbored a secret longing that Ricco had put on a fancy uniform and returned as our driver. I was more curious than ever about him. I couldn’t wrap my head around what his job was for the Fiorelli family. Oh, well, I’d find out eventually.
For once I wasn’t totally upset over my little sister’s disappearing act. I never would have met Ricco if she hadn’t wandered off. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t have a talk with her. We were in a foreign country and I’d flip out if it happened again.
Did my pulse do somersaults or what till we found her?
So here we are, the Lane Sisters, riding like princesses through this medieval town I swore smelled of fresh-baked gingerbread and cinnamon. I waved to everyone, wondering if they’d think we were somebody from the royal family. It was fun. We were like two kids licking never-ending ice cream cones. Touching the fancy leather seats, guzzling down the cold bottled water, and chatting with the driver who looked like he stepped out of an old Audrey Hepburn film.
By the time we arrived at the hostel, Emma and I were exhausted. We jumped out of the car, eager to get our room and lie down and take our shoes off. But were we in for a surprise.
“I don’t think we’re in Philly anymore,” I said to my sister, staring at the two-story country house with turrets and columns and tall windows. She nodded, just as shocked as I was.
This was no hostel. It was a tiny palace.
We looked at each other and started to climb back into the town car. The driver must have taken us to the wrong place. This couldn’t be the hostel. The square building was covered in a heavy limestone and whitewashed till it glistened. An exquisite garden blooming with flowers. Curious ivy climbing up one wall toward a small tower, making me wonder if a lonely princess lived there, dreaming of a handsome prince.
Or a strong, handsome workman?
Didn’t a workman guess the secret why the dancing princesses wore holes in their slippers? Could his name be Ricco?
“Buon giorno, Signorina Lane,” I heard someone call out to us. I turned to see a man with rounded cheeks and a mustache that wiggled when he talked. “I’m Signor Alfredo Vigo, but everybody calls me Freddie.”
“Buon giorno,” I said, still not believing we were staying here for the week. “This is my sister Emma.” I held my breath a moment, then said, “She doesn’t speak, but she can hear.”
Emma nodded and indicated with sign language that she was happy to meet him.
Signor Freddie’s eyes widened—I couldn’t call him Freddie, it didn’t seem right—and I saw a hint of sadness pass over his face. He regained his smile a moment later without missing a beat.
“Welcome to Monterra, Signorina Emma Lane. You are most welcome here.” He gave her a hug and kissed her on both cheeks, and then ushered us inside the hostel. It pinched my heart to see a big smile light up my sister’s face. She’d had such a hard time since Dad died. She warmed up to the gentleman with the big, happy smile who treated her like a lost daughter. She turned to me and signed, You see, it’s okay? I told you not to worry.
But I did. Worry.
Till I wore holes in my fluffy bedroom slippers each night at home from pacing up and down on the creaky wooden floor. I swear I could hear Dad’s voice telling me to beware, that nothing in life was free. But it wasn’t free, I reminded myself. I’d earned the spot in the festival through years of hard work. I wouldn’t be here if a happy mom hadn’t videoed her daughter’s birthday party at the circus school. She caught my princess act on her cell phone and posted it on the Internet.
A star was born.
Well, kinda.
I’ll never be a star like my mother and travel the country like she did, but for one brief shining moment, I was that little girl’s star and I made her smile. She’d had an accident and was in a wheelchair and told her mom that someday she would get up out of that chair.
And fly like me.
I still tear up thinking about it. I remember that day so clearly in my mind. It was then I knew I had a gift and I had to use it to help kids. I taught my students to focus on learning the basics of aerial arts before trying to do tricks and encouraged them to take ballet classes. It was super rewarding but just once, I wanted to be a star. Fly high.
I closed my eyes and prayed to the angels who fly higher than anyone that if I got my chance, I’d never ask for anything again.
This was that chance.
The driver brought our luggage inside while I chatted with Signor Freddie about our stay here—the important paperwork had been emailed and faxed—what time meals were, and what time the hostel closed its doors at night. When his cell phone rang, he grabbed it with a polite Scusa, signorina.
“Ah, it’s my wife!” He heaved out a big sigh. “With six bambini at home, there’s no end to the problems.” He looked up to the heavens and put his hand over his heart. “And soon there will be seven!”
