Chapter 21 #2
“Yeah, but their husbands would have come into their rooms at night and taken what they wanted.” Rob comes up behind me, pressing me against the window.
I spread my hands on the glass and look out at the canals, the ancient buildings, and the tourists scurrying below, as he pushes my hair away from my neck, tracing my tattoo with his fingers, kissing it gently, then roughly with his bearded mouth.
I can feel how much he wants me as he pushes his whole body harder against me, licking his fingers, and sliding his hand inside my bra to my nipple. I want him, too. I’ve never wanted anything as much as him, as much as this.
I turn and let him strip me naked in front of the window, not caring whether anyone can see us from outside.
I grab the curtains at each side as he drops to his knees, removes my panties, puts my right leg over his shoulder and explores me with his fingers and tongue, persisting until he hears the first cry of ecstasy from my lips and feels my body buckle.
Only then does he stand up, carrying me to the grand bed and doing things to me that would make an Italian lady of yore swoon.
Later, lying in the plush bed, exhausted and sweaty after a long session of lovemaking and very little sleep, I start drifting off.
“Do we have to do anything today?” I mumble into Rob’s shoulder. “What time is it?”
“It’s around noon. We should sleep a few hours, baby. I’ve got a surprise for tonight, and we’ll need energy.”
We wake and shower in the late afternoon, and I’m about to ask Rob what I should wear for the evening’s surprise event when there’s a knock on our door. Two porters enter, carrying two enormous flat boxes, plus a large cube-shaped one, and place them on the messed-up bed.
“What’s this?” I ask Rob, as he tips the departing porters. He has a knowing smile on his face.
“It’s your other surprise. Well, the surprise is what we’re doing tonight, but this is what I ordered for us to wear. I called ahead and the concierge helped me out. Open them.”
I lift the lid off one flat box and find, to my astonishment, an eighteenth-century style male courtier’s coat and breeches.
“Ah, that’s mine,” Rob laughs. “Open the other.”
Puzzled, I grab an even larger box.
Wrapped inside, in tissue paper, is an ivory period ballgown with intricate blue-and-gold embroidery down the front, and a blue brocade trim. I pick it up, carefully place it on the bed, smoothing down the skirts. I am speechless. Silently, Rob places two tickets on the comforter, next to it.
Masquerata Primavera, Venezia.
“Masquerata . . . masquerade?” I screech. “As in, the Venice masquerade carnival? We’re going?!”
He grins. “Told you it was a good surprise. This is how much I love you — I’m prepared to get dressed up like an idiot for you.
” He kisses me. “It’s not the big Venice Carnival, that’s in February, but there’s a spring masked ball tonight.
It’s full eighteenth-century costume dress — hence the hired outfits.
Yes, I’m the best husband ever. Go on, there’s more stuff, and we have to leave at six. ”
This is totally unbelievable. I throw my arms around his neck. “Oh my Lord. Thank you, baby. You’ve made me so happy.” I release him, turning back to the boxes, wriggling in a happy dance. “This is better than Christmas.”
Rob nods, rummaging in his box. “Check out the square box. I asked for a bunch of accessories to go with these outfits. Masks and hats.”
I look. “All kinds of goodies in here.”
Two full-length, velvet-lined hooded cloaks to go over our outfits — his brown, mine blue.
A courtier’s hat, a white ringleted wig and several Venetian masks of all shapes and sizes, including one with a hooked nose, three full-face masks and a white lace one.
At the bottom is a small bag of jewelry.
No eighteenth-century-style shoes, but I packed my ivory wedding shoes, which should work fine.
“This stuff is amazing.” I sit at the dresser and lift the white wig over my hair, which I tuck up underneath.
Cinderella at the ball. I pick up a full-face ceramic mask painted with gold and blue decorations, and gold lips on the closed mouth.
I put it against my face, slip the elastic under my wig and the transformation is complete.
I’m unrecognizable, the image of an eighteenth-century princess at a masquerade ball.
Which, of course, is the point. It’s tough to see or talk, however, so I try on the white lace half-face mask.
This one I can change into when I need to eat and drink, I think, packing it into my gold clutch — which is inauthentic but at least coordinates.
“Wow!” Rob’s eyes widen. “That wig is magnificent. Okay, I’m dressing in the bathroom so you can see the full effect.”
