by Jan Moran
“Who is it?” Scarlett asked.
“Must be the sous chef at Bow-Tie. I’ll call him back right away.” Isabel strolled off to the curb to speak in private.
Scarlett sighed. She was glad her mother had found a fulfilling new career, but she dreaded having to hear the name Bow-Tie whenever she spoke to her mother. And Scarlett had named the restaurant. Her heart ached every time she thought of Johnny.
Does Johnny have similar regrets? She wondered if he even thought of her.
She stopped and waited for her mother outside of the border entry office. Closing her eyes, she imagined the sun burning away the tension she carried in her shoulders. She couldn’t wait to arrive at the spa and have a massage.
A few minutes later, Isabel returned. “Let’s go,” she said brightly. She tucked her phone into her purse.
Scarlett followed her into the little border crossing, where they were asked to show their passports and answer questions.
Massage, facial, swim. Scarlett kept thinking about how much she needed to de-stress. Receiving a generous settlement alleviated her financial worries, but it did nothing to ease the pain in her heart.
When they arrived at the sprawling property, they were shown to a charming red brick casita at the base of the mystical Mount Kuchumaa, a rugged mountain that rose behind the property.
“How lovely,” Isabel said, exclaiming over the furnishings. Terra cotta pavers lined the floor, and hand-painted Mexican tiles covered the bathroom counters and walls. Hand-carved furniture filled the living area and two bedrooms. A fireplace stood ready to warm the cool desert evenings.
Scarlett opened the doors to the patio, where lush red bougainvillea flowers brightened the area. She could see a circular meditation maze not far away. Chameleons skittered across sun-warmed stone pavers, and birds sang in fragrant eucalyptus trees above. She sighed. It would be the perfect place to stay with someone she loved—besides her mother.
“They’re having an orientation meeting before lunch,” Isabel said. “Let’s go.”
Her mother tugged her from the patio. Begrudgingly, Scarlett went along. They wound down stone paths to the main area, and joined many of the same newcomers they’d met on the bus.
Without Johnny by her side, Scarlett found she was merely going through the motions. Although the property boasted pools, fitness bungalows, spa facilities, tennis courts, dining rooms, and meditation areas, nothing seemed to excite her as she’d thought it would. Even the flowers seemed duller to her.
They ate in the main dining pavilion, and then Scarlett had a massage, followed by a manicure and pedicure. She had a list of fitness classes she planned to attend tomorrow. Maybe that would reinvigorate her and lift her depression.
Though she knew it wouldn’t.
Her mother had scheduled a massage and planned to attend an author lecture that evening, so Scarlett would be alone with her thoughts tonight.
There were no televisions in the bungalows, the spa director had told them, in order to allow mental space for peaceful reflection during the visit. Scarlett thought miserably that she’d had enough reflection since the opening party to last a lifetime.
As the sun sank in the sky and the evening breeze cooled the warm climate, Scarlett hiked the rosemary-lined path back to the casita. She shivered, pulling her light exercise jacket around her. After everything she had been through, would she ever feel any joy in her life again?
When she opened the door, she noticed the fireplace was crackling with a newly laid fire. “Oh, good,” she said to herself, and hurried to warm her hands, glad the service was excellent here.
However, as she stood there, the back of her neck prickled and she had the unsettled feeling that she was not alone.
And then she heard the patio door slide open. Her heart palpitating, she spun around.
It was Johnny.
“What are you doing here?” She backed away from him, but as she did, she stumbled against a step to the bedrooms, lost her balance, and fell backward.
“Are you okay?” Johnny rushed to kneel by her side.
“No, it’s my ankle. Now look what you’ve done.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t know if they were tears derived from pain or anger—or both—but she hastily brushed them away.
“Can you move it?” He took her ankle and gently rotated it.
“No, that hurts.” She covered her face with her hands. Of all people, why is he here?
“I think you’ve sprained it.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek like he used to do.
“Is there ice in the little refrigerator?”
