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Gratitude overwhelmed him. With it came a creeping dread that told him he wasn’t worthy of such things. And amidst all the replacements for everything he’d lost, he noted no sash—scarlet or otherwise. Fiore supposed he wouldn’t have cause to wear the scarlet sash again. He felt odd without it. He anticipated it would feel odder still when the bandages came off for good and removed any illusion of the sash’s familiar sensation. What would he wear over his waistcoat in its place? A belt? A sash in another color? Or would these seem an uncouth reminder of what he’d once been?
“And, if you’d like,” Enzo continued, heedless of Fiore’s inner turmoil, “another evening suit in whatever shade strikes your fancy.”
Fiore, dragged out of his mind’s whirlpools by those words, heard a very stupid question fall from his own lips in reply. “Where would I wear it?”
Enzo shrugged. “Another ball?”
Fiore wondered at Enzo’s willingness to bring him to another party after how badly he’d botched the last one. And besides… “Could I not wear my green one?”
Enzo stared at him.
“Unless…” Fiore hesitated. “Is it not the done thing, to wear the same suit twice?”
Enzo blinked. “Have you ever seen me wear something different?”
Fiore had to admit he hadn’t. But if Enzo could wear an identical suit everywhere he went, then… “Is there some reason I shouldn’t wear my green suit?”
“Forgive me,” said Enzo, to Fiore’s surprise. “I never meant to imply you shouldn’t. It’s only—I thought it might remind you of things you’d rather forget.”
“It does,” Fiore admitted. “But I love it nonetheless. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“You make it so,” Enzo agreed.
Fiore had to smile at that. “I love it for its beauty. For how it feels to wear it. And because you procured it for me. As I loved attending the ball before Nascimbene appeared.”
Enzo winced at the impresario’s name.
Fiore refused to flinch. “I don’t want my only memories of a ball to be tainted by his presence. And I don’t want a beautiful suit given to me by a beloved hand to be ruined by association. So I’d like to wear it again, to another ball, and form new memories with you by my side. If you’re willing?”
“More than willing,” Enzo said with the shy smile Fiore loved so well.
Fiore kissed him for it.
“If you do want another suit,” Enzo said as they parted, “just say the word and I’ll summon the tailor.”
“Here?” Fiore blurted stupidly.
“Of course,” Enzo replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Fiore recalled Enzo’s assurance that only his own distaste for Ca’ Scaevola—and not for Fiore’s low origins—had prevented him from inviting Fiore to his ancestral home sooner. Only now did he realize that this was also likely why, when it came time to procure Fiore’s suit for the ill-fated ball, Enzo had met him at the tailor's shop rather than summoning both Fiore and the tailor to Ca’ Scaevola. And now that Fiore had taken up residence in Ca’ Scaevola, there remained no barrier to recalling the tailor to wait upon him there. That was the reason Enzo didn’t want to take Fiore out to the tailor’s shop, and not because... “Are you ashamed to be seen out with me?”
After all, even if Fiore weren’t a courtesan anymore, he likewise wasn’t the immaculate beauty he’d once been.
Enzo stared at him. “Hardly.”
Fiore nodded and mustered an insufficient, “Good. I mean,” he added hastily, “I’m glad you don’t mind how I—” He broke off and gestured vaguely to the whole of his fallen form.
To Fiore’s great relief, Enzo didn’t appear in any way offended by his odd speech. He did however look concerned, which wasn’t good either.
“We can go to the tailor’s shop if you prefer,” said Enzo—far more patient and gentle than Fiore deserved. “I only thought you might feel more comfortable remaining here. At least, until your wounds are better healed.”
Fiore well remembered the flock of assistants and apprentices. While he did enjoy showing off, his body at present was not what it once was. Scars and starvation had taken their toll. He found he didn’t really want to strip in public just now. “You’re right. I should remain here.”
Enzo didn’t look altogether convinced. “If you really prefer—”
“I don’t.” Fiore winced. His voice had come out too sharp by half and cut off Enzo besides. “I’m sorry, I’m not making sense. But truly—I don’t wish to go out as I am just now. I’d like to stay here until I feel more myself. If I may…?”
“Of course,” Enzo assured him. “Shall I summon the tailor, then?”
