11. Vincenzo
Vincenzo
Chapter 11
I stand near the floor to ceiling French windows installed to overlook the fountains and entranceway, my eyes scanning the comings and goings at tonight’s party. In actuality, there’s only the comings.
No one truly wants to leave this place.
The cars are curving out from the driveway, spilling into the street outside my compound. The valets are overworked.
Everyone, and more, has shown up for a night at my estate. After all, Consolini parties are legendary.
So why the hell isn’t she here yet? I feel a stab of disappointment. I threw this whole thing for her, and her alone.
Behind me, I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder. My heart almost slams out of my ribcage as I turn with the biggest smile on my face. “Cam-” but then stop when I notice it’s someone else entirely.
“Vincenzo!” exclaims Ang Tabishiko, heir to an ancient Japanese royal lineage, as she leans forward to kiss each of my cheeks. “I’m grateful for your hospitality today.”
“Of course, your highness,” I murmur, and bow my head in humble respect.
“Come,” she gives me her arm. “Let’s go make the rounds.”
I nod and take her arm, not wanting to be rude. It is my party, after all.
“You’ve been the talk of the party, Vincenzo,” she tells me, watching me from the corner of her eye. “You’ve been brooding, some say. Whatever is the matter?”
Of course they did.
Fortunately, I’m saved from fabricating an answer, as above us confetti begins to fall all around. Eyes turn upwards, and the chandeliers part on all four corners, like a lotus. From within emerge beautiful, scantily clad women in swing dresses, leaping and curling around on thick pieces of cloth.
“Oh my goodness,” Ang gushes, her hand reaching her chest, her neck craned up, her eyes wide as she follows one stunt to another. “Were they there the whole time? Stunning. Just stunning!” she screeches, not taking her eyes off of the performance.
Just then, a large fire breathing dragon made from paper floats across the room, twenty feet above our heads, releasing cold fire. People scream and gasp, in complete reverence. Ang now claps, her excited chatter catching the attention of people nearby wanting favor with the princess.
This is my moment for escape. I know I shouldn’t want that. I paid for all this. These are my people, my friends. The grand hall is alive with laughter and music, a sea of elegantly dressed guests dancing and mingling beneath the glittering chandeliers. I should enjoy each moment with my friends.
Yet I fear I would be rather bad company tonight.
"Where is she?" I mutter to myself, my gaze darting from one face to another, searching for Camela among the guests. The memory of her mysterious departure the other night still lingers in my mind – that enigmatic smile, the subtle hint of intrigue in her eyes. It's as if she had cast a spell on me, and now all I think of is her.
"Vincenzo!" a familiar voice calls out, snapping me back to reality. I turn to find an old friend, a historian with the local museum, approaching me with a smile. He extends his hand, and I shake it warmly. "You've outdone yourself this time. What an exquisite gathering!"
"Thank you," I reply, giving him a genuine smile. "I'm glad you could make it."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he assures me, and then, he leans closer, gripping my hand tight. I lean in to his ear. "By the way, I asked around about the professor with our old friends. None of them questioned what the papers say. They believe it was a natural death.”
I frown, and he catches the look on my face. He squeezes my hand, forcing me to look into his wise eyes. “Vincenzo,” he tells me. “We’re all old, straightforward, simple men from the university. If you truly want to know something, you must dig into his other world – the people he kept company with outside of work.”
“But however would I know who that might be?”
“A man ought to never lie to their doctor, their accountant, and their lawyer,” he says, advice steeped in wisdom. "Excellent," he nods, seemingly satisfied with the information he provided me. "Well, I won't keep you any longer. Great evening, my friend. Truly spectacular."
Somewhat dumbfounded, I watch him walk away. I know my friend was murdered, just like my brother. The overwhelming lack of information speaks for itself.
Needless to say, I will keep reaching out to old friends and colleagues, maybe even that doctor, lawyer and accountant, until I know what happened to him.
But for now, I get should back to the party. Another twenty minutes pass. I say my hello’s to a dozen people.
The clock keeps ticking, and Camela has yet to appear. My confidence wavers slightly. I make my way back to the window, lean against it, feeling the cool glass pressing against my shoulder, and a flicker of doubt crosses my mind.
What if she doesn't come? Did I scare her off by sending her another invitation so soon?
"Everything alright, Vincenzo?" a concerned guest inquires, noticing my furrowed brow.
"Of course," I answer with a forced smile. "Just taking a moment to enjoy the view."
"Ah, yes," they nod, following my gaze out of the window. "It truly is a sight to behold."
"Indeed," I agree, though my thoughts remain focused on Camela's absence.
Thoughts of that woman do strange things to me, insane things to me. I’m beginning to hate every guest, every song, every drink.
Nothing seems the same without her. The very charm of this party seems grotesque without her.
It was too much and was all for her.
