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I stand against a wall and bend down to fix the straps of my heels, taking my time with it, petrified, counting down the seconds without saying a word.
"Coast is clear," my father says finally, minutes later, his relief palpable even through the earpiece. "There’s another door here I just saw.” I hear him fiddle with it and stand to go mingle through the crowd. “It opened,” he sighs. “Moving on.”
I buy time in the washroom and then exit once Papà says he needs eyes in the crowd, having entered an old servants’ hallway.
My heart races in tandem with the rhythm of the lively music filling the ballroom, each beat echoing my mounting anxiety. I scour the crowd for any signs of trouble, poised to act at a moment's notice.
"Romola," my father's voice crackles with urgency through the earpiece. "There's an eye detection barrier blocking my path. I can try to circumvent it, but if I make a mistake and it triggers some alarm, Fiero will find out…"
Panic surges through me, constricting my chest like a python. But I can't afford to lose control now; I have to act swiftly and decisively. Papà’s life just might depend on it.
"Alright, Papà," I reply, surveying the scene around me. "I'll find a way to warn you if that happens. Just give me a moment to think. Hold on…"
"Be careful, Romola," he sounds concerned. "Don’t risk it if it might get you into trouble."
"You raised a smart girl, Papà," I try to reassure him, though the tremor in my voice betrays me.
Scanning the room, my mind frantically searched, what would be an indicator of a security breach? My eyes fall upon Fiero Cremaschi.
He stands just a few feet before me, talking to a group of men and women. I watch as he gives a hearty laugh, the crinkle around his green eyes showing unfeigned mirth as he pats the man beside him on the back.
Then, he notices a woman’s empty glass and flicks up his hand, calling for champagne. He takes it from the wait staff and generously pours her a glass with such flair that, for a second, I wish I were her.
I can see the effect he has on the people around him. A smile from him beckons like a blessing. The men and women around him preen and prance for just a look.
In another world, I might find myself doing the same.
There’s no denying that Fiero Cremaschi is a man amongst men.
I bite my bottom lip as he flicks back his brown hair, a curl falling right back on the right corner of his forehead. He leaves it, and now settles an arm over a friend’s shoulder, motioning at him to finish his drink.
"Romola, any progress?" my father's voice crackles in my ear, the urgency palpable.
The person who would command the next steps on a security breach is standing right in front of me, handsome, sure of himself and ready to play.
Amidst the sea of swirling dresses and tuxedos, my eyes lock on a drunken man stumbling nearby, his glass nearly spilling over. A plan begins to form in my mind.
"Alright, Papà," I said, steeling myself for action.
“You can try breaking through the eye scanner."
It feels like an animal has been caged in my chest.
"I've got this. You focus on what you have to do. If it seems like any trouble is coming your way, I’ll tell you to get the hell out of there. Otherwise, do not contact me now, for if my plan works, in exactly five minutes, I will no longer be able to speak with you."
“Romola…” he starts, but I cut him off. I know how dangerous my plan sounds, “Now, Papà.”
I stride towards the man with purpose, feeling a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through my veins. As I get closer, I can smell the potent stench of alcohol radiating off him. Focusing on my target, I mentally prepare myself for the upcoming commotion.
"Here goes nothing," I murmur under my breath, then deliberately bump into the intoxicated man.
"Ah!" I gasp, feigning shock and anger as his drink splashes all over my dress, staining the pristine gold lace of the fabric. "Look where you’re going!!"
"Wha–" the man slurs, clearly caught off guard by my outburst. He clumsily tries to regain his balance but only succeeds in drawing more attention to us.
"Can you even walk straight?!" I continue, projecting my voice so that the surrounding guests can hear my indignation.
"Hey, I'm s-sorry," he stutters, swaying dangerously on his feet. "Didn't see ya there."
