The Matchmaker

by Pamela DuMond

  “Twenty-seven years feels like yesterday,” she said. “Not long enough.”

  “I know you missed me, Florentina,” he said. “I could feel the pull from across the ocean.”

  “After I rescued Michael,” Florentina said, “I stuck a pin in my finger, wrote your name on a piece of paper in blood, and then burnt it.”

  “So much passion!” he said. “What do the kids say now days? Hot!”

  “Passion? I’ll show you passion, you old fool.” She picked up an orange and hurled it at him.

  “You can’t hurt me with flying fruit. Passionada!”

  Violet walked in the door. “Why is Florentina throwing fruit?”

  “Because she has the hots for me,” Giuseppe said.

  “Not if you were the last man on Earth,” she said.

  “What’s going on?” Sydney came in with a tray filled with glasses and plates and handed it to me.

  “Nothing,” Jeanie said.

  “A blood feud,” I said.

  “Fabulous!” Nora entered the room. “I love all drama.”

  Flavio whispered to me, “I’m wearing her down, you know. She’s falling for me. By tonight, Violet will be mine.”

  “In your dreams, buddy,” I said.

  “I think it’s time we go into town,” Vincent said. “We can eat dinner out. Let’s gather the troops, take in the booths, and check out the church. I hear the decorations are spectacular.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aiden

  “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession. My sins are anger, inability to cope with conflict, fear. Fear that if I speak out I will upturn people’s lives.”

  I don’t know how but I managed to pull up my grades. I applied to local colleges and was accepted at a Catholic university forty minutes away by train. I graduated high school with a B+ average. A summer rain threatened to mess with our graduation day but only a light sprinkle broke out toward the end of the ceremony.

  A collective sigh of exhilaration went up from the crowd: graduates, parents, friends, family. We gleefully tossed our mortar boards in the air, ready to take on the world. I spotted Sydney pushing through the crowds toward me and waved.

  Out of nowhere, Mary Margaret Murphy enveloped me in a hug, squeezing me so tight I feared she might fracture a rib. When she pulled away I kissed her chastely on her gorgeous cheek and wished her well in her adventures at Boston University.

  “I’ll never forget you, Aiden Black,” she said, wiping tears away. “I’ll also never forgive you for dumping me in the middle of senior year. I want you to know I followed up my sex ed curriculum without you. I found an older man. A mentor on a completely different level. I didn’t sit around pining for you, Mister Hot Loser.”

  “I am sorry, Mary Margaret. If life hadn’t taken that strange twist, our senior year would have played out differently. You’re beyond amazing. You will always be my first love.”

  And now probably my last.

  “If you ever change your mind and want back in my heart,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at me, “as well as my panties, I have a feeling you could talk me into it.”

  “I’m honored.” I smiled as her parents and four younger sisters enveloped her in kisses and hugs. They snapped hundreds of photos.

  A few months later I sat with my earnest guidance counselor in her tiny fern-covered office at my small college and made my intentions clear. I was not seeking a curriculum to earn a degree in business, pre-med, or pre-law. I was picking and choosing classes that would fast track me to seminary. I also had to leave enough time to attend church and volunteer at local charities.

  The seasons whipped by, a blur of spring’s promise, summer sweat, brisk fall colors, and chill winter winds. The years followed quickly on their heels. Sydney graduated when I was a sophomore. She’d fallen in love only three times in college and it stuck the final time. A pretty, funny, red-headed Jewish girl from the right side of the tracks named Nora Markowitz.

  Nora was practically rocket scientist smart, with a PhD in genetics. The Markowitz’s welcomed Sydney into their fold with loving arms. I was included in gatherings and get-togethers including BBQs on the Cape, bris’s, Passover dinners, and the occasional Bat mitzvah.

  Sydney and Nora traveled the world, and Nora eventually moved in with Sydney and me. They were married a few years later when I was in seminary. I hadn’t yet taken my vows and did not get to pronounce them wife and wife. However, I did give a blessing at the swank reception at a resort overlooking the Atlantic.