I begin to think about my own role in this situation. I’m acting irrationally in this obsession with a woman I only met once. Her hair, her smile, her graceful movement, the smell of her perfume – maybe they’ve come to mean so much to me because she proved to be the distraction I needed from all the thoughts of death and murder plaguing me since the professor’s passing.
Maybe this is it. I now need to strike her name from my memory. I straighten my spine and motioned at the white-gloved waiter to bring me champagne. He turns to my voice, his hand gracefully swinging the tray in the air.
He takes note of my command, bows and leaves, and I’m about to turn around when I see her, from the corner of my eye, hidden from my sight by the waiter who just left.
I almost do a double-take.
My heart leaps with indescribable joy as I spot the most graceful woman, looking stunning in a deep-cut, floor-length silver gown that shimmers with every step she takes. "Camela," I murmur under my breath, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. She's here.
The sequined fabric is tight around her hips, loosening just a little below the knees. Her bare arms show silky olive skin. Her soft, loose curls are tied in a low bun, with little wisps framing her face. Diamonds dangle from her ears, peeping through the tendrils of her curls.
She looks divine. Her presence commands immediate attention, and I can hear whispers spreading throughout the room.
People are wondering who she is. Well, they’ll soon find out that she’s here with me.
Like a madman running from a bull, I push through the throng of guests, focused solely on reaching her. Weaving between clusters of people, their glasses clinking together in toasts, I finally make my way to Camela's side.
"Camela," I repeat, louder this time, and she turns to look at me, her brown doe-eyed eyes bearing into me. “You came,” I say rather breathlessly.
“I came,” she whispers and lowers her eyes before raising them to meet mine again. She looks nervous as if she has debated herself about accepting this invitation. I need to show her she has no reason for regret.
"You look absolutely breathtaking," I say, and take her hand to my lips, giving it a quick kiss. Her eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of surprise before she smiles warmly.
"Vincenzo, thank you," she says, her voice soft yet confident. "I'm glad I could make it. I must admit, I was surprised at having received an invitation after…”
Her voice trails off, so she, too, has been thinking of how she left things the previous time. But I don’t want to make her uncomfortable or put her on the spot right now. We will have plenty of time to discuss that later when she feels more comfortable and welcome.
"Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?" I ask, extending my hand to her, letting bygones be bygones. The music swells around us, perfectly timed for our rendezvous.
"Of course," she sounds relieved, placing her delicate hand in mine. "I would be delighted."
As we make our way to the dance floor, I can't help but feel a sense of triumph. Camela is here, and the evening suddenly holds so much more promise than before.
The faint scent of jasmine from Camela's perfume fills my senses as we step onto the dance floor. Her nervous smile betrays an underlying excitement. The atmosphere around us buzzes with music and laughter as couples twirl and sway under the soft glow of chandeliers.
"Thank you for accepting my invitation," I say, pulling her close and guiding her into a gentle waltz. "I'm truly glad you could make it tonight."
"Of course, Vincenzo," she replies, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. I saw you’d send a hand-written invitation."
“Would you believe me if I told you I threw this party just to see you again?”
She stops and takes a small, jerky breath, her eyes reading my face. “You joke!” she exclaims in disbelief.
“A joke would be me telling you that’s a hideous dress,” I say in earnest, taking her hand and pulling her closer.
She breaks into a fit of giggles. “And now, you jest!”
I shrug, happy to be called out for what I’m doing. As we gracefully glide across the floor, I can't help but notice how perfectly our movements synchronize. It's as if we've been dancing together for years.
Two minutes later, she leans close to my ear and whispers, her breath soft on my ear. “Well then, if this party was to see me, I’m sorry I was late. The thing is, I wasn’t sure how you felt about me anymore.”
"Camela," I begin, cautiously choosing my words. "The other night, when you left so suddenly... I hope I didn't offend you in any way."
She hesitates for a moment, her gaze shifting to the side before returning to meet mine. "No, not at all," she assures me, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just that... Well, I got scared. I’ve been burned before, and I hardly even know you. I didn’t know whether you were toying with me or truly interested.”
“So you ran because you didn’t know me?” I ask, genuinely concerned.
She looks embarrassed and flushes. But then, she gives me the gentlest nod. I feel like a complete and utter fool – I never made her feel comfortable.
I stop dancing and take a step back. She looks around the dance floor rather nervously.
I want to show her more of my world and let her get to know me. "Would you like a tour of my home, Camela?" I ask, extending my hand towards her. It’s a great way to get to know a man.”
She looks surprised, but still, she places her hand in mine.
We leave the dance floor behind. I guide her through the grand hallways, stopping to introduce her to several influential figures attending the party. She listens intently, nodding and offering her insights on various topics, all the while maintaining a sense of grace and poise that leaves me captivated.
Eventually, I get sick of the interruptions and show her around a private route.
