I’d have wanted him to do the same for Ma, if our positions had been reversed.
As I walk the final blocks to the station, I say my farewells to the city. The streets that have given me so much, and taken so much in equal measure.
I thought I’d be sadder to be leaving, but every step is taking me toward something wonderful. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones. When I finally look up and see her, my chest swells with joy.
Masie is on the platform, her red velvet cloche hat covering her golden waves, a heavy fur coat draped across her shoulders despite the growing temperatures. I sidle up beside her, blowing in her ear playfully. She smacks me with a gloved hand.
“Benjamin, you scared me silly. What happened to your face?” she asks, cupping my cheek in her hand.
“It’s nothing, just a scratch,” I tease. “Is everyone here?”
She points to where Ma and the twins sit on the nearest bench, Agnes pushing the bag trolley back and forth while Ma struggles to get Thomas into his new suit jacket. “JD and June picked them up an hour ago.”
Aggie releases the trolley and runs to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She’s stronger now, her thin frame finally beginning to fill out.
“I’m gonna miss you, Benny,” she says.
I hug her back, holding her for as long as she will allow before she squirms away. “I’m gonna miss you too, sunshine. But I’ll visit soon.”
“All aboard,” the conductor yells over the billowing puff of smoke being expelled from the train.
“Hurry or we’ll miss it,” June says, scuttling up next to Masie, then taking her in her arms for a quick hug.
“Don’t be a stranger now. I expect to see you after the honeymoon. I mean it,” June demands, reaching out to grab her bag from JD next to her on the platform.
He holds his hand out to me, and we shake. “You take care of my sister, now.”
“I will,” I promise. “And you look after them,” I say, jerking my head toward my family, who is already on their way to my side.
“Absolutely,” he says, picking Thomas off the ground and holding him under one arm like a football.
Ma grabs me, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Benjamin…” she begins, the tears already welling up in her eyes.
I have to cut her off. We don’t have time for an emotional goodbye today. “Ma, it’s only a few months, then we’ll come to Nevada for a visit, I promise. Besides, the dry air will be good for Aggie’s condition.”
She nods. “I’ll miss you,” she says, hugging me once more. I lift the leather satchel I took from the club, all the money I managed to skim during the renovations and the take of the door from opening night. It’s more than enough to get them settled in a nice place and have a few months before Ma even has to think about finding a job. Besides, JD’s going to be taking care of them as if they were his own family. Soon enough, they will be. “Take this,” I demand, and she obeys hesitantly.
“What about you?” she asks.
I glance at Masie, who is saying goodbye to JD, and I bite my bottom lip. “Aw, I’ll be just fine. Don’t you worry about me.”
She kisses my cheek quickly, then calls the little ones to her side.
As they load the train, I give the twins a quick, hard hug and kiss them each on the head.
“I still don’t understand why you aren’t coming with us,” Thomas complains.
Squatting beside him, I rustle his hair. “Because there may be people looking for me, at least for a little while, and if they find me, I want them far, far away from you, to keep you safe. Besides,” I drop my voice to a whisper, “I gotta have some time to convince this dame to let me make an honest woman outta her.”
Masie slaps me playfully. “I heard that.”
The train whistle sounds and we quickly usher them all on, waving as the train begins to roll down the track.
The train leaves in a puff of smoke, the whistle silencing our final farewells. Once they are gone, it’s just us. I take Masie by the hand, kissing her knuckles.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
Her returning smile is bright, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve been ready for this since the day we met, Benjamin.”
With that, I release her and we grab our own bags, flagging down a cab outside the station.
“To Pier Fifteen please,” Masie orders when we slide inside.
I frown. “I thought we were headed north?”
Canada had been our plan, plenty enough open spaces to get lost in, and lots of cold nights to spend beside the fire, tangled up in each other.
Pulling her shoulder forward, she grins. “I have something else in mind, if you’re up for it.”
Reaching into her purse, she pulls out two first-class tickets to Paris and fans herself with them. I whistle.
“You sure we got enough dough for a trip like that?” I ask, taking mental stock of the few bills still tucked in my pocket.
She shrugs, pulling her small suitcase into her lap and popping it open to expose stack after stack of fresh cash. “Consider it my dowry.”
“Why, Masie, are you propositioning me?”
She grins, once more fanning herself with the tickets. “You bet your life I am.”
Six Months Later
The chateau is chilly when I wake, so, leaving Masie beneath the soft blue quilt, I patter to the kitchen and busy myself lighting the stove fire and ferreting out the last of the biscuits we’d picked up from the bakery yesterday.
I’m still gathering food when I hear Masie shuffle down the hall to the small patio. From Paris, we’d traveled to Switzerland, then finally here to Italy. Dutch’s trial has become an international sensation, and news of his conviction and subsequent life sentence had reached even the papers here. Of course, speculation was rampant. Some people report that JD and Masie had been secretly murdered and dumped in the Hudson River by Dutch’s enemies, others claim it was the work of a certain corrupt prosecutor. None, thankfully, had come even close to the truth. Soon, it was as if the three of us, JD, Masie, and me, had never even existed.
