Ilsa: Read online

  Although she’d gone out with Grant Hill a few times just for fun, Ilsa knew no one would ever capture her heart because it already belonged to Tony.

  Punching the bread dough, Ilsa kneaded out her frustrations and set the bread to rise near the stove where it was warm.

  Washing her hands, she shooed Peaches down the stairs and out the back door, then unlocked the front door of her shop, ready to begin her workday. She took a moment to admire the festive holiday display in her window, complete with a decorated Christmas tree. She not only made the gowns, but also hung the garlands and even put up the tree without anyone else helping.

  Picking up a stack of sketches she’d worked on the previous evening, she carried them back to her worktable and spread them out. It was hard to think of spring with Christmas a few weeks away, but Ilsa wanted to have her new designs ready so she could begin working on a spring wardrobe for one of her clients in Chicago.

  Relieved to know she could not only provide for herself, but also make a good income, Ilsa allowed herself to take pride in her accomplishments.

  Choosing three of the designs as her favorites, Ilsa picked up her sketchpad and pencil and sat down to refine the designs.

  The jingle of the shop bell let her know someone entered the store and she hurried out to offer a friendly greeting.

  “Hi, Ilsa,” Nik said, smiling broadly as he wiped snow from his feet on the rug by the door.

  “Good morning. What brings you by so early?” Ilsa asked, pleased to see her nephew. She was glad Nik finally got over his infatuation with her and had set his affections on one of his classmates. No longer wary of inadvertently encouraging his besotted feelings for her, she thoroughly enjoyed their easy relationship. It reminded her of the fun times she enjoyed with her brother.

  “You got a telegram this morning. Mr. Hames happened to catch me and asked if I could run it over to you on my way to school.”

  “Thank you, Nik. I appreciate it.” Ilsa took the telegram from him and opened it. Reading it twice, she grinned then gave him an impulsive hug.

  “What’s it say?” Nik asked, caught up in her obvious excitement.

  “It’s from a friend in Chicago. Her husband invited one of his out-of-town business associates to visit and he brought along his wife. My friend was wearing one of the dresses I created and the woman loved it so much, she is sending me her measurements and color preferences.” Ilsa clasped her hands beneath her chin before spreading her arms wide and spinning around. She stopped and grabbed Nik’s hand in hers. “She lives in Paris, Nik. Paris, France. My designs are going to Paris!”

  Nik didn’t know much about fashion or fabrics, but anyone knew Paris was a big step for an up-and-coming fashion designer.

  “Congratulations, Ilsa. That’s fantastic news!” Nik hugged her again. “I’d say I’ll tell Aundy, but I bet you’ll telephone her as soon as I leave.”

  “You know me well, Nik. Have a great day and thank you.” Ilsa waved as he went outside and hurried to school.

  After calling both Aundy and Caterina, Ilsa felt like she could float through the rest of the day.

  Running upstairs to check on her bread, she punched it down with enthusiasm, putting it in a bread pan to rise again then returned to her sketches at the worktable.

  Remembering the cat outside, she let in a disgruntled feline that sat glowering at her as he licked snow from his paws.

  “Sorry, Peaches. I got a little distracted,” Ilsa said, rubbing his head before returning to her sketches. She worked on them the remainder of the morning then went upstairs to make herself some lunch.

  Putting the bread in the oven to bake, she warmed up a bowl of leftover soup and ate it while her mind flew around ideas for her business. She couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of someone walking down a street in Paris wearing one of her creations. It was almost more than she could comprehend.

  Daydreaming about what the dress would look like with the Eiffel Tower in the background, Ilsa hurried downstairs to find her sketchpad when an idea for a design came to mind. She lost herself in capturing the details, heedless to the time.

  The scent of something burning finally pulled her from her work and she let out a yelp, remembering the bread she’d placed in the oven.

  Racing up the stairs, she rushed into the kitchen where smoke billowed from the stove.

  Shoving open the window, she gasped and opened the stove door, causing more smoke to fill the room.

