“I have to go, Mama,” I said. I leaned down and kissed her forehead. I walked away and glanced back in time to see her alone in the hall, tears streaming down her face, her face as pale as a ghost.
26
Leo and I walked out the doors of our palazzo into the brisk evening air. The first stars danced overhead. The setting sun left a trail of orange and gold streaking across the cornflower blue sky.
Music played from all corners. Waves of laughter rippled through the crowds. The air was electric, powered by my nerves and the collective energy of the millions of people making their way to San Marco Square for Carnival.
Couples danced and twirled as they walked. Not everyone would be at the ball at Doge's Palace, but it didn’t matter. All of Venice would dance tonight.
“So, we are not going to debrief on that right now?” Leo said, as we stood right outside our courtyard.
“No,” I said, exhaling. “Not enough time in the world.”
“You know she could go tell your father everything,” he said.
“She won’t.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“I’m not. I just believe her pain is real. She let Sara down. I have to believe she won’t fail me too.”
“Then I believe, too,” Leo said. “Let’s go.”
Leo and I wove through the dancing couples toward the first bridge, and over the canal toward San Marco Square. As the sky darkened, I couldn’t help but think of the night I wandered the streets looking for sleep. Broken and sad, I didn’t find peace, but I found Dylan.
I crashed into him and never stopped falling. Yes, he acted like an ass, but I couldn’t resist that smile, the sparkle in his eyes. He surprised me that night and every day since.
I shivered remembering our very first night together. We kissed in the piazza and all I wanted was him.
Goosebumps traveled down my body as I remembered the sensation of his hands on my body, his lips marking a trail between my legs, his hard cock pushing inside me, coaxing me to climax with every thrust.
He was a memory now. I needed to be grateful for the time we spent together. I was moving on.
The crowds slowed us down and it took five times as long to make it half the distance. Leo kept checking his phone and encouraging me to hurry.
Finally, we turned down a narrow corridor, blocked by wall-to-wall people. We inched forward until we stood just inside the piazza in the very spot where I proposed Dylan a night of sex and magic.
“Would you like to embrace the magic of sex for one night of pleasure in Venice?”
We each delivered on that promise and it was over now. Standing in San Marco, masquerading as a bride and planning an attack against Street Entertainment, I realized I was braver then I gave myself credit for. I found the courage to proposition Dylan and tonight I would crush his brother’s plans.
The square was a madhouse of masked and costumed party-goers. The air smelled of perfume and sweet drinks. A hum of conversation and laughter mixed with the sound of stringed instruments. A symphony of artists sat on a stage, facing St. Mark’s Cathedral and the entrance to the palace.
A series of raised platforms started in one corner, spanned the square and ended at Doge's Palace. It was the Parade of Divas, and a steady line of fashionistas strutted down the catwalk on their way to the ball. Spotlights danced over the columns of the square. A group of people jockeying for a better look at the models blocked Leo and me from moving.
“Another way,” I said, taking Leo’s hand. The walk to San Marco had taken much longer than expected and now the greatest challenge was ahead of us. We needed to make it to the steps of the palace for the ceremony. We had fifteen minutes to cross the square.
Leo and I elbowed our way through the gawking crowd, past one of the main runways. Above me, a woman in a bright yellow-and-gold dress with a mask of jewels spun in circles, prancing and preening for the crowd. Behind her followed a steady stream of beautiful creatures.
We made it to a roped off area where the carabinieri formed a line to organize the crowd and regulate foot traffic. One of the officers stepped forward and raised his hand just as Leo and I were about to cross.
“Hold on,” I said, gripping Leo’s arm. “Look, look, look, it’s Dante.”
“That prick,” Leo said.
“I know,” I said, smiling as a planned formed. Dante Camarda, the boy who kissed like soft oatmeal, and the man who shared video of my night with Dylan at the Lido Glass Factory, waved Leo and me forward.
“You need to go around the long way,” he said.