Gina appeared behind me, yawning and stretching. “Hey, lovebirds,” she said with a sleepy grin. “I’m going to leave you two alone, okay? I’m dying to get some sleep.”
Enzo smiled at her. “Rest well, Gina.” He turned to a man who had been lingering quietly to his left, someone I wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t stepped forward. “Please escort her to her room.”
The man nodded, saying, “This way, miss,” and she disappeared into the house. The car that had brought us soon drove off, fading from sight.
“Shall we go in? I’d like to talk to you,” he said after a heartbeat.
I followed him through the doors of the house. The mansion was just as impressive inside as it was outside, and we were greeted by an open space dimly lit with warm lights. Enzo explained that this was the main hall. The room was split in half by a large, heavy curtain, like something you’d see on a stage. It could be pulled back whenever they needed to host something big, like banquets, parties, or ceremonies, turning the space into a wide dance floor.
“Tomorrow’s brunch,” Enzo said, “will be held outside, so there’s no need to expand the space.”
The room had an academic air about it, with books and large volumes of encyclopaedias in various languages lining the shelves. To our left, a staircase ascended to the upper floor.
Enzo leaned against the armrest of the sofa, looking at me from a distance with a sly smile that changed his features.
“Do you remember the professor we had for Applied Theory of Law last year? A very short guy, bald, with an oversized nose?” he asked, his eyes gleaming under the lamp’s light.
“I remember him,” I said, unsure of where this conversation was going.
Enzo crossed his arms over his chest.
“He used to start every class with a quote from Voltaire. There was one that stuck with me…”
I laughed out loud.
“Seriously? Voltaire?”
“I know, I know. Pretentious, but effective.”
“Okay. What quote?”
“The secret of being a bore is to tell everything,” he recited.
I started to feel a tingle in my stomach.
“Why that quote?”
Enzo shrugged. “When I was little…” he began. He trailed off and lowered his head, shaking it slightly. “God, it’s too late to bore you with stories, sorry.”
I inched closer to him, and Enzo uncrossed his arms to take my hands in his.
“Tell me,” I said softly. “I want to know more about you.”
I gently let go of his hands, but instead of stepping back, I leaned on the armrest next to him and nestled my head against his shoulder.
“Alright,” he agreed. “When I was little, my mother always said that a life without a little mystery wasn’t a good life. It lacked entertainment.” His voice sounded calm in my ears, like a lullaby. “So, every week, we’d play different games.They all had one thing in common: a mystery, a riddle to solve, a clue to follow, something hidden to discover.”
“Didn’t she run out of ideas?”
“Never,” he said, filling the word with nostalgia. “She’d get everyone involved in her games. Dad, Eloïse, the nanny, the relatives who would come to visit that week… It was always something new. Each time more twisted, more intricate.”
“What did you get if you won? If you manage to solve the game?” I asked, intrigued.
Enzo laughed softly, his shoulders rising. “Satisfaction,” he said, “but that was about it.”
“That’s wild,” I responded, smiling. “But it must have been a lot of fun.”
“It was,” Enzo agreed, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Though, looking back, I sometimes think all that mystery might have shaped me into who I am now.”