  Sticking her head out the window, along with the burnt bread, she sucked in a gulp of cold air and looked down, noticing Tony running toward her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, staring up at her from the back lot. “I noticed the smoke and was running to help when I realized it was from your building. Is there a fire?”

  Ilsa let her gaze rest on the handsome man below her window. He didn’t wear a hat and his coat was unbuttoned, as if he’d thrown it on in haste. His bright smile gleamed against his tan face and she imagined the warmth glowing in his honey-colored eyes.

  “No fire, Tony, but thank you for offering your assistance. I forgot I had bread in the oven.” She turned the bread pan over and a blackened lump fell in the snow near his feet.

  Toeing it with his boot, Tony laughed. “I don’t think even the wild dogs who dig through the trash will take that.”

  “Probably not,” Ilsa agreed, smiling at him. Oh, how she missed him, missed talking to him and seeing him.

  “Maybe you should leave the cooking to someone who knows what they’re doing?” Tony suggested, giving the dark lump a kick.

  “Maybe you should mind your own business, Tony Campanelli!” Ilsa slammed the window shut with such force, she was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. A smoky haze still shrouded the apartment, so she waited a moment, held her breath, and opened the window again. A cautious glance outside told her Tony was gone.

  “How dare he!” she muttered to herself. Turning around to march down the stairs, she nearly ran into him.

  “How dare he what?” Tony asked, reaching the landing and giving her a smirk. “Insult your terrible cooking? Ask if you’d nearly burned down the block of businesses because you can’t do two things at once?”

  “Oh, you are the most horrid man, Tony. Get out of my shop!” Ilsa tried to storm past him, but he grabbed her arm.

  “No.”

  “If you won’t leave on your own accord, I’ll be forced to take action and you’ll suffer the consequences.”

  “What are you going to do? Stab me with your scissors?” Tony taunted, giving her a contemptuous grin. “Maybe you could club me to death with that loaf of bread you dumped in the snow.”

  Tony spent the last two days trying to wrap his head around accepting Ilsa as she was without forcing his protection or safekeeping on her. He resolved to give her room to be herself and grow into the person she needed to be.

  Thinking of the story Rebecca told him, he realized Ilsa hated feeling weak and trapped. She’d made that clear the night she sang about a bird in a gilded cage. She compared herself to the girl in the song, and it made her miserable.

  Knowing he had played a hand in keeping her confined instead of helping her find her wings, he was ready to get out of her way.

  Planning to ask her permission to escort her home after dinner, if she happened to be at Caterina’s, he hoped he could convince her to give him a second chance.

  Rushing out of his studio to run an errand, he happened to notice smoke billowing up toward the blue winter sky and began running that direction. His heart almost stopped in his chest when he realized the smoke came from Ilsa’s place.

  Before he got to the door, the sound of her coughing reached his ears and he glanced up, seeing her hanging out the window with that pathetic, burned loaf of bread.

  All his plans to do what was right flew out of his head and irrational fury took over.

  The last thing he wanted to do was fight with her, but he couldn’t stop from goading her.

  �
��I think I hate you, Tony. Get out!” she yelled and stormed down the stairs. He caught her in her workroom before she got to the door, pulling her close to him.

  She raised a hand to slap his cheek and he caught it in his, pressing a hot kiss to her palm.

  This woman was nothing like the sweet, timid Ilsa he’d come to love. His little chickadee was acting more like a hawk as she struggled against him, calling him a brute and a bully.

  Pinning her hands at her sides so she’d quit trying to hit him, Tony tried not to flinch when she leaned back and glared at him.

  “You have no right to march in here like this. None at all,” Ilsa fumed, stamping her foot, hoping it hit Tony’s although it didn’t. “You think those smoldering amber eyes, that teasing smile with those seductive lips, and your remarkable muscles can get you anything you want, don’t you?”

  Ilsa could have swallowed her tongue when she realized what she said. She might think Tony was a handsome devil, but he certainly didn’t need to know it.