  The pressure in seminary school amped up. In addition the coursework in the four-year Masters of Divinity program, we were also expected to live as devout Catholics, attend church services, and help those less fortunate in the community. We had to prove we were worthy of becoming priests and capable of acting as caretakers to those who needed spiritual guidance and counseling, much the way I’d showed up on Father Ed McKenna’s doorstep at Blessed Name parish after my parents died.

  I gravitated back to that same parish in my third year when I was ordained as a transitional deacon. I returned to the community that had taken me in, informed my upbringing, guided me, and helped me survive that horrible period after my parents died in the crash. I found community in the sanctuary that sheltered me during pain, and nourished me with peace when nothing made sense.

  Part of my duties included tutoring underprivileged kids on Saturdays. One afternoon I spotted a teenage doppelganger for Mary Margaret Murphy shooting hoops with her friends in the gymnasium and discovered the girl was Mary Margaret’s youngest sister.

  She was the spitting image of my first love; a curvy girl with a freckled face, and the same laugh as her sister. She approached me after school one day.

  “I know you, right?” she asked. “Didn’t you use to date my sister?”

  “Good memory. Yes. A long time ago. How’s she doing? Is she still in the neighborhood?”

  “She got married and moved to New York. She just had a kid.”

  “That’s great.” That could have been my life.

  But my life was just as fulfilling. A life of service. “What’s your name?”

  “Bridget Murphy. You?”

  “Aiden Black.”

  “Father Aiden Black. My friends call you the hot priest.”

  I felt my cheeks grow warm. “Awesome compliment. But not quite a priest yet.”

  “Does that mean…”

  “No,” I said. “I chose a life of service.”

  “I was told that’s a choice. A rule with a bit of wiggle room.”

  “Not sure what that means but tell your sister, hi from me,” I said.

  “Will do.” She walked away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aiden

  We walked down the hill and looked at the booths in the main piazza that were being set up for the festival the following day, including Giuseppe’s. The weather reports called for a clear, but chilly day tomorrow.

  We walked to one of Giuseppe’s favorite trattorias; a little hole in the wall, with a Christmas tree set up out front. We were shown immediately to a table even though there was a line. A fire crackled in a fireplace. Uniformed waiters dropped off platters of hors d’oeuvres and uncorked two bottles of wine. Our first course was pasta followed by a roasted chicken concoction with potatoes.

  “You look happy, Aiden,” Sydney said. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a while. You worry enough for everyone.”

  If only she knew.

  “Cuoco, you’re finally relaxing,” Violet said, taking a sip of her wine. “About time. In this light I can see a few silver strands in your gorgeous hair.”

  “I don’t have any of the silver in my hair,” Flavio said.

  “A few silvers are good,” Violet’s mother said. “They’re sexy, especially on a man with dark hair. Think George Clooney.”

  “I remember when my lover, Elvis, spotted his first silver hair,” Florentina said. “He was checkin
g his makeup before one of his Vegas shows. He startled, brought his hand to his sequined chest, and said the words I’ll never forget.”

  “Oh my God, Florentina,” Violet said. “You dated Elvis?”

  “I don’t like to use the word, ‘date,’ little flower. He was my lover.”

  “I never believed you dated Elvis,” Vincent said. “I think you made that up.”

  “I don’t date. Never have. Never will. I only take lovers.”

  “What were the words, Florentina?” Jeanie asked. “What did Elvis say?”

  “I can’t remember. Give me a minute. It’s been a while.”

  “As always, no story,” Vincent said.

  “I remember! He said, ‘Florentina, I’m not sure about this silver-haired thing. I’m feeling—all shook up.’”

  “Aw, come on!” Violet said and burst into giggles.

  “I said, ‘Elvis, my love. That would make a great song title. You need to run with that.’”

  And everyone laughed. I could get used to this.

  I was dry. I was parched. I was raw.

