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Strange thing is, I’ve always wanted to see Venice. I’ve always been enamored of it. There’s a mystery, something unique and belonging only to this city.
But this—this is not what I imagined and not what I know Venice proper to look like.
There’s a knock on my door.
I turn as it opens. I don’t know who I expect it’ll be, as I don’t see Sebastian or any of them knocking. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s a girl with a tray. She’s probably around my age, and she gives me a little nod before setting the tray down on the larger table by the chaise. She then turns to leave without a word.
“Wait,” I call out just when she reaches the door. I feel ridiculous hugging this blanket to myself and chasing her down.
She turns but is visibly uncomfortable.
“Where are we? This isn’t Venice.”
She looks behind her into the hallway, squeezes her lips together, wrings her hands.
Maybe she doesn’t speak English, and I don’t speak Italian.
“Venezia?” I think that’s how it’s said in Italian.
She looks down at her feet, like she’s thinking about something, then looks up, nods, and rushes from the room. And I get the feeling she wasn’t nervous because of the language.
She wasn’t allowed to talk to me. Is anyone? Or will I be completely isolated? Wholly alone?
I shove the thought aside and go over to the tray, stumbling a little when the blanket gets caught between my feet. I gather it up and look at what’s for lunch. My stomach growls. I am hungry and missed breakfast.
I do wonder if I was drugged because I don’t know how I slept through landing and being carried in here and stripped naked. But why drug me? What’s the point? There’s no need.
There are two pots, and I lift the lid off each one. One is coffee and the other tea. Is that because they weren’t sure what I prefer?
No, it’s not a kindness. I should remember that.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and add a generous helping of cream. It’s good, although much stronger than I’m used to.
I take off the top piece of ciabatta from the sandwich and find inside roasted vegetables and goat cheese with pine nuts and what I guess is a pesto sauce. It looks good and I’m hungry, so I set the coffee down and pick up the sandwich with one hand while holding up my blanket with the other and take a bite.
My mouth full, I go to one of the other two doors I haven’t yet investigated.
One is locked, so I turn to the next one. It’s a huge walk-in closet, but it’s empty.
How long does he plan on keeping me naked?
There’s no clock in the room, and I wonder how much time has passed. I quickly eat the rest of the sandwich and drink my coffee before going into the bathroom to have a shower.
I have the quickest shower I’ve ever had. I know any of them can walk in at any time, and I’m vulnerable enough without being caught naked in the shower.
When I’m finished, I grab two towels, make a turban for my hair with one and wrap the other around myself—it’s a little wieldier than the long blanket. I towel dry my hair and leave that towel hanging on a rack.
Just as I return to the bedroom, that door opens and Lucinda Scafoni walks inside followed by a man too old to still be walking, along with the same girl who brought my tray. She pushes an empty metal table on wheels inside, doesn’t dare look at me, but curtsies to Lucinda and leaves. When she reaches to close the door behind her, Lucinda stops her.
“Leave it open,” she says in English, all the while watching me with distaste.
She’s wearing a black dress with a collar that reaches to the top of her neck. It’s severe and ugly. Her hair is, again, in a tight bun, and I see now how her makeup is too heavy. The powder is caked over a thick layer of foundation, her eyebrows, if they existed once, are long gone. She’s drawn them in, and they’re too dark. Too stark. Even with her olive coloring.
I don’t think she was ever beautiful.
“Take off the towel,” she orders me, and I notice she’s carrying a long, thin stick in her hand.
“Why?”
I hug the towel tighter as I try to keep her gaze, but from my periphery, I watch the doctor lay out his things, hear the soft clank of metal on metal. Recognize the instruments.
“I’ve already had an exam,” I say.
“You’ll have another. Take off the towel.”
“Where’s Sebastian?” Why do I ask?
“He asked me to take care of this chore.”
I stop at that.
He asked her to take care of this?
But what did I think? That he’d save me? God, I’m a bigger fool than I realize if that’s truly what I think.