  “What about you? You’ve got those innocent blue eyes, pert little nose, and pink lips that beg to be kissed.” Tony leaned down so his face was just inches from hers. “What about the way you swish your skirts around, toss that golden hair? Just the hint of your fragrance keeps me awake at night. You’re so beautiful, Ilsa, you have no idea what you do to me.”

  All the fight went out of her and she hung limply in his arms. When he relaxed his hold, she reached up and grasped his coat lapels in her hands in a feeble attempt to hold herself upright.

  “You think I’m beautiful?” she whispered, inching up on her toes, closing the distance between Tony’s mouth and hers.

  “How could you not know?” he asked, dropping his head until the warmth from their breath mingled in an irresistible invitation.

  Tony shifted, drawing her closer against him as her arms slid up around his neck. Placing a soft kiss to each cheek, his lips touched her forehead, her nose, and her chin. Kissing each corner of her mouth, he finally claimed her lips in a kiss that was beyond anything Ilsa had ever dreamed.

  Starting soft and tender, it quickly changed into something demanding, passionate, and wild, as their mouths sought and found what they’d waited so long to experience.

  When they finally broke apart and filled their lungs with air, Ilsa leaned her head against Tony’s chest while he stroked her back with gentle hands.

  “Do you really think my lips are seductive?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, embarrassed to have even said the word.

  Tony lifted her chin with his forefinger and she raised her gaze to his. Flames flickered in those amber eyes, burning bright, burning just for her.

  “Will you come with me to my studio? Just for a moment? I want to show you something.” Tony lifted her coat from a peg by the door and holding it for her.

  “Okay.” She slipped her arms in the sleeves, wondering why Tony would want to go to his studio at a moment like this. She was certain he returned her feelings, but she didn’t want to be the first to say them aloud.

  Taking her hand, Tony hurried through the back lot, down the alley, then across the street and around the corner to his shop. Unlocking the door, he rushed her inside to his studio and asked her to wait there for him.

  He returned carrying a basket in one hand and a framed photo in the other.

  Handing her the basket first, she lifted the white cloth. Removing the gown from the basket and holding it up, Ilsa tried not to squeal in excitement at the elaborate beadwork Rebecca completed on the dress. The floral beading down the front and along the hem of the gown was even more wonderful than she imagined. She couldn’t wait to send it to her client in Chicago. The woman would positively be beside herself when she put it on.

  “Rebecca is amazing,” Ilsa said, carefully folding the gown and placing it back in the basket.

  “Yes, she is,” Tony agreed, then handed Ilsa the framed photo. It was a large picture in an ornate, gilded frame.

  Drawing in her breath, Ilsa couldn’t believe her eyes. It was one of the pictures Tony took the day he talked her into posing. She looked beautiful as she gazed at someone she obviously loved. Her eyes glowed with emotion and the inviting smile on her face confirmed her feelings.

  “I made a small print of that photo weeks ago, knowing it was one of my best, but yesterday I decided to make an enlargement. I knew you were in love with someone, Ilsa, but it wasn’t until I made the large print that I figured out who.” Tony took the frame from her and set it aside, grasping her hands between his. “Do you remember what I said to you when I took that photo?”

  “Yes,” Ilsa whispered, feeling heat color her cheeks. She’d thought Tony’s words bordered on scandalous at the time he said them, although they filled her with an intense longing. “I remember.”

  “I asked you to look at me and pretend you were looking at the man you love. To look at me like you’d do anything for your lover to passionately kiss your rosy lips and whisper endearments in your ear.” Tony kissed her cheeks, followed by her chin. “I asked you to let me see the love in your eyes. I wanted you to wear it on your face, Ilsa, and you did. Only I didn’t see it before. You looked like a woman in love because you were and I think you still are.”

  Ilsa melted against him when Tony kissed her eyes then took her lips captive with his again.

  “Do you love me, Ilsa?” Tony asked as his lips brushed softly, teasingly, against hers.

