Page 1 of His Two Hidden Masks

1

The day of my wedding to Roberto Bianco, I sat beside my Man of Honor, Leo, and pretended I wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack that was all my fault.

The Church of San Polo bridal room was cramped and cluttered. Religious icons, paintings, and shelves of Venetian glass baubles covered the walls. A spectacular blue chandelier hung from the center of the room.

It was so damn hot. There was no air conditioning in the church or in the waiting room. The church looked like so many beautiful things in Venice, gilded, glittering, and crumbling underneath.

I squirmed beside Leo, trying to adjust my corset. My dress was ivory satin and lace, beaded with a scooped neck, capped sleeves, and a skirt full enough to hide a pack of flower girls.

I joked with my mother that my dress had more layers than a five-tier wedding cake. My comment had not been well received, like most of my attempts to connect with her. My whole life, my mother and I viewed the world through different colored lenses. Where I saw a beautiful sunset, my mother saw air pollution.

I knew that life had not always been kind to her. My father was a workaholic with moods that shifted as quickly as the rising water levels of Venice.

I was only five when my older sister, Sara, died after a short illness at age eighteen. I wondered sometimes what my mother was like before grief changed her, before it changed both my parents.

“Is my face melting?” I said, turning to Leo.

I picked up an Architectural Digest magazine and waved it in front of my face. “I’m melting, or dying. I’m dying, am I right? And why is there an Architectural Digest in here and not a fan?”

“You are not melting or dying,” Leo said, his voice calm. “You look beautiful now, and you looked beautiful before Mama Uzano hired someone to paint your face.”

I waved my make-shift fan and resisted the urge to touch my skin.

Leo sat beside me, legs crossed, hands clasped in his lap, totally unflustered. Tall and muscular, Leo looked like a runway model in his smart black tuxedo. His shaved head and perfectly groomed goatee were on point. His blue eyes stood out like gems against his olive skin.

Leo and I both grew up in Venice and were childhood friends. He worked at the Lido Glass Factory just off San Marco Square and could sell glass to a post.

He was also in a long-term, long-distance relationship with his boyfriend, David, who worked in fashion in Milan. David wasn’t at the wedding, as he had a runway event in Paris that he couldn’t miss.

“How are you not sweating?” I said, waving my magazine in Leo’s beautiful face.

“I don’t sweat,” he said, brow wrinkling as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Everybody sweats.”

“Give me the damn magazine,” Leo said. “You look like a beautiful little bird flapping your wings. It’s adorable and sad.” He took over as my human fan.

“Thanks,” I said, closing my eyes.

“Better?” he asked.

“Little bit,” I said, taking a deep breath.

The Bianco family was one of the few “titled” families left in Venice with a bank account large enough to back their claim to royalty. Our families had been in business together for years.

My family ran Uzano Properties with a portfolio of hotels and restaurants across Italy. Roberto’s family, the Bianco’s, were money managers and trusted advisors to my parents.

Roberto was twelve years my senior. He’d largely grown up in boarding schools throughout Europe, returning to Venice for the holidays. When he moved back to Venice permanently, he pursued me with focus. We used to joke that his love for me was as serious as running the numbers.

Roberto was measured, thorough, loyal, and never wavered in his belief that our marriage was a perfect plan. Roberto was the cautious introvert with beautiful green eyes, and I was the dreaming extrovert with an insatiable love of chocolate. We balanced each other like two sides of a coin.

Falling in love was our destiny, and as a team, we would transform Uzano Properties. Roberto was positioned to eventually run my parents’ company. My dream was to add to my family’s empire by turning my line of hand-dipped chocolates into a real business.

Nothing made my heart soar more than being in the restaurant kitchen, stirring pots of caramel and experimenting with flavor. Over the past year, I’d poured all my time into developing my own brand of hand-dipped sweets that I gifted to guests of my family’s restaurant and hotel.

Roberto and I supported each other’s dreams. The fact our marriage also provided an influx of Bianco cash to my family’s portfolio was a happy coincidence.

Everything would be perfect once I said two magic words. I do.

---