For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

The Tawdry, Burning Trouble
by Sandy Dyson, USAF (ret.)

   No; Lady Mitzi was not pleased. Not at all! Neither the sprightly piping of the Vicar’s flageolet nor the little walled garden impressed her, and it was all because he wasn’t there. Intellectually, she realized that young St. John, the perilous only man she had ever really loved, had a full life in which he was seeking a new life as a Foreign Legionnaire, and he could not be expected to hold any consideration for the pleasure of one ebony, passionate girl. Intellectually, she knew this. And yet…
   Truly, it had been a most quizzical, quotidian day when father had brought him to her attention.
   It was then that a knock at the door shattered her composure into a million passionate, uncivilized pieces! She whirled around. Surely it could not be — but it was! At the door, the tender and masculine face she had come to know so well! “I love you with a fiery passion which cannot be denied,” he said in his halting Spanish while he excitedly began to show her his plans for the villa they were to share. “I need you, you who make my life complete!”
   At that moment as the band began to play, she knew that life without him was unthinkable, if not incarnadine. Wthout him, could she ever have woke up. Incredibly enough, it had all been a dream?

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