Page 81 of His Two Hidden Masks

As we rounded the corner, Leo raised his hand, pointing to a white tent glittering in the distance. I felt the steady thump ofthe bass, before hearing the music as we approached. A crowd of people stood in line behind a rope waiting to be let inside.

“Eros, the highest form of love,” Leo said, with a flourish, pointing to the name of the club overhead. Odessa, Shea, and I stood wide-eyed in front of the glittering lights.

Leo wrinkled his nose. “You know what? Tonight, I disagree. Tonight, I say, ‘fuck love.’ I hope we all find beautiful, naughty, hot-as-fuck lust inside those glittering doors.” Leo waved us forward. “Let’s fucking dance.”

17

Leo walked up the red carpet to the roped-off entrance, passing a long line of tourists and partygoers. A doorman, wearing a black tuxedo and a silver fox mask, stood outside with a clipboard.

Leo whispered into his ear and the man lifted the rope. Leo smiled over his shoulder as we followed him inside.

“Well, well, don’t we feel like royalty?” Shea beamed as we approached the billowy, white-curtained entrance.

“Darling, of course, we are,” Odessa said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. I loved how she claimed her power, never apologizing or second guessing herself.

Leo stopped at the entrance. “Are you ready, gorgeous creatures?” His cheek flushed, and his words softened from the Prosecco. I hoped his tipsy-bubble numbed his broken heart, at least for tonight.

“We are so ready,” Shea said, dancing on the tips of her cowboy boots. “What did you say to him to get past the line?”

Leo laughed. “The truth. I told him you beautiful women are all princesses, visiting from America.”

“I knew you saw our crowns,” Odessa said.

I loved being included as a princess from America. It was ridiculous, but it made me feel royal. Confidence moved through my body like an elixir. My shoulders rolled back. I held my head high. Leo parted the white curtains and we entered the tent.

The room pulsed with music and light. Red. Blue. Green. Purple. Jewel-tone strobe lights circled the room, bathing the walls with beams of color. This club was alive and throbbing with the colors of Carnival.

Standing beside Leo and these gorgeous women, I no longer wanted to hide under my covers. I wanted to be a part of the festival. I wanted to dance and revel in the rich color and the sexiness of the night.

For years, I had seen Carnival only as an event that attracted tourist dollars, powerful enough to make or break a business. I experienced Carnival as a Venetian, which made it impossible to see the crowds and the masks and not feel how different day-to-day life really was in my city.

That night, I wanted to experience Carnival as a woman. I wanted to stand with my lover under a glittering, silk ceiling. I wanted to feel the touch of my lover’s hand against the bare skin of my back as we danced. I wanted Dylan. I stood at the edge of the dance floor, breathless and wanting.

A series of bars, all lit by different colors, were nestled around the edge of the tent, framing the dance floor like crown jewels. A DJ stood on a raised stage in the middle of the room. His hand on his headphones, he swayed in time with a steady beat.

People wearing masks of all colors and design crowded the dance floor. There were silver birds, black angels, red kings, sequined faeries. People danced solo, eyes closed, performing for themselves. Couples moved and swayed together, their bodies bending and flowing in time with each other’s heartbeat.

The concept of gender had no place here. People dressed in all manner of fashion. Tourists in jeans pressed their bodies against masked strangers in ball gowns.

Silk, velvet, and satin, the sounds of swirling skirts added a layer of texture to their collective song. Everyone shone under this silk canopy, tiny lights sparkled overhead like stars in the night sky.

The four of us stood together just inside the entrance. A waiter dressed in black greeted us with a silver tray, offering up carnival masks like appetizers.

“Yes, please,” Odessa said, selecting a black mask. Leo chose red, Shea yellow. I chose a white-and-gold-one. The masks were paper, but sturdy, and modeled after the more expensive hand-painted masks sold at boutiques in the city.

Masks on, we joined the crowd on the dance floor. Moving as one, pairing off at times, dancing alone, it was hypnotic, sexy, and oh-so-fun. As I danced, I thought of Dylan, remembering the softness of his lips on my throat, the tickle of his tongue between my breasts and down my belly.

In the dark corners of the club, sequins glittered and shadows grew, revealing couples making out. I wished I were pressed up against a wall in the dark with Dylan, with Strand. I didn’t care what name he used, his body belonged to me. His mouth, his hands, his hard dick, parting the lips of my pussy and driving into me until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I danced uninhibited and free, sweat rolling down my back. Odessa slipped away to buy us all drinks, and eventually we drifted to an empty booth by the edge of the dance floor to rest. Dripping with sweat, our bodies hummed with electricity as we soaked in the beauty of the night.

Almost everyone in the room wore masks by now. Emboldened by anonymity, the sexual buzz grew stronger as people moved closer together with every song.

Arms and legs intertwined. Bodies bent over and on top of each other. People stopped disappearing into the dark and made out right in the middle of the dance floor. The crowd moved around these lovers like they were muses.

Shea sat beside me, eyes wide. “Is it cheating if I am fucking these strangers with my mind?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “It’s Carnival.”

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