Page 172 of DATE
Rome?
Shouldn’t it have been Florence?
Now, nearly everyone seemed to be dancing in this style.
This new type of dance blended the waltz's signature hand-holding and embracing with the formality and ceremonial nature of court dances. Combined with waltzes imitating the “Blue Danube,” it looked quite elegant.
Move forward, step back, spin—
Hedy had no intention of correcting the exact steps, so she joined the long line and danced with strangers.
As the music swayed, people rotated and swapped partners.
When she turned around, she suddenly caught a glimpse of a familiar pair of eyes.
Lorenzo had grasped her hand with one of his, guiding her forward again.
The sounds of the violin and bagpipes made the courtyard unusually noisy, while the lute’s song evoked thoughts of nightingales.
She followed the rhythm of the others, holding his hand, moving forward, then backward, and as they twirled, her green skirt billowed like a blooming cornflower.
He remained silent and calm, just like the strangers who didn’t know her, without exchanging a single word.
Hedy listened to the strange, melodic music and suddenly realized that she had been here almost four years.
The first year, she entered the Doge's Palace. The second year, she pioneered microbiology. The third year, she returned from Milan and learned of the battle reports and the situation. And now, in the fourth year, the two national leaders had passed away, and a new era had only just begun.
Time had passed by without her even noticing.
When she first arrived, her body was probably around the age of nineteen. Now, by her calculations, she would be turning twenty-three in three months.
Lorenzo looked down at her, his steps quickening or slowing in sync with the rhythm of the music.
If he leaned down just a little more, he could kiss her forehead—or even her lips. He only needed to lower his head slightly, and he could pretend it was an unintentional accident.
The scent of hyacinths lingered in her hair, and her neck was long and slender.
She was half-embraced by him, almost like his lover.
His breath paused for two or three seconds, then continued quietly.
“Mr. Lorenzo?” Hedy sensed something strange and asked softly with concern, “Is your gout bothering you again? How’s your health lately?”
“Mmm.” He shifted his gaze faintly, looking at a distant statue of a god.
“You seem like you’re holding something back,” she said, also looking off into the distance, her tone gentle with a faint smile. “If it's because of political matters, don’t worry too much—it will get better.”
No, it wasn’t politics that he was suppressing. It was the urge to kiss her.
For a brief moment, Lorenzo even thought of other possibilities.
If it were another man, with his position as lord, he might have invited her to become his mistress and even have a child with her.
But he would never do that, and neither would she.
The violin played a long, lingering note, and the crowd once again parted like waves, exchanging partners in a cross-pattern.
The two of them calmly separated, not once looking back at each other.