“I have no idea.” Her ankle was really throbbing now. She didn’t know how she was going to stand up and put any weight on it. What a great way to start a week at the spa, she thought. And it’s his fault. Damn him.
She heard a clattering sound in the kitchen, and flung herself onto the cool tile in exasperation. Why wasn’t life fair?
Johnny hurried from the kitchenette with ice cubes wrapped in a dishtowel. “Here, keep this on your ankle. It will keep it from swelling so much.”
“It’s cold.”
“Sit up.” Johnny shrugged out of his fleece jacket, helped her raise herself from the floor, and placed his jacket over her shoulders. “Better?”
His jacket held the heat of his body, and the fibers retained his unique masculine scent. She looked up at him. His brow was furrowed with concern. Gazing into his dark brown, gold-flecked eyes melted her glacial heart, and she had to look away to protect herself.
“My mother called you.” It didn’t take a law degree for her to figure that out. She’d have to talk with Isabel.
“She’s concerned about you.” Johnny drew a breath. “She thinks you have the story wrong.”
“I doubt that.” She shifted on the floor. “Ow, that’s painful.”
“Don’t try to get up.” Johnny grabbed a blanket and pillows from the bedroom and made a nest on the floor in front of the fireplace. “I’m going to lift you onto this. Put your arms around my neck and I’ll lift you.”
She hesitated, afraid to touch his skin, but at the same time, longing to.
“Come on, chica. Don’t hate me until you know the whole story. Isn’t that what lawyers do? Try to get at the truth?”
“Oh, all right.” Scarlett placed her arms tenuously around his neck. A shiver coursed through her.
Johnny lifted her and moved her to the mound of pillows. He elevated her ankle and reapplied ice.
Scarlett groaned. “I feel like we’re on a Mexican camping trip. But a really luxurious one.” The dancing flames warmed her face and scented the air with the smell of autumn.
Johnny got up and returned with a glass of lime-infused water for her. He gave it to her, and then stretched his muscular frame beside her on the blanket. “Now that I have a captive audience, please listen to me.”
Scarlett pursed her lips. She’d already heard his lies, but she couldn’t exactly run away. “Go ahead. Say what you came to say, and then you can leave.”
“I should have told you that Carla had ordered the furniture for the patio.”
“I don’t care about furniture,” she snapped.
“Scarlett. Listen.” Johnny went on to tell her what had happened.
He sounded remorseful when he admitted that he’d gone to her house, and Scarlett almost fell for his explanation. “Go on.”
“When Carla came to the opening party, I lost my cool with her. She couldn’t understand how much Bow-Tie meant to me, and to Lance. This was our baby. My baby. That’s what I said, and that’s what you heard.”
“You said something about getting rid of it.”
“Returning it. The furniture was nonreturnable.” Johnny smoothed her hair and kissed the top of head. “I love you, Scarlett. That was a stupid mistake on my part. Please don’t throw away our life over this.” He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. “We belong together, mi amor.”
Tears gathered in her eyes
again and she lowered her lids. Everything he said made sense. What an idiot she’d been, jumping to a conclusion. She’d been trained to be better than that in law school. But in matters of the heart, she’d had little experience. Her mother knew the signs, though. She was glad now that Isabel had called Johnny.
Feeling embarrassed by her misconception, Scarlett raised her eyes and saw moisture skimming Johnny’s cheeks.
She laced her hands around his neck, threading her fingers through his thick dark curls, and drew him toward her. She touched her lips to his. The warmth of his mouth spread like wildfire through her.
Afterward, Scarlett ran her finger over her lower lip. “There’s still one thing I need to know, mi cariño. Is this how you knock all women off their feet?”
He grinned and smothered her with kisses. “You know what I’d like, chica?”
“I can just imagine.”
Johnny lifted himself up. “Alrighty then, two hot chocolates coming right up. I brought churros, too.”
Scarlett laughed. “Just like old times.”
