Love in Fantasy (Skeleton Key) (22 page)

“Hi, Oliver!” Sabrina waves at me from through the open door to her workshop. She’s wearing protective gear and holding a small welding torch. She sets if down carefully and removes her gloves before giving me a hug. “It’s all done. Do you want to see it?” She beams at me and I must look as eager as I feel because she laughs and trots over to an old, steel safe.

Sabrina is a jewelry maker, not in the typical sense, like what you see in a store at the mall. Her pieces are practically art and they sell all over the world, especially in the United States. I was having Pippa’s ring made, and I didn’t want to give it to her in the generic little jewelry box it would be given to me in. So, I went to Sabrina with an idea and she’d executed it. Removing a black, velvet bag, she comes back over to the table and shakes the contents out into her hand.

The locket is shaped like a book, only large enough to fit an engagement ring. It’s made of a kaleidoscope of colored quartz, and hanging from a platinum chain. Each side of the little “book” is inscribed. One side says,
The greatest love story of all
, and the other says,
Was the day I fell in love with you
.

“It’s perfect, Sabrina,” I compliment her, a little in awe of her talent.

“I hope you get to use it soon.” She sighs and I cast her a questioning glance. “I’m not likely to find love anytime soon,” she elaborates, her eyes suddenly turning sad. There is a story there, I’m sure of it. It’s quickly one and she winks at me. “I have faith in your powers of persuasion.”

“You never know. Love may find you when you least expect it,” I suggest.

She eyes me doubtfully. “Maybe. Well, I’d better get back to work. I have a client coming to pick up this piece tomorrow.” She walks purposefully back to her work table and my eye catches on her current project. I follow her to get a closer look at it.

“Is that an oil lamp?” I ask, studying the gold object, its shape, and the etchings all over it. She nods distractedly as she picks up an engraving pen. “As in Aladdin’s magic lamp? The one with the genie?” I’m laughing by the time I finish my question.

Sabrina chuckles along with me. “I just make what they ask, I don’t always understand it.”

Just then her assistant calls her name and she excuses herself to go and see what she needs. I’m still inspecting the beautiful lamp when I feel Wilhelm making a racket in my pocket.
It’s Sabrina’s turn, huh?
He vibrates faster, giving me my answer. Sabrina and Abbi are twins; the last two Wilhelm has to pair off. I wasn’t sure which would be first, but now that I know it’s Sabrina, I start looking around for the perfect place to leave the key.

My eyes land on the lamp again and Wilhelm hums. It’s as a good a place as any, I suppose. She’ll find it when she goes to put the piece away tonight. Carefully, so as to not do any damage to the delicate lamp, I lower Wilhelm into it. The top is on the table and I deliberate whether or not to close the lamp. Ultimately, I decide to leave it. If I leave right now, she won’t find it while I’m here, even if she should discover it right away after coming back to her workshop. I turn towards the door but my feet turn to lead and I can’t seem to go any further. Standing there, I try and talk myself out of it, but I’m not successful. My feet are no longer glued to the ground when I pivot and sidle up to the lamp. I roll my eyes at myself, flabbergasted at what I’m about to do. It can’t hurt, though, right?

Stretching my arm out, I call myself ten different kinds of an idiot as my hand touches the cool metal. Yep. If you’re thinking I rubbed the lamp and made a wish, I’m sorry to tell you your assumption is correct. Go ahead. Laugh. Just don’t ever tell Pippa.

Beating a hasty retreat, I wave to Sabrina on my way out the door and take my ridiculous ass home. I arrive and get comfortable, then park my ass where it always seems to be in the evenings, on the couch with a glass of scotch. I’m trying not to dwell on the lamp, but I wonder if Sabrina will have more luck and a big, blue genie will help her find her true love.

Meanwhile. . .

