Page 8 of His Two Hidden Masks

I had one more day to review my pitch to the board. Roberto wasn’t speaking to me directly, but he had answered my email and confirmed he’d added me to the agenda.

Our engagement was over, but the Bianco family hadn’t stepped away from their role as financial advisors. In fact, Roberto seemed invigorated. He leaned into his role as my father’s successor and right hand. I just hoped that my family and Roberto would listen to my ideas with open minds.

I feared that change came to the Uzano family like water dripping on a stone. Roberto knew it took me two years of badgering both my parents to add a vegan option to the menu at Andiamo.

It wasn’t an extraordinary change, but you would have thought I was trying to get them to serve American fried chicken or German schnitzel.

I wanted to focus on areas of my life that I could control. I hand-dipped every chocolate in every box stored in the walk-in refrigerator of Andiamo. I needed a small investment for marketing and approval from the board to use our company logo.

Unlike my failed engagement, my caramels were made with a love that I never doubted.

I looked up at the cherubs dancing overhead. It was one a.m. Insomnia had won once again. It was time to go for a moonlight walk.

I slipped out of bed and walked to the peaked windows in my room. Standing in my linen night dress, I looked out at the empty campo. The full moon bathed the world in soft, blue light. Frost sparkled on the edge of the stone fountain, which had been turned off for the winter. The canals were quiet this time of night.

The world outside glittered, luminous and magical. I wondered if the moon might have the power to heal me with her light. I ran my hands across my night dress, feeling the peak of my nipples through the fabric, the softness of my belly, curve of my hips.

I lifted my night dress over my head, dropping it to the floor, and stood naked in the moonlight, and for the first time in months, I missed the touch of a lover.

I craved touch. I wanted to feel the release of pleasure. My desire surprised me. I thought of nothing but my business for six months, and now I wondered what it would be like to feel my naked body press against someone else’s. I wanted to feel a heat that started between my legs and rippled through my core.

I almost climbed back into bed with my vibrator, but I was never comfortable using that device in my parents’ home. Considering I lived at home, like most Venetian women my age, this was a serious hindrance to my nonexistent sex life. I really needed to move. Looking out my window into the campo, I froze.

A man stood alone by the frost-covered fountain. Tall with broad shoulders and dark hair, he stood in profile with his hands in both pockets. His eyes looked skyward as if locked on the moon. He turned toward my window. I jumped back, heart pounding, and jerked the curtains closed.

My arms wrapped around my naked breasts. I was breathless. Had I just exposed myself to a voyeur? I knew from walking the campo at night that it was possible to see into my bedroom window. Roberto pointed it out to me one evening and told me to keep my curtains closed, because anyone could be watching.

Once I was charmed by his desire to protect me, but now his words chilled me. I missed the days when I only worried about passing my confectionary exam or saving enough money to take a summer trip with Leo to Spain. I needed to calm myself. I slowly breathed in and out.

I was home. I was safe. And I hadn’t turned on a light. Actually, I was the voyeur. I laughed at this thought. I was the one watching a stranger in the night. I was also naked and now officially wide awake.

Lights still off, I navigated the moonlight in my bedroom and opened my painted armoire. I selected a long, dark skirt, stockings, a heavy black sweater, and boots. I pulled my wavy, black hair back into a low knot and wrapped my favorite emerald green pashmina around my shoulders. I patted the pocket of my skirt, my leather gloves at the ready.

I walked to my window and boldly pulled back the curtain. Campo Polo was empty. “Well, my stranger, perhaps another night,” I said.

Tourists flooded the streets of Venice during the day, but something magical happened at night, even during Carnival. The people vanished, especially in the winter. Cobblestones sparkled with frost, and it was quiet enough to hear the waves of the lagoon, lap up onto the shore.

This is when I liked to walk the most. When I couldn’t sleep, I would wander, dream and plan how to help my family. It was how I found my peace, and tonight was no exception.

I slipped down the hall of the palazzo, walking on my toes to make no noise. I passed Sara’s old bedroom next door to mine. As long as I could remember, my parents kept the door to her room locked.

I tip-toed down the marble staircase to the main floor. Behind me was the kitchen, my favorite room in the house. Down the hall from the kitchen were rooms for Paolo and Lissa, the only staff who still lived here.

Paolo was in his fifties and worked at the front desk of the Mia Sorella. Lissa joined the staff about ten years ago. If Sara had lived, they would have been close to the same age. Lissa worked closely with my father and essentially ran the household with my mother. She was also the closest thing to a sister I had in my life.

I opened the front door slowly to keep the hinge from squeaking and stepped into the courtyard. A freezing rain earlier in the day had washed the air. Everything smelled crisp and clean. My breath froze before me in white puffs.

Remembering my leather gloves, I slipped them on and opened the metal gate to the campo. Wrapping my arms around my body, I walked and replayed my pitch in my head. I ran through my intro, the benefits of expanding my Bella Baci line, and my financial ask of the board. The meeting was one day away.

My thoughts felt clearer at night. Walking alone was also relief. There was little chance of running into someone who had heard, or even worse, witnessed first-hand my run from San Polo Church.

The handful of Venetians who lived full-time in the city were asleep, resting before the next day’s tourists who arrived by train, by bus, and by sea.

I knew every turn, every crevice and every sinking stone on the streets of Venice as well as I knew my own face. As I walkedtoward San Marco Square, my body intuitively turned left and right and back around.

Tourists were known to break down in tears if unable to find their way back to open spaces. It was so easy for a stranger to feel lost in my beautiful city.

Venice, the city of canals, was built on more than one hundred interconnected islands. Giacomo Casanova, the world’s most famous lover, was born in Venice. He was jailed in Doge's Palace for seducing noblewomen and scamming elderly statesmen. Venice was built on blood, deception, love, and sex.

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