  “Yes. I love you more than anything.” Ilsa thought she might die from wanting if Tony didn’t say the words, say what she hoped was in his heart. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you at the train depot.” Brushing her fingers along Tony’s jaw, over those enticing lips, she watched the flames in his eyes grow hotter. “I never stopped loving you, Tony. I may not need you to take care of me, but I very much want you to care for me.”

  “That, I can do.” Tony kissed her long and thoroughly, removing any lingering doubt Ilsa may have possessed about the depth of his feelings for her. “I love you so, so much my beautiful little chickadee and I promise to stand back and give you all the room you need to feel self-sufficient.”

  Ilsa smiled and kissed his cheek. “Rather than stand back, I’d much prefer to have you right beside me.”

  “I’d like that. How about we go forward with a fresh start?”

  At her nod, he took a sudden step back and bowed with a flourish.

  Tony picked up her hand and kissed her fingers, melding that hot honey-colored gaze to hers. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Antonio Valentino Campanelli, your future husband.”

  Bread

  This bread recipe has been in my family for what seems like forever. My grandma shared it with my mom and she taught me how to make it.

  Kneading the dough is good for working out aggression and building those arm muscles!

  I most often form this into dinner rolls, and have even used it to make fry bread when Captain Cavedweller pleads charmingly. There is nothing like fresh bread slathered with butter, unless it’s fresh bread slathered with butter and homemade jam.

  May your bread turn out better than Ilsa’s!

  Bread

  2 cups milk

  4 tbsp. shortening

  1 tbsp. sugar

  pinch of salt

  1/4 cup lukewarm water

  1 pkg. yeast

  4 + cups of flour

  Combine milk, shortening, sugar, and salt in a heavy saucepan over medium heat. Stir constantly until the shortening is melted then continue to stir until milk scalds. Keep a close eye on it because you don’t want the milk to scorch in the pan.

  (Note: Scalded milk is milk that has been heated to 180 °F.)

  Once the milk mixture is heated to temp, pour it into a large bowl to cool.

  Pour the lukewarm water into a small cup or bowl. Gently stir in the yeast and let set for a few minutes, working its magic. I love that smell. It takes me back to childhood days when my mom made some yeasty treat on a weekly
basis.

  Test your milk mixture with the tip of your finger. You want it to be cool, but not cold when you stir in the yeast. Think of the temperature of a baby’s bottle for a good point of reference. Stir the yeast into the milk until it is thoroughly blended.

  Stir in the flour, one cup at a time. You might end up using closer to five or six cups by the time it’s all said and done, but four is a good starting point.

  Work the flour into the milk mixture. When it gets hard to stir, you can get your hands in there and start kneading the dough. If you’ve had a stressful day, this is a great way to work out some aggression. Punch the dough down with your fist, flip it around and keep going. If the dough is really sticky, continue adding flour, about a half cup at a time until you can work it without it globbing up all over your fingers.

  Keep kneading until the bread has an elastic feel to it (meaning you can feel it pop and give as you knead).

  Grease the sides of your bowl with a little butter, placing your nice ball of dough in the center of the bowl. Cover with a tea towel and set somewhere warm to rise. My favorite place is in front of our fireplace. It’s warm, but not hot, and creates a perfect environment for the bread to rise.

  Force yourself to leave the bread alone for an hour. By that time, it should have doubled in size.

  Although this seems like cruel and unusual punishment, you are going to punch down the dough and knead it again. Just a couple minutes worth of kneading is fine.

  At this point, you can do any number of things with the dough – shape it into a loaf in a bread pan, form it into bread sticks or dinner-rolls, make fancy little shapes with it.

  I generally make dinner rolls because I can freeze what we don’t eat for another day.

  To make the dinner rolls, pinch off a piece of dough about the size of a golf ball. Roll it around in your palm to form a ball and drop it into a greased baking pan. Leave a little space between each roll because they will expand. In a 9 x 13 pan, you should end up with about 24 rolls.