“Perhaps I should go with you, Violet,” Scarlett said, almost absentmindedly. “I could use something fresh.”
“Fresh,” I repeated. “Such as.”
Scarlett looked up from her sock. She shrugged. “Not sure. Should I go blonde?”
“I could see that!” Cerise piped up. She had been coming around more and more lately, still awed by Scarlett. But it was more of a friendship, rather than a student and teacher relationship. “You could wearrr anycouleur!”
Scarlett concentrated for a moment on her project before her eyes slowly rose to meet mine. For a second they went back to clicking. Then they flew up to meet mine when she realized how I had been looking at her.
“Not a good idea?” she asked.
I caged her in, one arm on each side of her, and leaned over, getting closer to her face. “Over my dead body.”
She smiled and gave me a warm kiss.
“Your hair stays its natural color. Say it.” I knew how she could be when a thought got stuck in her head. She could be a stubborn woman.
“All right, Brando.” That was all she said, not adding any more. She started laughing, almost wheezing, when I stuck my finger under her chin and tickled her. “I s-swear! My w-word! S-subterfuge! Eeeee! B-beast!”
I had mercy and let up. “Don’t make me have to remind you of the beast I can be.”
“She’s a ballerina.” Violet smiled into her wine glass. “She wouldn’t do it anyway. It’s all about natural beauty.”
“Traitor!” Scarlett hissed at her.
Violet threw a hard candy at her head, but she overshot her mark. Jet flew after it, ready to subdue and kill.
“Keep messin’ with me.” I pointed at Scarlett. “One of these days my heart is going to stop from wife-induced stress.”
She laughed, pleased with herself.
Blonde. I shook my head and rubbed the spot over my heart. She was such a classic beauty, not a damn thing about her needed to be altered in the slightest.
A knock came at the door. I looked at the clock. It was only seven, too early for Eunice and O’Sullivan to be home from their latest date. And Eunice had a key; she wouldn’t knock. Neither would Maggie Beautiful, who had gone out with Aberto to catch a show on Broadway.
Guido gave me a look that conveyed his concern. Then he called down to the garden level to check on the visitor.
“It is a man with flowers,” Guido said to me after he’d gotten confirmation.
Scarlett stopped what she was doing and set her needles down on her lap. She and I shared the same thoughts. Nemours. Roses.
It turned out the delivery was for Maggie Beautiful, and the bouquet was filled with wildflowers. No card.
“Those are beautiful,” Scarlett said, coming to stand next to me. The color was coming back to her face after we knew the delivery wasn’t from Nemours. “I wonder who sent them?”
“Aberto would be my guess,” I muttered.
“It better be.” Scarlett laughed. “Or he might be upset if she has a secret admirer.”
“Highly doubtful,” I said.
Scarlett turned her head a fraction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Aberto is not the jealous type.”
“You mean he wouldn’t throw a gorgeous bouquet of red roses from a second story balcony just because he didn’t send them?”
We both grinned. When Scarlett was in Paris, and I had come for her, Nemours had sent her a bouquet of red roses in winter. I had thrown them out of her second story window.