  It had been a long time for me. Not just a long time since I’d had sex. A long time since I’d felt that fresh glow of love.

  I was on fire for Violet Accardi.

  I lay on my stupid twin mattress in the room I shared with this overly-coiffed meathead, and in spite of his snores and the way his musky cologne made me sneeze, all I could think about was Violet.

  The way her eyes met mine when we scoped out the food festival.

  The way her lips quirked up in a smart-ass smile.

  The way her chin jutted out and she got all fired up when she really believed in something: a thought, a plan, her view of the world.

  She was in the room above mine, just yards away, really.

  I glanced over at Flavio, his black velvet sleep mask securely over his eyes. He was sawing wood. Perhaps all the muscles in his body were constricting his airways.

  I shrugged on my jeans and a long-sleeved thermal shirt and stared out the window at the full blue moon. Soft opera music emanated from a window below. Lights still twinkled from the town below the castle.

  I crawled out the window and stared up at Violet’s room. A dim light was still glowing. It was maybe only twelve feet away. I stared down at the ground below me. A fall from the second floor would result in more than a strain or a sprain. What would I risk it to touch Violet Accardi? To kiss her lips? To feel her soft naked skin against mine?

  By my own rule, I was not supposed to touch her. Not supposed to engage. Since I’d left the church, I’d been so unrelenting and rigid. No women. No relationships. No fucking around. I didn’t want to be that person who would accept trust and then misuse it.

  But then I heard Violet’s words loud and clear in my head. “Cuoco, you’re too bottled up. You need to let some of this go. Just be yourself and stop being everything to everyone else for a change.”

  I’d kissed her a few times. I’d had the opportunity to claim her completely but I let it go. And life was passing me by. Something shifted in me, like a door had been unlocked for the first time in years. I was overwhelmed by the realization that I had left the church over five years ago. It was okay to want. It was okay to need. It was okay to love.

  I perched on the ledge and grabbed the trellis on the side of the building with one hand. It felt solid. I released my other hand and pulled myself over but the branch I’d originally grasped broke under my grip.

  “Fuck!” I slid several feet down the bundle of vines and managed to catch myself below my window. I glanced down and saw blood welling on my arm and chest.

  Great.

  Would this count for the blood pact?

  I pulled myself back up the non-reliable thicket of vines and kept climbing until I reached Violet’s window. It was open a crack. Perfect. I held onto the thick foliage on the castle wall with one hand and lifted the window with my other.

  Not easy.

  She was in bed texting someone. “Violet,” I said, none that loudly.

  “Aiden?” She dropped her phone, rushed to the window and helped push it open.

  I crawled inside and stared at her. My breath caught in my chest.

  “What are you doing here?” She brushed my clothes with her hands. “You have dried leaves and little twigs all over you.”

  “Remember that time you asked me back to your place in Chicago and I turned you down?”

  “Yes.”

  I took her face between my hands, leaned down, and kissed her lips. She was delicious. Her warm breath escaped from her mouth and I explored her sweetness with my tongue. My cock throbbed. She leaned close and ground her pelvis into my erection. I pulled my lips from hers, pulled off my shirt, and gazed into her eyes. I ran one hand through her silken hair. “Remember when I told you on the plane I was an asshole for turning you down?”

  “Yes.”

  I fingered the soft flannel on the neckline of her pajama top and unbuttoned the front. She shrugged of her top and stood before me, naked from the waist up. Her tits were as beautiful as I’d imagined and I ran my hands across them. I bent my head and sucked on her nipple, nibbling it between my teeth. She inhaled, and a low moan escaped her lips.

  “I’ve re-visited my decision. Violet? Can I come inside tonight?”

  “You’re already here, Cuoco. I thought you were never going to ask,” she said, and led me to her bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Violet

  Can we talk about sex with Aiden Black?

  I was a goner.

  I was lost.

  I was completely and utterly head over heels. Whipped.

  Whatever we did an hour ago was probably outlawed in five states, and enthusiastically applauded in five other. You’d think by the way Aiden lasted that he hadn’t had sex in ten years.