Alistair kept good on at least part of his promise. He’d re-opened the club only a few weeks later with a new name and a new crowd of shoe shufflers. The club was famous, after all, something of an instant legend, and people came from all over the world to drink his illegal liquor and dance the night away on its once-bloody floors.
When I finally bring out the tray, Masie is sitting on the edge of the iron balcony, looking down at the sprawling vineyard below.
“Good morning, wife,” I offer as I have every morning since I finally convinced her to exchange vows with me in a tiny church in Bern.
Turning to me, she smiles. “Good morning, husband.”
There’s something about her tone that disquiets me, and I set the tray on the table, rushing to her side. “What is it?” What’s wrong?”
With a deep sigh, she lays her head on my shoulder, and I inhale the sweet scent of her honey hair before kissing the crown of her head.
“June sent me a letter,” she begins, continuing to stare off into the distance.
“Is everything alright?” I ask, unable to hide my concern. June writes weekly, but none of her letters led me to believe anything was amiss. The twins were doing well, healthy and in school. Ma had taken a position as a seamstress working for a dame who made wedding dresses. JD and June were about to open their own club, with the backing of some local friends. Everything seemed blissful.
“Her letter, it was…off.”
“Off how?” I ask.
When she turns back to me, there is worry clouding her grey eyes. “I can’t explain it. I have a terrible feeling, Benjamin. I think…”
She hesitates.
“You think we need to go back?” I ask.
She nods solemnly. I don’t need to tell her that it’s too soon, that there are still people who would do us harm if they found us. Nor do I have to tell her how happy I am here and how reluctant I am to leave, how I d
on’t want to put her in danger once again. I can tell by her expression that she knows all that. And she wants to go anyway.
I set my jaw, grinding my teeth before responding. “Alright. Pack a bag. We’re going home.”
Also by Sherry D. Ficklin
Canary Club Novellas
Gilded Cage
All that Glitters
Nothing Gold
* * *
Stolen Empire Series
Queen of Someday
Queen of Tomorrow
Queen of Always
Stolen Empire Boxed Set
* * *
Geek Girl Mysteries
Playing with Fire
In Too Deep
Digital Horizon
* * *
The Lost Imperials Series
Extracted
Prodigal
Riven
* * *
Dark of Night Series
Chasing Daybreak
Chasing Midnight
* * *
Losing Logan
Haunting Zoe (A Losing Logan Novella)
* * *
Twists in Time (Anthology)
Acknowledgments
This book has been a journey like no other. When I first had the idea to step back into the 20’s almost 3 years ago, I had no idea what I would find. I had no idea how much I would fall in love with the music and the clothes and the wild abandon of the Gatsby era. The story came as they often do, with flashes of story and character voices floating through my head. I didn’t expect to fall so in love with Benny and Masie, with June and JD and Dickey and Vinny—but I did. So I want to take a moment to thank those people who helped me see this vision into reality.
Firstly, I want to thank my agent, Nadia Cornier. She was the first person to hear about my little speakeasy story, and she was the first voice of encouragement. From start to finish, she’s loved it almost as much as I have and I’m so proud of how it evolved and I’m so grateful for her words of wisdom throughout the process.
I want to thank June Stevens and Ethan Gregory. They were my first beta readers and their feedback was, as always, invaluable. June held my hand through every frantic phone call and every random plot hole I hit. Ethan challenged not just my artistic choices, but help me wade through the historical aspects to make it really shine. I’m sure you will find some inaccuracies, and be sure, he pointed them all out to me, but I chose to use some of them anyway. Any errors are mine alone and are probably deliberate.
I’d like to thank Camille Ficklin (The Greater) for convincing me not to kill everyone at the end. If your favorite characters survived the book, it’s entirely because of her. I do love a good tragedy.
Of course, I want to thank my social media team, beginning with my PA Stephanie Carsten. She does all the heavy lifting and makes me look much cooler and more organized than I am. I’d also like to thank my street team, Katie, Christi/Kathy, Sandi, Jodi, Jenny, Anna, Lisa, Cianna, Ann, Jan, Judith, Regan, Layla, Dyan, Sandi, Kristy, Courtney, Elizabeth, Mary, Lisa, Cindy, Audrie, Alexis, Amanda, Holly, Elizabeth, Amina, Jocelyn, Sariaika, Misty, Brittany, Dee, Sneha, Becca, Angela, Janell, Alyssa, Amanda, Serenity, Amber, Liss, Katie, and Kerry. THANK YOU for all you do!
Huge thanks to the team at Crimson Tree Publishing. Working with Marya (the Cover Guru), Courtney, Beckie, Melanie, and the whole team at CTP is an absolute joy. I’ve been around the block, and have yet to find anyone as fun, creative, or kind to work with. I hope to write a hundred more books with you ladies! And Cynthia, you are by far the coolest editor on the planet. Thanks for taking my book to a ten!
Thanks to the amazing staff at Wilde’s Green Hour in Leadville Co. for letting me dress up in my glad rags and come soak up their speakeasy spirit while researching my novel, as well as well as my Leadville Ladies, Laurel and Stephanie, both talented writers in their own right, for being my own personal giggle girls. Hugs! Can’t wait to come see you again!