Sabrina’s Fantasy

S
tanding back, Sabrina admires her work. The lamp really did turn out beautiful, and she’s excited to show it her client. She picks it up and carries it over to a locked cage where she keeps her larger, finished pieces. Tilting it so she can get it under the top lip of the shelf, she hears a clunk from inside the lamp. Her eyes scan the piece in panic, looking for anything that could have broken off and fallen inside. The handle, lid, and spout seem unharmed and the rest of the lamp is smooth and unadorned except for the etchings.

The lamp begins to vibrate in her hands. What in the world. . .? She takes it to the nearest table and sets it down before removing the top. Peering inside she spies a unique and beautifully crafted skeleton key. She sticks two fingers into the small opening and pinches the key between the digits, removing it. Surveying it with the eye of an artist, she’s impressed and wonders about who made it. Bringing her back to the question of how it came into her possession.

Oliver had been the only visitor to her workshop today and she highly doubts it came from the pragmatic man. Had her assistant left it for her? But, why would she put it in the lamp? Completely knackered from a long day, she doesn’t feel as though she has the brain power to solve this puzzle. She slips the key in her pocket and resumes putting away the lamp. Then she locks up and takes a set of stairs in the back up to the apartment above. The area used to be additional office space and storage. After many, many nights of being here late and falling asleep on her couch, she finally renovated it into a living space. Eventually, she’s simply moved in, rather than using it as a place to crash.

When she reaches the top of the stairs, she takes her house key out of her back pocket and tries to unlock the door, but it won’t twist. She wiggles it a little assuming it’s sticking and then tries again, but it still won’t engage the lock. Twisting around on the small landing, she leans her back against the wall and sags in exhaustion. This was not what she needed right now.

It had been a busy month as she tried to catch up on her work after taking a two week trip to Spain. She’d come home with a suitcase full of heartache to a chaotic schedule. Although, being busy could be seen as a silver lining since it left her almost no time to dwell on her broken heart. First thing, she needs to figure out is how to get inside her damn apartment.

The key she’d found in the lamp begins to hum with a low vibration, and when she pulls it out of her pants, it’s also putting off a dim, effervescent glow.
Am I really that tired?
The thought to try it in her apartment door flits through her mind and at first, she dismisses it. But, when the idea gets more insistent, she tries is simply to get the feeling to stop nagging her. The little teeth on the end of the key slide right in and it twist easily, unlocking the door.

She backs up in surprise when she sees what is on the other side of the door and almost falls down the stairs. To counteract the gravity pulling her backwards, she lurches forward, stumbling past the door and flinches at the bang of the door as it slams shut. She tries the knob to open it back up and gives the door a dirty look when it doesn’t budge.
Stupid twat.

She turns, spinning in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. The room looks like a big, open foyer, decorated in cream and gold, with a massive, crystal chandelier. Eyeing the tall, gold double doors, she figures the odds on being able to open it. With the way her life had been lately, her calculated guess is, her chances don’t look good. The now familiar sound of the key draws her attention and she looks for it, finding it on the ground by where the other door . . . used to be? She freezes halfway to the floor and stares at the smooth, creaseless wallpaper; no door in sight. The key starts to practically bounce around like a Mexican jumping bean, breaking her out of her shocked state. Scooping it off of the travertine tile, she faces the set of doors again and approaches them, intent on trying the key in their lock, especially when she sees the engraving. That’s what it’s for, right? It works and she shrugs in acceptance.
Par for the weirdness course.

An endless blue sky, full of twinkling stars, stretches out before her as she walks out onto a balcony. Along with the moon, they shed soft light on the scenery over the rail. The beauty draws her over to the barrier and she grips it with both hands, then gingerly leans out to get a good look at what’s below her. It’s perhaps twenty feet to the ground where a bright and colorful flower garden grows. Scanning the area, she determines that she has no clue where she is, not recognizing anything in the landscape.

Continuing her exploration, she spots a set of French doors made of lightly frosted, glass squares. They are open and white, filmy curtains billow out on the breeze, giving her a peek at the room beyond. Unsure whether she’s trespassing, she creeps up to the doors, staying to the shadows. After several minutes, she doesn’t detect any movement, so she tiptoes into what turns out to be a bedroom.