-The End-
In memory of my brother Frank,
who was my real life Franco.
RUNWAY
After Fianna Fitzgerald's debut runway show, a walk on the Malibu beach with reclusive Irish rock star Niall Finley nearly claims their lives when they get caught in high tides. From the runways of Los Angeles to Dublin, someone is trying to sabotage her debut season. Can she solve the mystery and leave Ireland with her heart intact?
1
Malibu, California
CAMERA FLASHES EXPLODED on the red carpet just ten feet from Fianna. She blinked against brilliant blue-white auras blurring her vision, straining to see the media’s reaction. Amid the lights and the flicking whir of digital cameras, a slender young actress swirled and posed in Fianna’s platinum evening dress, the silk rippling around her legs. Snap, snap, snap. Spearheaded by a top entertainment attorney and his wife, an A-list talent agent who probably out-earned him, The Pink Ball to benefit The Women in Pink cancer foundation was one of the most well attended charity functions. Snap, snap.
Fianna breathed a sigh of relief. Her evening design shone to perfection now, but an hour ago, she’d been taking in the side seams for the Best Supporting Actress Oscar nominee, who was so nervous she hadn’t eaten much in days and had lost weight.
Fianna leaned toward Penelope. “I’ll never know how Giselle keeps her composure through such intense media scrutiny. But she seems to come alive under pressure.” Fianna hoped she could do the same tonight.
“It’s the adrenaline rush. She’s doing great.” Penelope touched Fianna’s arm in support. “And so are you. Glad you could fill in at the last minute.”
“Thanks again for pitching me.” Fianna watched as Giselle swirled and posed once more, dazzling the media that lined the entrance to the grand tented affair on the grounds of a private estate in Malibu, where the ocean lapped just outside the power couple’s home. They’d bought the house next door for double digit millions and demolished it, just so they’d have privacy and room to entertain.
“We have about two hours…cocktails, introductions, dinner, closing speech, and then we’re on.” Penelope raised a dark, high arched brow, a striking contrast to her spiky pink cut, dyed especially for the event. With her high cheekbones and expressive eyes, she carried it off with aplomb, lending elegance to the avant-garde color. “Nervous?”
Fianna realized she was chewing on a freshly manicured nail. “You know I am.” She shoved her hands into the sleek black knit jumpsuit she’d chosen to wear backstage.
Penelope was an internationally known Danish model who walked the runways of the world’s top fashion designers from New York to Paris, London to Milan. When the fashion designer who had been scheduled for the runway show had been found dead in a hotel room in Las Vegas, his family had cancelled their involvement. Penelope was one of the models cast to walk, so she’d immediately pitched Fianna as a replacement. No other designers could act as quickly as Fianna could, so she’d won the opportunity.
“I still have a lot of staging to do,” Fianna said. Giselle moved on to give an interview to a television reporter, and Fianna could hear her talk about her dress, which the reporter gushed over. So far, so good. Connected to the elaborate main tent was another tented dressing area that had been erected for the models. The whole gilded affair had cost a fortune and looked like something from The Arabian Nights. But it was worth it; millions would be raised tonight for a good cause.
Penelope nodded toward a photographer. “I’ll come with you. I have to get in makeup.”
Mounting a runway show was a costly endeavor, and the fashion media was ruthless. As a relative newcomer to the fashion scene, Fianna hadn’t yet planned a Fashion Week show of her collection. However, several months ago her aunt Davina had asked her to give a show in Dublin, the timing of which coincided with her cousins wedding, so Fianna already had a small collection prepared. Her friends had urged her on, calling it kismet. So she’d swung into action at her tiny Robertson Boulevard shop, which she’d opened with a loan from her aunt.