"Here's my library," I announce, pushing open the heavy oak doors to reveal the rows upon rows of leather-bound volumes that line the walls. "It’s my favorite room, where I spend most of my free time."
"Wow," she breathes, her eyes widening in awe. "Vincenzo, these collections," she walks past the shelves, tracing the titles with her fingers.
"Please, make yourself at home," I encourage her, gesturing towards the plush seats that surround a crackling fireplace. "I've always found this room to be a sanctuary of sorts."
As we settle into the comfortable chairs, our conversation continues to flow effortlessly, touching on everything from our favorite authors to our shared love of art. And with each passing moment, I feel the walls between us crumbling down.
We speak for an hour about everything under the sun – Tolstoy, Tolstein, the moderns and the classics. Afraid of our time alone ending, I stand with gusto, take Camela's hand and lead her through further grand halls of my home.
The scent of flowers wafts in as we step outside, making our way towards a more secluded part of my garden. The city lights sparkle like scattered diamonds against the night sky, casting a magical glow on the world around us.
"Vincenzo, this place is enchanting," she whispers, her eyes reflecting the dazzling display above us.
"Isn’t it?" I say, releasing her hand to gesture at the stunning vista before us. "I thought you’d like it here.”
Camela's gaze shifts back to me, her eyes holding a warmth that sends a shiver down my spine. "Thank you for this. It's... amazing."
“I remembered last time,” I tell her. “How calm you were in the garden. Inside the house, on the dance floor, you’re like a butterfly, flittering around. Out here,” I take one step closer and place a gentle thumb on her chin. “You can be calm, still. Yourself.”
As we stand there, the distance between us seems to shrink as if drawn together by some unseen force.
"Ever since I was a little girl," Camela confesses, "I've always dreamed of traveling the world. But in my travels, I dreamt of forests, and vastness. Stillness and isolation. I always wanted to drown out the noise just enough to hear my own voice,” she admits, a small quiver in her baritone. “But my life took a different path."
"Sometimes paths can change," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "And it's never too late to pursue your dream."
“It’s not?” she looks so unsure. I step closer. Her lips part as she stares into my eyes. “Even after how we left things last night?”
The blood rushes to my heart at her words. I know exactly what she means to say, and it mirrors my own deepest desire. Her eyes search mine, a vulnerability shining within them, and something inside me snaps. Unable to resist any longer, I cup her face with my hands.
"Camela," I murmur, my heart pounding in my chest. "May I?"
She nods, her breath hitching, and I lean in, capturing her lips in a most tender kiss. My world shifts on its axis. I place my hand on her lower back and pull her closer to myself, hungry for more.
I feel so happy that a hint of sadness comes over me while I’m still locked in a kiss with her because I fear this will be over too soon.
Never has a kiss made me feel just this way. Special. Seen. Desired. Loved. She kisses me like I’m the center of her world. And I?
I want nothing more than to make her mine. I bite her lower lip, releasing the smallest moan.
And suddenly, Camela pulls away, and her expression shifts. Panic floods her eyes as she wrenches away from me, leaving me stunned and confused. "I-I can't," she stammers, her breathing ragged.
"Camela, what's wrong?" I ask, my concern growing with each passing second. "Did I do something to upset you? Please, talk to me."
She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, it's not you, Vincenzo. It's me... I can't explain it right now. I just... I have to go."
I reach out to touch her arm, hoping to offer some comfort, but she recoils as if my touch burns her skin. My heart aches at the sight, but I know I can't force her to stay if she doesn't want to.
"Please don't follow me," she pleads, her voice barely audible.
I watch, helpless, as Camela turns and runs out of the garden and disappears into the night, leaving me standing there, utterly bewildered, again.
I enter the mansion through the kitchen, not wanting to run into any of the guests. The place is bustling with waiting staff. Luckily, they’re all focused on getting food and drinks out as fast as the empty dishes come in, so no one seems to notice me.
I’m about to stop one of my regular staff and ask for a neat double scotch to be brought to the library when I notice a man observing me from across the room.
He isn't dressed in the same black-and-white uniform as the other waiting staff; instead, he sports a simple black suit that looks somewhat worn and out of place among the guests.
He looks directly at me, and I'm struck by the coldness in his gaze. He moves out of the kitchen with the next group of waiters, and I follow with quick strides. But there’s a congestion of staff coming in and wanting to leave, and I’m held up.
I just see him pull out a phone and speak into it with an urgency I find unsettling. Then he makes his way towards the front entrance before disappearing from my line of view.
I immediately get Mario on the phone. “Boss?”
“Check the security cameras out front. A left just now, medium build, plain suit. See what car he gets into.” I bark my orders before ending the call.
Something tells me this stranger is somehow connected to Camela’s unusual behavior – and I’m determined to find out what their connection is.