Sam handed Isadora the fairy phone and then kissed her brow. “Thanks for last night.”
She dropped her eyes to hide the moisture there and cleared her throat. “Get laid more often, will ya? It’s not good for a guy your age to be celibate. I think it messes with your brainwaves or…or something.”
He cleared his throat, too. “Okay.”
Tugging on the wrinkled chambray shirt she wore, tied at the waist with a length of nautical rope, she looked at the green oversized flip-flops she’d found in his closet. “Just to let you know, I’m burning these rags the minute I get home. Don’t think for a minute that I’m going to keep them as a memento, like some sappy teenager,” she lied.
His chuckle held little humor. “No. I wouldn’t dare think that of you. I know better.”
She turned then and headed toward the dock. He placed his hand at the small of her back and walked along with her.
“Isadora! Isadora Perrault!”
She stopped midstride. “Mother! What are you doing here?”
Her mother stormed toward them in the red Armani suit and five-inch leopard print pumps Delilah had bought for her. How she was managing to miss the separations in the deck planks only God knew. “Be careful, Mother!”
She came to a stop about five paces from them and slammed her hands on her hips. The high color on her cheeks was not a good sign. Nor the fact that her nostrils flared with the exertion of each angered breath she took. “You didn’t return last night.”
“No. I—I fell into the water, Mother. I almost drowned—I would have if Sam hadn’t rescued me.”
Her mother did a quick scan of Isadora’s attire. “I see.”
“I was just leaving.”
Her mother visibly relaxed. “And the phone? Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
Her mother held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
Isadora looked at Sam. He hadn’t shaved and the stubble on his face, along with his morning-mussed hair, gave him the look of a disheveled rake from one of her favorite regency novels. His shirt was opened to just past his belly button and his jeans fit as snug as a pair of pantaloons. All that was missing was a sabre on his hip.
“Isadora! I demand you give me that phone!”
She forced her gaze up to his and in it she saw his love for her, though it was muted by bleak heartache. There was resolve and understanding there, too. She lifted her hand to his cheek, but only for the briefest of moments, then she turned her eye on her mother.
The woman’s wrath formed a rage-red aura around her ramrod-spined form.
Isadora sent one more glance in Sam’s direction before returning her gaze to her mother. “I’m staying with Sam.”
“Whoop!” Sam yelled.
She turned and faced him. “Sam, will you marry me?”
“—What! I forbid it.”
“—Hell yes.” He scooped her off her feet and gave her a kiss.
“You will put as big a blight on our family name by marrying this scum as your father did with his shenanigans. I simply cannot allow it. Come down off that rat’s nest of a vessel and return home with me right this instant.”
Isadora kept her lips locked to Sam’s but waved ‘bye’ to her mother. Then she wrapped both arms around his neck and sent her tongue deep into his mouth. “Mmm.”
Her mother stomped her foot. “This instant, Isadora.”
She was finding it hard to kiss and grin at the same time, but somehow she managed it. So did he.
“Isadora!”
“I love you, Sam,” she said against his mouth and then she turned back to her mother. “Here’s the phone. Catch.”
Her mother’s eyes bugged out and she lost all semblance of ladylike demeanor as she leapt up with both hands in the air.
Something extraordinary happened then. In mid-flight, the phone burst apart and, in a puff of pink sparkles and patchouli scented mist, transformed into the most beautiful woman Isadora had ever seen.
“Holy shit!” Sam yelled, shoving Isadora behind his back.
She grabbed his arm. “It’s the fairy. She’s not going to hurt us.”
As the fairy lady floated above the boat in a turquoise and purple silk Reformation style gown, a thought flashed through Isadora’s fashionista mind: Is that real ermine along the hemline?
“Isadora,” her mother yelled, “tell her to bless me.”
“No, my girl, you had your chance years ago, and failed,” the fairy said to Isadora’s mother before she swirled to face Isadora and Sam. “Ta-ta my lovelies,” she said and then shot high into the air, leaving a comet-tail of glitter in her wake.
Isadora’s mother screeched and stomped her feet. “This is entirely your fault, Isadora! If you’d only done as I told you to do, this never would have happened.” She jabbed her pointed, red-nailed finger at Isadora. “I wash my hands of you. You are dead to me.” She spun around and stomped away.
As Isadora stood numbly watching her mother’s receding form, the BlackBerry in her clutch sang out.
“You dropped your purse,” Sam said.
“Yeah, I know,” she said and reached for it, pulling out her phone at the same time.
“Hello?”
“It’s just me, Dora dear. Wanted to say one other little thing: Tell your daughters that I’ll be seeing them in twenty years or so. Well, must be off—it’s nearing Samhain, you know. Toodles.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah, but what does it mean?”
“It means she’s going to curse our kids.”
There was a long pause. “Or bless.”
Isadora blinked at her BlackBerry. “Yeah. Or bless.”
“I really didn’t believe you about the fairy thing, not until a few minutes ago. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, well. Now that you know—are you still so sure you want to marry me?”
“Absolutely. We’re living a fairy tale, right? So—no worries, just ‘happily ever after.’”
Isadora grinned and flung her arms around Sam’s neck. “It’s about time.”
As she embraced him once more, as their lips melded in a tender kiss, a distant sound of tinkling feminine laughter floated down from up above and swirls of pink glitter and silver stars encircled them.
And that is how a little fairy magic made Delilah and Isadora’s dreams come true.
[The End]