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We say goodnight to the count and countess, then go downstairs to the dock. In the speedboat we put on our black velvet masks. They cover our faces from the mouth up, with gaps at the eyes. Mine is decorated with stars and feathers around the edges, but Marco’s and Alessio’s are plain. My filthies also wear capes, but they are hoodless… so they place traditional tricorn hats on their heads. I sit between them at the stern of the boat, butterflies of excitement tickling my belly, and snap a couple of selfies which I send to Camila.
The ball is a private event held in the palazzo of some friends of Marco’s on the Grand Canal, and soon we arrive at the colonnaded entrance. A red carpet leads to a marble staircase, which we climb up to the piano nobile, the main floor. We leave our cloaks in the appropriately named cloakroom then head for the ballroom. My eyes pop at the sumptuous décor, the frescos of Greek gods on the ceiling, the colorful tapestries on the walls. I stare openly at the other guests, who are all wearing 18th century costumes, and it’s like I’ve been transported back in time.
Marco takes my hand and introduces me to our hosts, a married couple, Caterina and Stefano Visentin. Both insanely good-looking, blond and blue-eyed like many northern Italians, they don’t have time to linger, saying they need to circulate among their other guests… but they welcome me to their home and suggest we spend the evening together sometime.
“Stefano is an art aficionado.” Marco hands me a glass of Prosecco he takes from the tray held by a passing waiter. “You should see his collection in the apartment upstairs.”
“I’d love that.” I take a sip of my drink.
Alessio is checking out the other guests, ever cautious. Marco assured me when he accepted this invitation that Stefano would never invite a mobster to his ball. I guess Alessio needs to be certain.
A gong sounds, announcing it’s time for dinner. A plan shows where we are placed, and we make our way across the floor to our table.
I’m seated between Marco and Alessio. An orchestra, perched on a podium to our left, starts to play stately Baroque music… Bach, I think.
“How can we dance to this?” I lower my voice.
“A little different to rock ‘n’ roll,” Alessio laughs. “But you’ll get the hang of it.”
I nod but I’m not convinced. I glance at the printed menu. The meal is even more lavish than I’d expected, and I deadpan, “If I eat all this, I won’t be able to dance a step.”
It turns out that we dance between courses. After a seafood salad appetizer, a dance master encourages everyone to get up and perform a minuet. We learn the steps, and my filthies take it in turn to partner me as we form processions with the other guests around the floor. It’s not easy, and we bump into another couple then fall about laughing. “This is so much fun,” I snicker. “I’m loving it…”
“Thought you would,” Marco grins as he hands me over to Alessio.
The meal progresses with course after course of delicious food and an abundance of wine. I only take small bites of the myriad dishes of pasta, risotto, roasted meats and baked vegetables. After we’ve finished baroque dancing, our hosts treat us to a burlesque show. Ballerinas dressed in BDSM bondage harnesses prance and twirl between the tables. A transgender artist, Prince Poppycock, performs an opera aria in his falsetto voice ‘O Mio Babbino Caro’ while gyrating his hips. So funny I can’t stop laughing.
Dessert is served buffet-style and there’s an open bar. At midnight, we remove our masques and a DJ arrives. Marco and Alessio pull me to my feet, and we take to the floor. A song comes on that I love. I Gotta Feeling by the Black-Eyed Peas. I jump on the spot and sling my arms around Marco’s neck. He picks me up, whirls me, and drops me at Alessio’s feet. We bop together, the three of us, until the DJ spins a slow track, Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game.
Alessio steps into my space and presses himself against me, snaking his arm around my waist as Marco positions himself at the small of my back. My breath stutters and I move with my filthies, sandwiched between them. Alessio slots his thigh between mine as he takes hold of my hips and rocks to the beat. With a sigh of happiness, I lift my face and gaze into his forest green eyes.
I reach for Marco behind me and my fingers tangle in his hair. He strokes his hands up my sides, splaying them against my ribs and I moan as he reaches the swell of my breasts. “Your tits are so sexy in this outfit, tesoro,” he rasps.