Of course, I need to thank my family, who are endlessly patient and long suffering. I never would have had the courage or inspiration needed to take this journey without all of you. My original trilogy, Jon, Sidney, and Cami, as well as my bonus edition, Connor—you guys are my whole heart. And to my husband, Jeremy, the inspiration for all the book boyfriends you enjoy, thanks for never complaining and for picking up the slack so I can pursue this crazy dream of mine. I couldn’t ask for a better partner in crime or a better friend. Love you to the stars!
And finally, always, and the most, thank you, dear reader, for picking up this book and taking this journey with me. I hope you close the pages a little happier than when you opened them.
* * *
XOXP
Sherry
About the Author
Sherry is the author of over a dozen novels for teens and young adults including the best selling Stolen Empire series. She can often be found browsing her local bookstore with a large white hot chocolate in one hand and a towering stack of books in the other. That is, unless she's on deadline at which time she, like the Loch Ness monster, is only seen in blurry photographs.
Sherry also writes contemporary romance under the pen name SJ Noble.
Visit THE CANARY CLUB speakeasy where you can kick up your heels, grab some giggle water, and let the roaring twenties dance away all your cares. http://thecanary.club
@authorsherry
sherry.ficklin
www.sherryficklin.com/
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PROLOGUE
And then he does the most dangerous, reckless thing he ever could have done.
He kisses me.
The moment our lips touch, the last fraying strands of my self-control snap and I reach up, clasping my hands behind his neck and pulling him against me. There’s no reason, no judgment—only gentle waves of relief. I’m lost in the ocean of his embrace, drowning in him. I could live a hundred lifetimes inside his kiss, and it would never be enough. One single thought surfaces through the tide of emotions.
“Of the entire universe, I only wanted you,” I whisper the words against his lips, a solemn pledge.
His hands slide up my back and into my hair, working it loose with his fingers until it falls in brown waves across my shoulders. I sigh against his mouth and he responds by pulling away just a bit, laying a kiss on the tip of my nose, my forehead, and beside my eye, before returning to my lips.
“You have ruined me,” he whispers against my mouth, his voice thick with desire.
CHAPTER ONE
The sled is cramped; my legs and back ache in protest as we cut through the deep snow. I pull back the heavy damask curtain covering the small window. Outside the landscape is barren and desolate. Nothing but stark white snow for miles, interrupted by the occasional leafless tree. Though the horses race forward across the plain as fast as they are able, the trek has been long and the snow deep so they snort with exertion. We’d had to abandon our more spacious carriage in Livonia and continue the rest of the way in this small sled. Across from me, my mother carefully stitches on her small linen even as each bump threatens to destroy the colorful tapestry she’s creating. She hasn’t spoken to me in two days, not since I’d finally grown weary of her constant chatter about how different and lavish life would be at a real court and reprimanded her harshly.
I sigh deeply. Perhaps the rolling hills of Anhault-Zerbst are not as grand as the palaces of Berlin, where she grew up in the home of our wealthiest aunt, but it was my father’s land and my only home. Never have I missed it more than I do on this journey, the dangerous trek through the depths of Russia in the coldest months of winter. I have acquired a constant shiver and my toes and fingers never seem to thaw. Still, it was only Mother’s callous remarks about my father that had provoked me to speak rudely to her, and she is making me pay for it now, making the already cold i
nterior of the carriage seem absolutely frigid with her indifference.
Letting the heavy damask curtain fall back into place, I sit back, stretching beneath the thick, fur blanket heaped over my legs. Closing my eyes, I rest against the seat, and I can almost feel the warm summer sun on my face. Days of running through the field with my darling little brother and sister, as we chased down chickens that had escaped the coop, float through my mind like soap bubbles. I remember sitting on the edge of the creek for hours, slipping off my shoes, letting my toes soak in the water. And sometimes Gretchen, my good friend, would come and bring flowers to weave into my dark hair or a flask of wine from her father’s stock for us to drink until our heads were light as a feather. It never mattered much to me that she was the daughter of the local innkeeper and I was the daughter of the prince. We were innocent of such things, much to my mother’s chagrin. I can’t help but smile at the memories. As they come, I try to hold them close, weaving them around me like the fragile threads under my mother’s fingers.
Such happier times, though not so long ago, seem to me now as if they occurred in another lifetime.
Everything changed when I turned fourteen. Though still a girl by any accounts, Mother was desperate to see me wed. I didn’t learn until much later of our family’s dire financial situation, or that Father was in danger of forfeiting his family properties.
She had first tried to wed me to young Peter, then heir to the Swiss throne. But when he abdicated to move to Russia with his aunt, all hope of that union seemed lost. Mother had been forced to offer me to my uncle, an old man with missing teeth and thin, white hair. He’d come for a visit that summer and while I had thought it an innocent visit, his intentions toward me became painfully obvious. I can still remember the stench of brandy and tobacco on his breath as he’d cornered me one evening and forced a kiss upon me.
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