I laugh as he takes his box and the courtier’s hat, disappearing with a wink into the bathroom.
I remove the wig, strip down, and replace my underwear with my wedding bra and matching panties.
I add nude stockings, then step into the dress.
I heave the bodice together at the front, fastening it with dozens of tiny hooks.
It’s tight but fits pretty well, and looks incredible with its huge skirts, which I swish around.
Now for the accessories. In the box I find a pair of long, off-white gloves, and out of the jewelry bag I select an elaborate necklace of pale blue leaves in an antique-gold setting that picks up the colors of the dress.
The bathroom door opens, and an eighteenth-century gentleman in a cream-and-beige courtier’s outfit emerges. He is wearing a three-cornered hat and a half-face ceramic mask with a long, hooked nose.
I’ve never seen a man look more spectacular. And he’s my husband.
“Oh. My. God. Just incredible.”
I grab Rob by the shoulders and bob under the mask’s nose to kiss the bearded, full lips underneath. “Totally authentic, but like a sexy, mysterious courtier. The one all the court ladies fantasize about, but nobody can figure out where he’s from.”
He laughs and removes his mask. “Thanks. Wow. That dress is something.”
I put the necklace against my throat, holding the fastening for Rob to take. “I’m not done yet. I still have to do my makeup.”
Rob moves my hair aside to fasten the necklace. “Doesn’t a mask negate the need for makeup?”
I smirk in fake pity. “How little you understand, sir. Yes, I have a mask, two in fact, but only one of them covers my whole face, and there might be times I’m not wearing either.”
He grimaces, glances at his watch.
“I won’t take long. Give me twenty minutes?”
“I’ll have a drink downstairs.” He looks for somewhere to put his key card, phone, and wallet. “This damn outfit has no pockets.”
“Well, not many cellphones back then. I have a bag, I’ll take them.”
He hands them over and kisses my cheek. “See you soon. Don’t be late.”
I freshen my makeup, clip up my hair and add the white wig, which has a blue feather and brooch attached.
I fix it in place with bobby pins and give my head a shake — the wig isn’t going anywhere.
I pull on the gloves and add my own gold bracelet on top.
Smiling at myself in the mirror, I put my compact, lipstick, the ball tickets, two hotel key cards, both our phones and Rob’s wallet in the gold clutch, along with my smaller lace mask.
One last thing.
I place the beautiful ceramic mask against my face and pull the elastic under the base of my wig. Now the image is complete.
Staring at myself is pretty freaky. The room behind me is so ornate, the oil painting above the bed adding authenticity, I can easily imagine myself in another life, as an eighteenth-century princess, my suitor waiting to take me to the ball.
But I’m already in another life, living as a twenty-first-century princess, or as privileged as one.
Snap out of it. This is your honeymoon.
Walking carefully, my field of vision compromised, I grab my clutch and carefully descend to the lobby.
I can just make out Rob finishing a glass of whiskey on the couch beneath the huge painting.
Several other hotel guests stop and stare, and a few take photos as I try to glide as elegantly as possible across the floor toward him.
He stands up, his expression momentarily inscrutable. “You’re incredible. Unrecognizable. We have to get a picture at the ball.”
I try to laugh as I take his arm, but the mask restricts my mouth. “I can’t see a freakin’ thing,” I mumble, “and I can’t talk much. Plus, I’m going to want a drink and some food. So, this mask is not going to last long.”
Rob leads me out of the hotel’s Grand Canal exit, where a gondola decorated with ribbons is waiting at the dock.
“Oh, baby. Did you do this, too? It’s wonderful.”
“Well, we couldn’t arrive in modern transport, not in these outfits.”
Rob climbs in and lifts me by the waist off the dock before I can even object, putting me down onto a seat in the gondola. “Couldn’t have you going overboard, could we?”
It’s impossible to give Rob a steely glare from inside the mask, so I poke his side. “Not sure lifting is allowed, but we’re in character, so you get a pass — this time.”
“Got it, Your Highness.”
The unseen gondolier expertly steers us down the water, and I catch glimpses of spectacular canal-front hotels, palaces, and churches. Other watercrafts carry a mix of costumed and regularly clothed people. It’s like a strange and beautiful dream.
“I’m getting snapshots,” I tell Rob. “It’s already like a memory.”
He peers at me. “Take the mask off if you’re missing out.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got to show up in full dress. I’ll switch soon.”