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A wry smile crept up Fiore’s cheek. “Do you, now?”
“A little,” Enzo said again.
“And what do you draw? Coffeehouses? Canals?” Fiore’s smile broadened. “Gondoliers?”
A hard swallow rippled beneath the shadow of a beard just beginning to cast itself over Enzo’s throat. Fiore wanted to kiss bruises onto it.
“Perhaps,” Enzo admitted. “I haven’t been in the city long enough to begin. Mostly I draw flora and fauna. And… some more unusual subjects.”
Nudes, of course. Fiore couldn’t cease smiling. To have the noble, dashing, striking figure of the mysterious bauta-clad Enzo bashfully confess to doing justa littleart of his own, yet remain too shy to admit to drawing the sort of thing Fiore had posed for more oft than he cared to count. No wonder he’d noticed Fiore’s drawings, having done his own. Charming beyond compare. Intoxicating, almost. Fiore couldn’t wait to unfurl the tight-wound rosebud of secrets into full bloom. And, furthermore, to peel away the petals of cape and mask to reveal what delicacies lay beneath.
Aloud, Fiore replied, “I adore unusual subjects.”
Another smile lit up Enzo’s dark eyes.
~
Enzo spent the entire encounter yearning to kiss him.
From the moment of their unexpected reunion outside the opera house; to hearing his name for the first time, Fiore, and what a curious coincidence that was, and how delightfully it danced on Enzo’s tongue; to the suggestion of a bathhouse, to which Enzo could of course never acquiesce but nonetheless appreciated, the thought of Fiore’s bare skin glowing beneath the sheen of steam and sweat; to the intoxicating sensation of Fiore’s arm twined through his to lead him, ever so gently, to the coffeehouse; to watch that magnificent masculine gem pulse with every swallow of his slender swanlike throat, and how his shirt collar slid towards his shoulder as he gestured, revealing the delicate curve of his clavicle; and to discover through their conversation that they held more in common than mere lust—not that Enzo objected to satisfying lust, but for one who’d left all his friends behind at university, he had great appreciation for a deeper connexion.
And yet despite their growing bond, the bauta mask still stood between them.
The true beauty of the bauta’s design, in Enzo’s opinion, was its practicality. It hid the wearer’s identity from view altogether, while the broad beak allowed one to eat, drink, and speak freely. He’d worn it daily for almost a year now, ever since Lucrezia had withdrawn him from university, and found it perfectly comfortable. Reassuring, even, to know he’d not be judged by his appearance.
Today, however, he had discovered its singular flaw.
One might eat, drink, and speak beneath the bauta mask—but one could not kiss.
Enzo felt as if it would drive him mad.
A kiss should’ve been the reward for all Fiore had done. More than kisses. Fiore deserved a king’s ransom. The offer of the bathhouse had sorely tempted Enzo, but to disrobe altogether in public tended to raise questions from strangers which he’d rather not answer. And while he held great desire for Fiore, he wasn’t quite so foolish as to believe he could trust him with all his secrets at only their second meeting.
“Do you have anywhere to be?” Fiore asked suddenly.
Enzo, who’d quite lost himself in gazing at the perfect lips just out of his reach, blinked. “Pardon?”
“The opera must be over by now. Do your charges require your escort home?”
A laugh escaped Enzo. Giovanna and Antonio hardly required his escort. And he no longer required theirs, for Carlotta had kept up with him ever since he left the opera house. At first he thought he’d left her behind, not seeing her shadow in the crowd outside Teatro Novissimo nor along the streets—though, of course, Fiore had captivated him from the start and left him hardly any notice for anything or anyone else. But he did retain the presence of mind to glance around the coffeehouse as they entered and keep a weather eye out as they sat sipping. Not espying her immediately, he feared he’d lost her and moreover feared Lucrezia’s wrath when she discovered he’d slipped his lead, however inadvertently. Then he caught a glimpse of Carlotta across the canal; just the merest slip of a shadow on the opposite bank, leaning against the wall with apparent indifference as the crowd surged around her, yet her gaze never once leaving where Enzo and Fiore sat. Enzo never would’ve noticed her if he hadn’t known to look. He couldn’t decide whether he felt disturbed or comforted by her watchful presence. Still, she made no move to interfere, and for this he gave silent thanks.
But as to the question Fiore had put to him—“They do not require me.”
This was evidently the correct answer, for a sly and handsome smile stole over Fiore’s perfect mouth. “Then, perhaps, you will not object to escorting me back to my ship?”
A smile of his own grew beneath Enzo’s mask. “No objection whatsoever.”
Fiore grinned. “Splendid.”
The journey back to theKingfishercould not have taken above half an hour. To Enzo it passed in the blink of an eye. Every moment spent with his arm entwined in Fiore’s seemed precious. Scarlet sash or no, he felt honored to stride alongside him. It would have been privilege enough to escort him to the ship, bid him good-night, and thank him for a splendid afternoon.
Yet it delighted Enzo still further when Fiore paused in the midst of mounting the rope-ladder and, with a careless tilt of his head that sent his dark curls tumbling across his brow, invited Enzo to follow him.
Enzo wasn’t a fool. Or at least not so much of one as Lucrezia believed. He knew this was merely Fiore’s trade. The coy flattery and kind attentions were well-honed skills used as needed to procure payment. Doubtless Fiore invited him up only because he knew from their last encounter how deep Enzo’s purse ran.
Still, Enzo felt a joyful little thrill run through his veins as he followed Fiore into the ship.
He expected to find the courtesan’s bedchamber dim by daylight. Instead it glowed with sunshine—and not from the porthole window, whose scarlet curtain remained demurely shut. The light offered a far better view of the sketches adorning the walls, just as charming as Enzo remembered. Something of his confusion must have shown in his aspect despite his mask, for he turned to catch a knowing look in Fiore’s eye. Fiore pointed up to the ceiling, where a glass crystal embedded in the wooden planks cast clear blue light throughout the room.
