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"Your party is truly magnificent, Signor Fiero," a guest gushes, stepping in my way, his words dripping with sycophantic praise. "The decorations, the music, the women..." He trails off, casting a lascivious glance at one of the scantily clad servers.
"Thank you," I say dryly, my mind already wandering back to Romola. How much longer must I endure these empty conversations before I can steal a moment alone with her?
"Excuse me," I say, cutting the conversation short. My feet carry me toward Romola with a newfound sense of purpose. The crowd parts before me, granting me passage like the Red Sea.
When I reached her, she had another client. "Ah, so it was true, Romola," I hear her client say, an older woman with a look of awe on her face. "My husband really was hiding something from me."
"Indeed, signora," Romola replies gently, her gaze never wavering from the crystal ball. "But remember, sometimes the truth can be more painful than the lie."
A shiver of excitement runs down my spine as I watch Romola's slender fingers dance above the crystal ball, her rich voice weaving a tapestry of enchantment around her listener. It's only been a short while since our dance together at the masquerade, and yet here she is once more, radiating an energy that draws me in like a moth to a flame.
"Romola," I call out as I approach her. She looks up from her crystal ball, surprise flickering across her face before she composes herself. The corners of her lips curve into a small smile as she continues to hold her client's hands.
That look of surprise tells me everything I need to know. She’s recognized me, and my heart soars.
"Signor Fiero," she says softly, her voice barely audible above the music. "I didn't expect you’d recognize me.”
“So you knew I was here?” I ask, biting my tongue, angry that she didn’t stop by to say hello.
“I’ve been watching you,” her eyes flutter to mine, and I see a hint of mischief in her gaze that renders my annoyance purposeless. “I must admit, I never thought I’d see you again after the masquerade,”
"Neither did I," I admit, unable to tear my eyes away from hers.
"Ah, so the truth emerges,” she says coyly, finally releasing her client's hand.
The woman stands and looks between us, a small, knowing smile upon her face. She is clearly satisfied with Romola's reading and interpretation of the situation. She walks past me and gives my hand a small squeeze, and we hear her mutter, "Well then, I suppose this makes me an uninvited guest."
I look at her in shock, and she laughs, walking off.
Romola looks mortified and as our eyes meet, we both burst into a fit of laughter. “That poor woman!” Romola giggles.
To hear her laugh is the sweetest music I’ve heard. I can't take it any longer. The magnetic pull between us is impossible to ignore, and I need to know what brought her here tonight.
"So, fate has conspired to bring us together again," I suggest, stepping closer to her table. The scent of her perfume, a tantalizing mix of roses and jasmine, fills my nostrils.
"Perhaps," she agrees, blushing slightly at my proximity. "But to answer what you will ask me soon enough, I had no idea I would be working at your party tonight. It's purely a coincidence, but I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by, even if I crashed your party last time around."
"Coincidence or not, I won't let this opportunity pass," I assert, my heart pounding in my chest. "We have much to discuss, you and I. And given how terribly our last encounter ended, you must allow me to show you that I’m not the kind of gentleman to leave a woman high and dry."
Romola’s eyes widen at my insinuation, and she blushes as she stares down at her feet. “You thought I was high and dry?”
“Well, I certainly was,” I admit. My father taught me that when you find a woman you desire, it’s best not to play games.
"Well, while I would love to continue what we left off the other night," Romola murmurs, her grey eyes flickering with regrets and a hint of desire. "I can’t. It appears there are many who seek my counsel tonight." She gestures to the growing line of eager clients waiting for a chance to peer into their futures.
"But I want you to join me tonight," I protest.
"Is that an order, Signor Fiero?" she teases, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Consider it a heartfelt request," I reply softly, my gaze never leaving hers. "One I hope you will consider."
She seems taken aback, and her cheeks flush a lovely shade of rose. "Fiero, I... I'm flattered, truly," she responds, hesitating for a moment. "But I have work commitments – clients who are expecting readings tonight. I’m getting paid for each reading."
"Please," I implore, my hand reaching out to cover hers gently, "let me take care of that. I'll make certain you're compensated for your work. You don't need to worry about anything." My heart races, hoping that she'll accept my offer. Something inside tells me that this night could change everything.
Romola bites her lip, clearly torn between her professional obligations and the undeniable connection we share. She studies me for a moment, her gaze locked on mine. A silent understanding passes between us, and I can feel the weight of her decision hanging in the air.
"Alright," she finally agrees, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I think I can shut the booth."
