Chapter 8
MOLLY
It’s time to dance.
“This will be fun.” I waggle my eyebrows at my new friend.
“Isn’t it too soon?” Mysterious Man looks at his watch.
The band starts playing something slow and solemn. Not exactly depressing, but not the kind of music that makes me want to get up and jump around. Which is what the kids and I did at our Christmas party.
Couples glide across the floor, arms around each other’s waists, hands clasped.
It all looks very civilized and restrained.
This isn’t what I call dancing.
“I don't like this music, do you?” I whisper into his ear.
“Not particularly.”
“I like dancing, just not to music like this. If they played something else I'd be in the middle of the floor.”
“I'm sure you would.”
“My six-year-olds and I had so much fun at the class Christmas party. We were dancing wildly, not caring who saw or heard us, but the headmistress did. She came in and stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Molly,” she said, “we must be mindful of the health and safety rules with young children.”
“Did you stop?”
“I asked her if it would be okay if we spread out a bit.”
He laughs. I’ve noticed that he’s laughing a lot more now.
“What did she say?”
“She huffed out a loud breath and walked away. She can trust me. She knows I’d never put the children in harm’s way.”
“She seems to be fond of you.”
“She is.” I smile as I think of Miss T.
We're both standing away from the main dancing area and the orchestra. I can tell there's no way the masked man wants to be on that dance floor, even if they changed the music and played something more upbeat.
I get the impression that dancing isn’t his thing. I don't know his name and I'm not going to ask him because if he wanted to tell me, he would have.
I also like that he's not getting all touchy and handsy like some of the guys I've met. He seems to understand that we’re just friends.
“Shall we go for a walk?” I suggest. “This is such a big palace. We could explore a bitt.”
The more we've talked, the more relaxed I am around him.
“That sounds like a good idea.” He seems eager to leave.
I expected him to want to stay or meet someone or have his eye on someone here but he doesn't. He's happy enough to hang out with me. As we leave the ballroom, officials nod as we walk past.
“We're not doing anything wrong by leaving, are we? They wouldn't tell us off, would they?”
He laughs at this. “No. Do you get told off a lot?”
“That depends on what I’ve done.”
The palace is enormous and there are staircases which the officials tell us we can go up to and look at some paintings if we want to. So we do.
There are a lot of paintings.
“Do you have children?” I ask, suddenly. The thought just popped into my head.
He frowns. “Do I look old enough?”
“Well, yes.” I examine his face closely. “I don't understand what that means. You look to be in your early twenties.”
“Twenty-eight, actually.”
“Oh. I'm only twenty-three.”
“I'm not ready to settle down yet and have children.”
“Me neither.”
I sense he's withdrawn into himself again.
“Families are complicated.” He sounds a little distant. I’m not sure where that came from, and I don’t know what to say to that.
“They can be,” I say after a while. “I’m still on probation at the school, but it’s quickly become a family of sorts. I’ve made good friends, and my headmistress is almost like a mom to me. And the children…” I smile. “Well, they’re precious.”
He watches me, saying nothing.
“What about you?” I ask, hoping to pull him from his thoughts.
He hesitates at first, then, “I have a big family. Five brothers.”
“Five brothers!” I’m so envious. “What's it like having so many siblings? It must be so much fun, I bet. You've always got things to do.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't. I sense he doesn't want to talk about it because he shrugs and moves to the next painting without answering. This painting is as boring as the last three we've looked at. I don't want to waste more of my evening here doing this.
“Not so much now.”
“Not so much, what?” I stare at the painting in confusion.
“My siblings. They're mostly busy with their girlfriends now.”
“Oh.” I’m stumped because, once again, I don’t know what to say. So I ask the obvious. “But not you?”
He shrugs again, his hands in his pockets. He does that a lot. It makes him look more closed off.
“It doesn't bother me. They're busier now and I don't get to see them as much as I usually would.”
He’s gone quiet again. I’m feeling a little restless looking these paintings. I almost wish I hadn’t suggested we explore the palace.
“I’m bored,” I announce. “What about you?”
I wait for his answer, but he doesn’t give one.
“I don’t want to spoil your fun,” I say, “so if you’d rather go back and dance or—”
“Whatever you want.”
I tilt my head. This guy is willing to do whatever I want. He knows people here, so he has more reason than I do to stay, but he’d rather do whatever I want.
“How about we leave?”
“Okay.”
He said it so easily, without any reservation.
“Don’t you want to know what for?” I ask, because I didn’t make an alternative suggestion on what we could do, and it now strikes me that he might think I’m making a pass at him. That I have other, nightly pursuits in mind.
I flap a hand between us. “I’m not propositioning you,” I say quickly. “We’re just friends.”
“I’m honored, and yes, I know we’re just friends. I didn’t come here looking for anything.”
“Me neither.”
Phew. I’m glad we cleared that up.
I rush off to the cloakroom and hand the attendant my ticket. I glance over my shoulder to see my masked friend watching me with a curious expression on his face. The cloakroom is still within sight of where he is, and when I slip into my faux-fur jacket, he nods and starts to walk towards me.