I couldn’t help but laugh and I assured him we’d be fine while he tended to his family. He dialed a number on the old-fashioned, landline phone on the reception desk and spoke quickly. “Signorina Lane and her sister have arrived . . . si, can you take care of them for me? My Maria needs help with the washing machine again.” He put down the phone and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “Signorina Sloan Harcourt from your wonderful American city of Brooklyn will show you to your rooms.”
I chuckled. From Brooklyn? I liked her already.
He led us into the drawing room to wait, grabbed his Fedora, and then jammed out the front door, babbling on his cell to his Maria. I imagine she was up to her eyeballs in soapsuds by the frantic rush of his words.
I turned my attention to the room with its book-lined walls. I’d never seen so many antiques with clawed feet and plush upholstered cushions. A late afternoon sun seeped in through two tall windows facing the garden. The sunshine splashed into every corner, giving the room warmth and a hint of gold. I was admiring the tall marble and alabaster fireplace and Emma was thumbing through an old book when the double doors burst open and in popped a trio of laughing young women.
“Hey, gang, looks like we’ve got a new girl!” cried a happy-sounding voice with a New York accent.
“Make that two, Sloan,” said a second girl, tall and slender in a black leotard and bouncing up and down on her pointe shoes. She did a pirouette in front of Emma, making her smile and clap her hands.
“Don’t y’all leave me out of this welcoming party,” echoed a pretty strawberry blonde wearing pink sweats and a fancy red apron. Before I could blink, Emma and I were surrounded by three girls taking our bags and hugging us and making us feel welcome. They all talked at once, asking us where we were from, what our specialty was in the festival, did we try the local to-die-for coffee yet, and did we want apricot cream cakes with our tea?
“My sister Emma and I are thrilled to be here,” I said, and Emma nodded. I didn’t explain her lack of speaking, hoping the trio wouldn’t notice. They didn’t. They were so busy busting with news about the festival lineup, how they each got chosen, and had anyone gotten a glimpse of Princess Katerina?
“When we saw the town car with the royal crest pull up in front of the hostel, we almost died,” said Sloan Harcourt, according to her name badge, a cool cucumber blonde. “We thought the princess was paying us a visit!”
“Not that we’re not happy to meet you,” said the ballerina who introduced herself as Katee Fairchild since she wasn’t wearing a badge, “but I nearly sashayed over the balcony, craning my neck to see what was going on.”
“I almost burned my apricot cream cakes, waiting to see y’all,” said Savannah du Pré, blowing flour off her name badge and introducing herself as the best little baker in Georgia.
“I don’t know where to begin,” I said, overwhelmed. “We were late getting here because there was a cow on the tracks, and then Emma got lost in the crowd on the platform.”
I left out the part about the gorgeous man with the magical hands coming to my rescue. My cheeks tinted pink thinking about him holding up my beaded bra. I’d never be able to put it on again without seeing that sexy look in his eyes. I wondered if I’d see him again. I had the feeling if he worked for the royal family, he’d show up at the festival grounds. Every girl in sight, including my new friends, would hog his attention. I was lucky I had him to myself for a little while.
“How’d you ever hitch a ride in the royal town car?” Sloan begged to know.
“A local guide came to our rescue,” I said, making it up as I went along. “He made a phone call, and like magic, poof, we’re here!”
I let go with a weak smile, praying they couldn’t see I was fibbing. The magic part was true.
“You sure it wasn’t Prince Nico you happened to run into?” Katee teased.
“I hear the place is crawling with handsome royals and I aim to find me a good one.” Savannah said, rubbing her hands on her apron like she was warming up for some serious hunting.
“I thought you had a boyfriend back home?” Katee said, sniffing around for gossip.
“I do. His mama and mine went to finishing school together till my granddaddy lost the farm,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s always been expected we’d tie the knot someday under a sweet peach tree, but I want to make my own way.”
“The farm she’s referring to,” Sloan whispered low enough for only me to hear, “produced five thousand acres of peaches and pecans.”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through, but the Georgia girl had spirit.
