Page 8 of The Killer Cupcake
Kathy appeared like a vision, framed by the doorway as if she'd stepped out of his dream. She wore a pristine white summer dress that cinched perfectly at her narrow waist, with a delicate milkmaid collar and romantic puff sleeves that made her look like something from a fairy tale. Her dark hair was pinned back from her face in elegant victory rolls that caught the filtered sunlight, and her smile—myGod, her smile—was bright enough to illuminate the entire world.
She hurried down the steps with grace and urgency, and Carmelo dropped his bag without a second thought. They met somewhere in the middle of the walkway, between the jasmine and the fountain, between the past and the future.
Time stopped.
She was in his arms before he could draw another breath, her soft curves molding against him as if they'd been carved from the same piece of marble. Her lips found his with desperate love, and he kissed her back with eight months of longing, eight months of dreams, eight months of believing this moment might never come.
The world disappeared. There were no rules, no segregation laws, no disapproving families or dangerous enemies. There was only Kathy's warmth against him, her familiar scent of vanilla and roses, the way she fit perfectly in his arms as if she'd been made specifically for him.
"I missed you so much," Kathy whispered when their lips finally parted, her voice breaking with emotion. Tears streamed down her beautiful face as she held onto him like he might vanish. "Every day, every night, I missed you until I thought my heart would stop beating if this day didn’t come soon.”
"I missed you, too, Kat, so damn much," he said, his own voice thick with tears he couldn't control. No matter how hard life hit him—punches in the ring, grief and strife in his family—no pain had ever hurt enough to bring him to tears except for the loss of his beloved mother and her. "I dreamed about you every single night."
The midday afternoon light filtered through the live oak canopy above them, casting dancing shadows across their reunion while a gentle breeze carried the scent of magnolia and sweet oranges.
"Okay, lovebirds, let's take this inside before the neighbors start charging admission," Carmine drawled as he walked pastthem with the aid of his silver-topped cane, though there was something almost fond in his gruff tone.
They reluctantly released each other just enough for Carmelo to reach down and retrieve his bag, though neither wanted to break the spell. They had a full week ahead of them—it was Monday and the match wasn't until Saturday. No one knew or cared where he spent his personal time. He was a man, she was a lady, her own person, and here they were together. Not since those stolen moments in the attic had they enjoyed such blessed freedom.
He slipped his arm around her shoulders, marveling at how perfectly she fit against his side, and together they walked up the remaining steps into what felt like the beginning of their real life together. Not the one he kept from her, back at home.
That secret was the only stain on their perfect union. And he’d do anything to keep her from ever discovering it. Not until he had a chance to make it right.
Behind them, the fountain spewed large droplets into the glistening water in the ceramic bowl around it. The birds sang a gentle song, and the orange trees glowed like beacons in the gathering new day, all of beauty bracing for the next crisis to rise.
CHAPTER 5
JANEY’S PLACE NEW ORLEANS
"Wow," Carmelo breathed as a primly dressed older Black man—clearly the butler—took his bag with practiced efficiency and glided away with silent dignity.
"That's Elmer," Kathy explained in a low voice, "and over there is Pinkie, his daughter." She gestured toward a young woman in a crisp white apron who was arranging fresh magnolia blossoms in a crystal vase. "His wife Pearl works in the kitchen. They're the family of servants who tend to Janey's place with a few others. They live in a cottage behind the mansion in the courtyard. Really good people."
Carmelo frowned, confusion flickered across his features, but he gave Pinkie a respectful nod when she glanced their way. He'd never heard of Negroes employing Negro servants before—not even in all the books he'd devoured about different worlds and cultures. The social dynamics were more complex than anything he'd encountered.
Kathy caught his unspoken question and nodded knowingly. "I was thinking the exact same thing. It's... different here."
"There he is!" a melodious voice sang from above, floating down like honey poured over silk.
Carmelo reluctantly tore his gaze from Kathy's beautiful face and looked up toward the grand staircase. His smile faded completely, replaced by a look of stunned recognition.
At the top of the sweeping mahogany stairs stood the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he'd once before laid eyes on. The woman he met that terrible night, his mother died.
And she was looking directly at him with eyes that seemed to hold secrets darker than his.
“Not drinking,ragazzo?” came a soft voice like chimes. Livia materialized beside him, gardenias in her hair and a sharp almond note under her perfume. “Che ti tormenta, campione?What troubles you, champion?”
“Oh—no, I—” Carmelo stammered, staring at his glass. “It tastes… kind of fizzy. Like gasoline bubbles.” He managed a crooked smile. She was beautiful—different from Kathy, but in a strange way, familiar.
She smiled back. “You’re Carmelo, right? The prizefighter. Don Ricci’s youngest son.” Her gaze lifted to a banner above them, his face in boxing gloves.
“That’s me,” he said.
“A tough guy,” she teased.
“I’m just a fighter.”
She bit her nail, eyes dancing. “Seems your father doesn’t like you making new friends.”