When they reached the backstage area, Fianna stepped inside. To the outsider, it looked like chaos, but Fianna was in her element. The colorful, gauzy, romantic clothes she’d designed were arranged like a rainbow on racks, shoes and accessories were neatly organized to accompany each outfit, and notes and sketches detailed each look. At a bank of mirrors, makeup artists and hair stylists were working on models, highlighting and contouring, spiking and fluffing. Lanky young women waited their turn, chatting, flipping through Vogue, or swaying to music piped through headphones.
Penelope pulled her shirt off over her head, and then slipped into a thin wrap. She eased her slender, well-toned frame into a director’s chair.
Laughter bubbled from one corner, and Fianna frowned at a man wearing dark smoky sunglasses and high-tech earbuds seated next to a model. His long, dark blond hair was brushed from his forehead, grazing his white linen shirt in the back. He stretched out his lengthy legs and laced his fingers behind his neck. “Who’s that?”
“Must be her boyfriend.”
The backstage area was crowded as it was, and she didn’t need some creepy guy ogling the models as they raced to change. She made her way to them. “Hi, Kaitlin. Sorry, but I have to ask your guest to leave. No backstage passes tonight, this is business.” She pressed her lips together. This young model was a last minute addition after others had dropped out. Fianna had chosen her based on her model card. She made a note to be more careful in the future.
“Oh, sure,” Kaitlin replied. “Niall was just leaving.”
The man removed an earbud from his ear. “Your music is all wrong.”
Fianna glared at him. “What?”
He waved a hand toward the rack of clothing. “It doesn’t fit with your clothes.”
She immediately recognized his trace Irish accent. It smacked of the city. Dublin, she’d bet. “Look Niall, I’m not changing it now. And how do you know about the music I chose?”
“I talked to the sound engineer.”
Growing even more irritated, Fianna folded her arms. “Why would you do that? This is my show.” Finding the right music had taken a long time, and it was far too late to start over.
“Sure, and I figured you’ve worked hard. So your show should be the best it can be.” He held the earbuds to her. “I gave your engineer this music. If you like it, use it.”
The nerve of this guy. “I don’t have time for this. I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t appreciate you going behind my back.” She shot a look at Kaitlin, who was suppressing a smile.
She wouldn’t hire her again.
His lips curved into a grin, further infuriating her. And he still hadn’t removed his sunglasses. Why did people wear sunglasses at night? It was so pretentious. Who did he think he was, Brad Pitt? Or some wanna-be rocker? L.A. was full of those types, and she steered clear of them. All the
y wanted were groupies and invitations to the Playboy mansion. And what was with the ridiculous full-sleeved poet’s shirt he wore?
“Come on, just listen.”
“Get out now.” She pointed toward the exit, her finger wavering with anger.
He shook his head, sliding a lock of hair behind an ear. “You can’t tell me you’re happy with that music. Not until you hear this, anyway.” He unplugged a cord from his phone and tapped the screen.
“That’s it. I’m calling security.” She turned to leave, but a haunting, lilting melody filled the air, and she hesitated, her feet inextricably rooted to the ground.
She lowered her eyelids. At once the music transported her to Ireland; in her mind’s eye she saw rolling emerald hills and smelled the sweet scent of peat logs spiraling from country cottage chimneys. She shuddered as the mesmerizing melody increased in intensity, serenading her Celtic soul. Artistic passion awakened and bloomed within her, and she felt herself sway in rhythm to the melody.
Niall’s deep voice rumbled behind her. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
Her eyes flew open. How arrogant of him. She whirled around, ready to kick him out. But the room had fallen quiet, and others were also transfixed by the magical score. A flash of inspiration soared through her, and she glanced at the designs she’d created. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to stem the tide of anger washing from her. She had every right to be furious, but she’d never heard anything like this before.
“The engineer has this music?”
Niall nodded.
She lifted her chin and flipped her fiery red mane over her shoulder. “Then I’ll have him use it.”
“That’s a grand decision.” Another grin spread across his face. “If you don’t mind, I’ll see to it for you.”
Fianna shrugged her acceptance, though she was inwardly thrilled. The music set the mood she’d envisioned. “Whose work is it?”