The décor makes her feel like she just entered an Arabian’s princess’s room. Lots of pillows and draping in brightly colored fabrics. A round canopy bed sits in the very center of the room with more hanging curtains and silky sheets. And, it’s gloriously empty. Sabrina glances around again and comes to the conclusion that she is alone, so she pads over to the bed. She’s about to climb up and collapse when she’s startled by a rattling sound. Glancing around, she looks for the source and sees the lamp she’d created, sitting on a small, glass table. The sound is from the shaking clattering on the glass from spurts of shaking. Almost as if . . . The rest of this thought really hinges on whether or not she thinks she’s dreaming. Because it seems as if something might be in there, trying to get out.

Oliver’s joking description of the lamp comes back to her and she wanders over to it. She’s about to lift the lid when she thinks better of it. Opening the lid of an unknown object that has something desperate to get out it. This never ends well in the movies.
Go to bed, Pandora.

She’s about to do as her inner voice suggests, then, at the last second, she spins around and snatches the lid off. Nothing happens. Well, crap. That was anticlimactic. With a disappointed sigh, she stares glumly at the golden lamp. Wait. She perks up as she remembers, you have to rub the lamp (or bottle if you’re looking for Christina Aguilera) in order to release the—whatever. She grabs the lamp and rubs it swiftly between her hands, making a little wish, then steps back and watches it warily. The lamp begins to shake so hard it actually bounces on the table and she fleetingly hopes it doesn’t shatter the glass. Abruptly, the lamp goes still and quiet. Confused, Sabrina glances all around, not really knowing what she is looking for. There had to be a reason for all of that. Everything looks the same, even the lamp is in the exact same spot as before. She huffs in annoyance and rolls her eyes before stomping over to the bed and pulling the covers back.

“Sabrina.”

The covers drop from her hands and she spins around so fast she stumbles back into the bed. “Dominick?” she gasps. Her eyes dart around wildly, trying to figure out where he came from. But, more importantly,
what the fuck he is doing here
! Her heart is beating so hard, she can feel the crack expanding, especially with the cause standing in front of her.

“Did you just . . . but the lamp and . . . was that you inside?” She stumbles over her words, not only because she’s flustered, but because she is very aware how ridiculous her question is.

“Are you asking if I’m the genie from your lamp, angel?” The endearment causes her stomach to flutter and her panties become damp.

“I—no, that is—” She stops and takes a breath. “Well, are you?”

“Maybe,” he says mysteriously before he stalks forward and grasps her upper arms, lifting her to his eye level. His face is angry but the dark brown orbs are bright with heat. The way he used to stare at her before he would. . .

Dominick sucks her bottom lip into his mouth before covering her mouth with his and, like always, pushing all thoughts out of her head. He fills every nook and cranny of her mind with turbulent emotions; pain, lust, love, a cacophony of sound when mixed together with the pounding of her heart. “I’m so fucking angry with you, angel,” he growls against her lips in his sexy American accent. A few tears escape, sliding down her cheeks and he kisses each one away. “But, I’ve missed you even more.” His mouth crashes down over hers again and he groans, his hands going everywhere at once, making her moan with need. She’s missed him more than she’d ever thought she would. Eventually, he breaks the kiss and steps back, his eyes sweeping over her body with appreciation. Then the corners of his mouth tip down and his jaw hardens, as he scowls. “Please tell me you didn’t wear this outside your bedroom,” he grits out.

Unsure what he’s referring to, she looks down.
Um, okay. This is interesting.
She hadn’t noticed her state of dress, or lack of, depending on how you look at it. Clearly, it was the latter to Dominick. Her skirt is made of long, shimmery, gauzy material, and it’s virtually see-through, displaying her white, barely-there panties. Her top is made of the same material and it hugs her upper body, stopping right above her belly button, and encasing her arms in long sleeves. Her breasts are almost spilling out of the white brazier underneath the transparent layer. Even though she’s spinning out of control from the bombardment of emotions, she inwardly smiles. She looks good and she preens a little, knowing how Dominick is affected by her.