Page 39 of His Two Hidden Masks

“You asked for the truth and the truth you will get.”

“All right,” I said. The flickering lights from the heat lamp painted us both with a warm gold. The champagne coursing through my veins felt like bravery. “Who are you really?” I asked. “No more lies.”

“No more lies.” Dylan held his drink in his hand, staring at it instead of me. “I have lied to women before.”

“I bet you have.”

“And I’m not going to lie to you,” he said, his dark eyes flashing. “I don’t think I can.” He seemed surprised and amused by this statement.

“Good.”

“Do you know music?”

“Kind of.”

“I used to be in music.”

“Like, in a band?”

“I was a musician,” he said.

This was not what I was expecting. I wasn’t sure if it was the absurdity of the situation or the champagne courage powering my veins. I leaned forward, my hands inching dangerously close to Dylan’s arm.

“Wait, so are you secretly a famous musician? Like, were you in a boy band? Let me guess. You were the sensitive one.”

“Not a boy band,” Dylan said. “I stopped playing professionally a few years ago.”

“But I’ve never heard of Dylan Street,” I said. “I’m not trying to be rude.”

“That is because nobody cares about him,” Dylan said. “I play as Strand.”

Holy shit. My jaw dropped open. Growing up in Venice, I was sheltered and raised on tales of Don Juan, poets and romantics who wandered our piazzas, lovers who danced in a pink haze of champagne through the square.

Even I knew you had to be living under a rock to not know of the mysterious guitarist and vocalist Strand. I knew his name, but I couldn’t tell you what he looked like. Strand played wearing a mask.

“You are joking,” I said.

“Not joking,” Dylan said. “I promised you truth. I am here for vacation and some work.”

“You’re playing music here?”

“No, I have been invited to play. I still get invitations to play, but I can’t do it. So, I don’t.”

I studied Dylan’s face in the candlelight. His head was tipped to the side with his ever-present sly smile. Was it possible this beautiful man hid his gorgeousness under a mask.

“Why the mask?”

“I’m shy,” he said, his voice teasing.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know your music very well.”

“You must remember my last album, Love Inside?”

“Nope,” I said. “Never heard of it. Truth.”

“That’s fair.” He smiled at me. “So, there it is. You know who I am.”

“You are a billionaire with a superstar secret life,” I said. “This is not what I was expecting.”

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