“If I can get a real prince to give my online baking business a royal seal of approval,” Savannah said, her excitement bubbling over, “it’ll put Sweet Savannah’s Bonbons & Patisserie on the map.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” said Sloan, her mood suddenly turning sad. “A royal romance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Why did I have the feeling she was speaking from experience?
“Signor Freddie said you could show us our room—” I began, then stopped when I heard the most beautiful violin music coming from upstairs. I didn’t finish my sentence. The music grabbed me. A sad, melancholy tune that brought tears to your eyes even if you didn’t feel sad. You couldn’t help but want to give somebody a hug.
“That’s Finley tuning up her fiddle,” Sloan said, forgetting her dark moment.
“You mean violin, Sloan,” Katee said, stretching a long leg over the bannister winding up the stairway to the second, I mean, first floor. Like the countries it bordered, Monterran hotels called the bottom floor the earth floor, and the second floor the first.
Savannah gave Sloan a friendly poke in the ribs. “Miss Finley O’Mara of the San Francisco O’Maras is mighty protective of that fiddle of hers.” She laughed. “You’d think it was a handsome man the way she keeps us away from it. Like we’re going to put our grubby fingerprints all over it.” She held up her hands, caked with flour.
The music stopped and I heard the tap of high heels.
“I’ll have you know my violin is over four hundred years old and is a fine piece of craftsmanship,” came a lilting voice from the stairway. I looked up to see a glam queen swishing her rich dark hair over her shoulder. The setting Monterran sun caught its auburn highlights like rubies on fire.
Oh, my, there was always one snooty apple in the bunch.
“If you’d care to join us, Finley, Afton and her sister Emma have just arrived,” Katee said, standing down and not removing her leg from the bannister, forcing Finley to squeeze past her. Katee didn’t budge. For a girl who looked as delicate as a swan, I had the feeling she was tough as nails.
“I heard Signor Vigo mention you this morning when you didn’t show up. A sister act on the trapeze,” Finley said, looking us over. “How bourgeois.”
Emma lowered her eyes and pushed her hands deep into her pockets. She took several steps back into the shadows to hide. That set me off. I didn’t take to anyone making my sister uncomfortable.
“I’m the aerialist and I fly on the silks.” It was important to me to set this upper crust female straight. I didn’t want anything to take away from this fairy tale week. I was determined to make it the best week of my life. And Emma’s.
“What does your sister do?” Finley said, her voice ice cold. “Hold your hand if you get scared?”
That pissed off Sloan.
“Finley doesn’t mean anything by her dumb remarks, do you, Finley?” Sloan snarled at her. The violinist looked repentant, but she didn’t say anything. Sloan was obviously the peacemaker in the group, but I didn’t need anyone fighting my battles.
“Emma is a gifted designer and an artist in her own right,” I said, snapping open my suitcase. If my hunky Monterran knight could see my costumes in grand disarray, why not my fellow performers? Even a snobby one like Finley.
I pulled out my gold lamé bodysuit and long white satin cape with the high collar.
Katee’s eyes widened. “Awesome!”
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, so elegant,” Sloan said, gliding her fingers over my cape with its jeweled clasp.
“Ooh, I love your designs, all sequins and glitter,” chimed in Savannah.
I smiled, drawing Emma out of the shadows to bask in the glow of their words. I wanted her to be part of this. My sister pushed her long bangs out of her face. She had a nice smile, but didn’t show her teeth.
I gave her a hug. I knew she was pleased by their praise.
The girls took turns prancing around with my long cape draped over their shoulders, while I explained how Emma sewed on each gold spangle. No one but me noticed Finley waltzing back upstairs alone, sneaking a glance backward to see if anyone was watching her. I noted an air of sadness in that walk. I felt it in her music, too. A painful lament.
What was she hiding?
“Hey, gang, look at this gold-beaded bra with the pink fringe!” I heard Sloan cry out, then give out a low whistle. “Ooh la la.”
“I could sure use a fancy beaded bra when I pop out of the big cake for my performance,” Savannah joked, swaying her hips and making us all do a double-take. She quickly added, “Just kidding, y’all.”
Sloan couldn’t help but add, “I bet this little number makes a man’s eyeballs pop.” She twirled the pink fringe with her finger. “Imagine swinging this in his face.”
I smiled.
If she only knew.