“Never had you for wearing fur.”
I immediately sense disapproval.
“It's not real. It's fake fur, and it keeps me nice and warm. I would never harm a living creature.”
“I had a feeling it was fake.”
“Because it looks cheap?”
“Because I can’t imagine you wearing a skinned animal.”
“You’re getting to know me so well.”
He doesn’t reply. We’re soon outside and I wonder what he’s thinking. He’s one of the most guarded people I’ve met, and even though I’ve only known him for a few hours, I can already tell this much about him.
He also knows my name, but I haven’t asked him his. Nor has he offered that information. I’ve decided not to press him on it. He’s kept his mask on the entire evening, like it’s his second skin. Most of the other guests took theirs off. But not this man.
“Are you ever going to take that thing off?”
“It's an Evening of Masks,” he reminds me. “So, no.”
We start to walk. Outside the palace a string quartet playing. We stop to listen. I look up at the tiny, jewelled stars twinkling in the inky night sky. This evening, this moment, is beautiful. I pinch myself, because it feels so much like a dream I never want to wake from.
In front of us an elderly couple are dancing cheek-to-cheek. Given their normal clothes, and that they’re not wearing masks, it’s obvious that they’re not from the masked ball. They're probably tourists. A crowd starts to form, as caught up in the moment as I am.
But the elderly couple are completely lost in their own world. I love that. I love that they're elderly, that they're seem so wrapped up in one another, wrapped up in the magic of this evening.
I watch, entranced.
They didn't need an invite to a palace to make magic moments. They created them by themselves.
I want to share a moment like they are. I want to experience this magic, but not alone. I want to have a memory that I can carry forever, even if it’s just with a man, a stranger I only just met, someone who is a friend and nothing more.
I turn to find him watching me.
“You want to dance, but the music is boring?” he suggests.
“Not boring. I suppose it's fitting for tonight, for this moment.”
The music here in the inky darkness gives the night a touch of magic. Although this isn't the type of music I dance to, I want to move, instead of standing on the sidelines, watching.
Everything about tonight has led to this moment—all the things I've seen and experienced, and this wonderful kind man I've met. This evening will end soon, and I'll never see him again and I want one extraordinary memory from this extraordinary night. Something that I’ll keep forever.
“Would you mind dancing with me?” I blurt out.
“Me?” He points to himself, and that makes him even more endearing.
“Yes, you. I don't usually ask strangers to dance with me, but somehow, you're not a stranger anymore.” I look at him, at his mask, at his eyes. He notices.
“But you're unsure about dancing with a man who wears a mask and whose name you don't know?”
I don't try to deny it. If we're to dance like that elderly couple, holding hands, bodies close together, I should at least know something about him.
“Enzo,” he says. “My name is Enzo.”
Somehow, that name is perfect. Even though I can’t see his face, his name is different. I’ve never known an Enzo, and that in itself feels special.
“En-zo.” I say his name slowly. “I'm honored that you're able to trust me with your name at last.”
“Enzo Knight.” The way he says it, it sounds like a weight. Something that wasn’t easy to give up.
But all I can think of is that my Venetian adventure has a knight in it. How lucky am I?
Not a knight in shining armour, but a knight in a mask. It’s fitting and magical and absurd all at once.
“Nice to meet you, Enzo Knight.”
“Nice to meet you, Molly.” He pauses, then, “I can take my mask off, if you’d like.” But I hear the resignation in his voice, and I see the crowd around us, some of whom are recording the elderly couple on their phones.
“You don’t have to.”
I’d hate to make him do something he’s clearly not comfortable doing. But at least I know his name.
He holds out his hand. There's no hesitation now, and the way he looks at me sets my heart aflutter. I wish I could see his face and read his expression.
But I can sense his mood.
He's being playful now.
My heart is racing. I see the elderly couple, still cheek to cheek, still lost in one another, moving gracefully behind him, and I take this man's hand, and even though he's masked, I find myself still being as curious and as fascinated by him as I was before.
I shiver, even though I’m not cold.
It’s his touch. A spark of electricity zaps between us, and I’m suddenly aware of his hand at my waist.
“Put your hand on my shoulder.”
I obey him, because I don’t know how to dance like this. His palm settles against my back, beneath my faux-fur jacket. The fabric of my dress is thin, and I can feel the warmth of his hand through it.
Oh.
He clasps my other hand in his, and starts to move. I try to follow.
This isn’t how I dance. I’m wild and carefree. Enzo is controlled, every movement measured, but he makes it easy for me to follow him.
And somehow, I’m comfortable.
I look up into his eyes behind the mask. He’s the perfect gentleman, holding my hand gently, guiding me whenever I get a step wrong.
Before long, I stop thinking about what my feet are doing.
We move together, not quite as close as the elderly couple, but close enough that I forget to breathe every now and then.
The string quartet plays on, and I let my masked knight lead me around the square. Soon it’s only me and him, gliding under the stars, on the cobblestones, in the heart of Venice.
This night is everything I could have hoped for, and more.