Chapter 28
The hostess led us to tall white tables close to the stage. We sat nestled behind a wall that looked as if it were made of roses. The entire ballroom was transformed into a garden.
Instead of a series of round tables, different green spaces were arranged throughout the room. Every seat focused on the stage. As the crowd filed in, staff dressed like faeries circulated, offering appetizers and drinks.
The Egyptian Queen walked centerstage. Her golden companions placed the tam-tam beside her. With a dramatic swing, she rang the gong.
“Lovers and dreamers welcome,” she said. “Tonight, you will be seduced by music, song, movement and words. I invite you to expect magic. I will do no introductions. Our artists will speak for themselves. Open your heart, let Eros guide you and enjoy this magical night.”
She bowed and with another gong she exited.
Leo and Ari were at my right, Odessa and Shea at my left, next to Roberto and Lissa. I sat by myself at a high table, my feet tapping. The lights went off in a black-out.
The crowd quieted in unison as if we had all made an unspoken agreement to hold our collective breath. The lights slowly brightened bathing the stage in a warm, golden light.
Strand stood centerstage, his face covered by his signature black-and-gold mask. He carried a guitar in his hands. The crowd went wild. Odessa and Shea jumped to their feet. Roberto and Lissa clapped. Leo looked at me his eyes wide. “Oh, my God,” he mouthed.
I stifled a laugh and took a deep breath trying to calm my heart. I was married to that gorgeous man. At least for now, I thought. I raised a cocktail to my lips and took a sip of the sweet and bubbly drink, warming my core.
As the applause continued to thunder, Strand walked downstage toward our seats. He raised three fingers to his mask and blew a kiss in my direction.
It was one of the sexiest moves I’d ever seen. The crowd saw Strand, but I knew the man behind the mask, Dylan Street. People stood on tiptoes, craning their necks to get a better look at our table.
“Holy shit,” Shea said. Leaning over, she smacked my arm. As the clapping continued, Strand sat down on a stool centerstage and tuned his guitar.
Behind him on a raised stage, a half-naked woman lounged on a bed of roses. She kicked her legs together in time with the plucking of Strand’s guitar strings.
An acrobat wearing a black bodysuit swung on a swing behind him. Strand leaned over the microphone stand and cleared his throat.
“Good evening,” he said, still tuning.
The crowd clapped in unison, all eyes on the stage.
“Or should I say, hello lovers.” His voice sounded so sexy to me. I imagined everybody in the room wanting him. A roar of possessiveness moved through me.
“My name is Strand, and I will not be performing for you tonight.”
The crowd gasped, followed by murmurs of confusion.
Leo glanced at me and I shrugged. My heart pounded. What was Dylan doing?
“I need to explain something to you,” Dylan said, as he strummed on his guitar. “You see, Strand retired and came to Venice to disappear.”
I couldn’t look away from him. His black-and-gold mask glinted in the light. Odessa and Shea were equally mesmerized. Arms on their cafe table, they leaned forward to soak up Strand’s every word.
Ari stood behind Leo, his arms wrapped around his waist. Even Roberto and Lissa appeared transfixed by the performance, their fingertips intertwined.
“How many of you are here for the first time?” Dylan asked the crowd. A few women hollered, and a man dressed as a flower pumped his green fist in the air. “Fucking Venice!” He screamed.
“Yes, fucking Venice.” Dylan laughed, throwing back his head. “This city is magic. In fact, there is a little-known fact that if you stand in the moonlight, you may find your beloved. Venice will give you the gift of sex, the gift of love.” What started as random notes began to take the shape of a melody.
“I met a woman here who changed my life,” Dylan said, strumming. “We stood in the moonlight and she cast a spell on me.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I fell in love with her. And like every stupid fucking musician in history, I fucked it up.” The crowd roared with laughter. “I wish I were joking, but she was the love of my life. And I lost her, and tonight I got a second chance.”
“Where is she?” a man shouted at the stage.
Dylan smiled and nodded toward my direction. “She’s here, and she has shown me that I don’t need to hide. I never did.”
He stood up, guitar in hand. “Strand played last night in Venice, his final show. Tonight, I will be performing as myself.”
He paused, and the crowd was silent. Everyone was on pins and needles waiting for Strand to speak.
“My name is Dylan Street and this song is dedicated to my wife, Isabella Uzano. You are my everything and this song is ‘Our Truth.’”
My wife. He loved me.
Dylan set his guitar on a stand and placed his hands on either side of his mask. He lifted it off, revealing himself to the crowd. The ballroom erupted. My friends stared, mouths gaping as they looked from Dylan to me and back again.
Dylan stood perfectly still, basking in the sound of applause. He looked around the room, an expression of wonder on his face, as if this were the first time, he’d ever felt the heat of the spotlight. He laughed, and picked up his guitar again.
“Feels pretty fucking good up here, pretty good. Thank you. You are all too kind.” Dylan Street, my husband, began to sing.
Moonlight all around us
She lights a path for me out of the cold
I stand in the shadows
She leads me to a place called home
Dylan played with his eyes closed, bathed in a circle of golden light.
Truth, I’m scared to follow
Truth, you see all my parts
Truth, I’m afraid we’ll fall down
Truth, our bodies belong tangled in the dark
As his voice flowed through the air, the crowd quieted and swayed with every word of his song.
All my love
Every inch of your beautiful body
All your curves
You take me in, I’m shaking
You take me in, you make me whole
His voice caressed my body, every note whispering over my skin like the touch of his hand. He hypnotized the crowd. With every word, Dylan revealed his true self, to himself, to the crowd, and through the words of his love song, to me.
Every broken piece of me
I belong to you
I belong to you
Truth, I belong to you
My truth, I belong to you
My truth, I love you
Our truth, I love you
I love you
“I love you, too,” I whispered as the lights dimmed. The crowd gave a standing ovation. The lights came back up. Dylan stood with his guitar in his hand, his head bowed.
“Thank you,” he said, his arms behind his back. “So, now that you know who I really am, you also know that it has been years since I have written music. My wife, Bella, gave me my music back. Thank you, my love.”
He nodded at me, and the light operator must have figured out who I was. A spotlight circled the room and landed on my table.
Dylan walked toward me and I waved. “My gorgeous wife is Venetian,” he said, a comment which was met with shouts of approval. “Yes, you Venetians. You are amazing. My wife is an entrepreneur. Her business is Bella Baci, and she makes the most exquisite candies you’ve ever eaten.” He stood almost directly above me on tage.
I looked up at him. “What are you doing?”
“Bella Baci taste like heaven. Just like you, my love,” Dylan said. He winked and walked away.
My cheeks burned with emotion. He was proud of me. I heard it in his voice. He believed in my dream. He believed in me.
“I’ll be playing a few more songs tonight,” Dylan said. “I’m afraid I need to leave here soon and go make love to my wife.”
The crowd laughed. They loved him. He talked to them in between every song and played for another hour. I danced to every one of his songs. As my hips moved back and forth, I imagined his arms around my waist. I thought of his hands parting my thighs. I remembered the length of him pushing against me, pushing inside of me.
Seeing Dylan on stage doing what he loved made me want him more. With every breath he exhaled, my body answered him. This feeling was greater than desire. Dylan played the strings of my soul.