New York, Summer, 1921 . Your new neighbor across the lake is the mysterious bachelor , Dutch. His reputation for excess and extravagant parties precede him in the prohibition era. But after an invitation to one of his soirees, you discover your...
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"And this is the terrace garden," Harrison said, appearing in the doorway with Maribel. Tom immediately sat back and changed his posture into something more refined. It didn't suit him. You liked it better when he was slouched and ogling you lecherously.
"My, you'd think Dickie had stock in hydrangeas!" Maribel laughed.
"I'm more of an orchid girl," she said, slipping her arm through Harrison's, "in case anyone was wondering," she batted her lashes as him, seductively. M could use a lesson in subtlety.
Tom stood abruptly and gave a polite nod.
"Forgive me, I must be getting back," he said. He kissed Maribel's hand and gave Harrison and affectionate shake. You received nothing more than a passing glance and discreet wink. Then he vanished. Again.
"Well he certainly is a charming egg, isn't he?!" Maribel exclaimed with a husky laugh.
"Is that lemonade? Do you have any Coca-Cola?" she pouted at Harrison.
"Excuse me," you said to the two of them and followed Tom to the door.
"Tom...," you said.
He turned around and suddenly his hand was on your waist. He swiftly pulled you to him with ease. His forehead pressed against yours. You felt that curl brush against your skin.
"Come with me," he whispered. His breath was warm and fragrant from the lemonade. You wagered his lips would taste just as sweet and sour. They were so close to yours, all it would take was an inch, just an inch and you could have your Tom back.
"Don't be a fool," you breathed but made no attempt to move away from him.
"You're mine, Violet," he said devotedly. His other hand grabbed your waist as well, pulling you in closer. You acquiesced, weakened by the touch of him, the smell of him, the everything of him.
"Stop with this charade and come back to me," he beseeched you. His plea struck a nerve however. Who was he to talk of charades? Who was he to call you his?
You broke from his grasp and looked at him hopelessly.
"How can you talk of charades? You come to my home under the guise of another. P.B. Parker? Is that you? I don't even know who you are!" you shouted. You were suddenly filled with ire at his arrogance. Maybe you were once his, but not anymore.
"I can explain everything, Violet, but you must come with me. This isn't the life you wanted, is it?"
He grabbed your face. His fingers clawed into your hair with fire and passion. This isn't the life you wanted, but what other choice did you have?
*********
"She can't keep anything down, Mother," Charlotte said, with a pitiful glance in your direction. You'd been ill for weeks, listless and faint with the smallest amount of exertion. Your mind was always on Tom and little else. The ache in your chest was unbearable at times, so much so you didn't leave your bed for days on end.