  He rolled another condom on his thick erection then parted my legs. His breath was warm and moist as he worshipped my pussy with his tongue. The stubble of his chin scraped across the delicate skin of my inner thigh. Tingles zipped down my spine, and my center throbbed. I yearned for him to be inside me. I wanted his big cock pumping into me. Hard. Harder.

  I put my hands on his shoulders. “Fuck me, Aiden,” I said. “Inside me. Now. I can’t wait anymore.”

  “Patience, Violet.” He caressed my breasts with one hand, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it hardened and I moaned. “I’ve been a waiting a long time for you,” he said. He played with my clit and I squirmed on the bed in that tiny attic room trying not to cry out and wake the entire household.

  “Fuck me, Aiden Black,” I said. “I adore you. I’m crazy about you. Don’t forget that technically I’m your fiancée so you’re supposed to make me happy.”

  “Come for me first, my beautiful fiancée.”

  “I already came.”

  “Again,” he said. “I have a new craving. Watching Violet Accardi come. Come under my hand. Come under my touch. Come—”

  “With your big glorious, hard cock inside of me.”

  “Come for me, Violet.” His face glistened in the moonlight. “Make me a happy man.”

  I closed my eyes, sighed and lay back against the narrow confines of the bed with his head between my knees. “Put your finger inside me. Now.”

  He did as I commanded and my center hugged him, dying to hug more of him.

  “Good,” I said. “Two fingers.”

  He followed my instructions, slipped another finger inside, and I sighed.

  His fingers were inside me, fucking me. His thumb was outside, swirling across my very wet folds. He stroked my clit, back and forth. “Good, Aiden. So good.” Time slipped away. Numbness washed through my body like Champagne bubbles. Spasms built in the v between my legs. My breathing grew shallower. His mouth was now on my breasts; licking, sucking, scraping.

  “I’m coming, Aiden.” I shivered. Spasms tore through me. Waves undulated through my body and I curled my toes. “Fuck. Me. That. Was.
Good!”

  I blinked my eyes open and stared up at him.

  He had this delicious grin in the moonlight. Like the cat that ate the canary. It was the same smile he wore when we kissed under the mistletoe. He was so fucking hot. My Aiden Black was so fucking hot.

  He crawled his way up my tiny bed, positioned himself over me and kissed me on the mouth; his tongue exploring, his teeth, biting, his hands claiming. He took one of my hands and place it over my head. “Pretty,” he said. “You are impossibly pretty.”

  He lifted my other hand and placed that over my head as well. Then held both of them down. “Kiss me, Violet.”

  I lifted my head and I kissed his beautiful lips. He edged between my legs, his thick, hard cock bumping my sensitive bud, and I tried not to gasp. His breath was raspy. He held my hands down with one of his. With his free hand he held onto his erection and rubbed it against the very wet v between my legs. “Inside me, Aiden,” I moaned.

  “Yes.”

  He pushed inside me and my breath caught in my throat. Two fingers hadn’t prepared me for Aiden Black’s big, beautiful cock.

  “Breathe,” he said, thrusting slowly inside me.

  And so I did. And we found our rhythm. And we found our way.

  “Long time, Violet,” he said. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

  He pumped into me harder.

  We turned and he positioned me on top.

  He gripped his hands on top of my hips lifting me up and impaling me on his gorgeous dick. He was so deep inside me. He felt so good. “Ride me harder,” I moaned. “I will always remember tonight. I will always remember you inside me.”

  “I’m crazy about you, Violet. On your knees.”

  We maneuvered around the tiny bed and I positioned my ass high in the air in front of him, my elbows on the bed. He fucked me with abandon, his hands gripping the top of my pelvis. Slapping sounds came from the impact of his dick inside me. My ass hit his lower abdomen. “I’m fucking crazy about you.” He exploded inside me, shuddering in ecstasy, and finally collapsed spent and sweaty on top of me. He kissed my face.