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A snort of laughter escaped Fiore before he could hide the lower half of his face behind his dance card. Enzo’s answering smile sparkled in his masked eyes.
“A point greatly in his favor,” Fiore said when he’d recovered his composure. “Please show me to him.”
They found the cavaliere in the company of several ladies his own age. Evidently they were all passing the time in the ageless tradition of gossip, for their fans ceased fluttering and a hush overcame them at Enzo and Fiore’s approach—which Fiore chalked up to Enzo’s intimidating shadowy presence rather than his own splendor.
The cavaliere wore his years well, with his wrinkles borne of smiles rather than scowls. Their lines deepened in delight as Enzo introduced him to Fiore. Fiore matched his smile in turn and bowed lower than he had for the viscount.
“A dance, Del Cavallo?” one of the ladies enquired dryly from behind her fan.
Rosy shades tinted the cavaliere’s cheeks. He addressed his answer to Fiore rather than to his lady companion. “A slow rather than a spirited one, I’m afraid. If the gentleman will have me…?”
Fiore’s smile grew into a grin. He stepped forward and boldly insinuated his arm into the crook of the cavaliere’s.
“By all means,” he declared, and had the satisfaction of seeing the cavaliere turn a shade pinker.
The cavaliere led him toward the dance floor. By the time they arrived the music had slowed, so they needn’t wait long to begin a step in measure with the cavaliere’s years. But the cavaliere unaccountably paused on the edge of the dance floor and, after a moment’s hesitation, turned to Fiore with a question.
“Would you mind taking the lead?”
“If that is your preference,” said Fiore, somewhat surprised but by no means adverse.
The cavaliere smiled. “Indeed, I prefer to be led by a handsome youth—if he is willing.”
Fiore mirrored his smile. “Well, I may not be handsome, but for youth, I suppose I’ll do.”
The cavaliere’s eyes widened and he began to stammer something about how he never meant to imply—but Fiore’s laugh escaped him and revealed the jest. The cavaliere blinked and then joined him in a hearty chuckle.
Fiore bowed and offered the cavaliere his hand. He could almost see the fluttering of the cavaliere’s heart in his awestruck gaze as he accepted. Fiore simply smiled and led him to join the dance.
Indeed, the cavaliere proved quite malleable. Like clay in Fiore’s grasp, bending and remaking himself wherever Fiore willed. If this should extend to the bedroom, then it’d be more than Fiore dared hope for. He’d resigned himself to a life of getting fucked and feigning enthusiasm until his elderly patron passed on. This, by contrast, seemed perfect.
Which made it all the more confusing when it didn’t feel perfect.
Fiore kept his serene smile pasted onto his face whilst his mind whirled for an explanation. He wouldn’t have minded spending an evening with the cavaliere. Or several evenings. Or even multiple evenings a week for a number of years. Yet the thought of tying himself down to this particular gentleman didn’t inspire feelings of ease or comfort. Rather, when he considered the matter, he found his heart pounded with the terror of a trapped beast. This was precisely what he’d searched for—the only thing good for him—the best he could possibly hope for—
And yet.
Again his gaze wandered away from his dance partner’s face and glanced over the crowd in search of a particular mask. He didn’t find it amongst the other dancing couples. Fiore didn’t think Enzo could possibly be so hard to spot, no matter how vast the throng. His height alone marked him out. To say nothing of the wide berth his reputation afforded. Fiore could only conclude that Enzo wasn’t dancing. Which seemed no less absurd than his disappearance. There couldn’t possibly be a dearth of willing partners. Fiore might have only just debuted in society himself, but he knew enough of it to suppose Enzo’s title and family connexions would encourage suitors. Even if Enzo were anonymous, his tall and striking figure moving through the crowd with remarkable grace must attract admirers. Perhaps, Fiore considered, he had an unfair advantage in knowing just how handsome the face beneath the mask truly was. But even in a mask, Enzo’s calves alone were more than handsome enough to make up for an unknown face. Perhaps Enzo’s fearsome reputation precluded finding a willing partner. Or perhaps he didn’t wish to dance at all.
Or perhaps he wished to dance with someone in particular who’d yet to ask him.
The thought crossed Fiore’s mind for but a fleeting moment. The burning brand it left behind felt as if it would last forever. He pushed it down into the darkest corners of his heart and forced himself to look into the cavaliere’s face—as he was supposed to—and mirror the smile he found there. Wizened, but no less handsome for it. Verging on infatuated. Unable to even glance away from Fiore. He did his best to pretend he felt the same.
Whilst his mind returned again to the eternal question of Enzo.
There was a queer part of Fiore that felt some relief in not espying Enzo amongst the dancers. Upon reflection he hadn’t thought of what might happen if Enzo danced with someone else. Which was an incredible oversight on his part—it was, after all, a ball, and he knew from their own practice sessions that Enzo was an accomplished dancer. Any one of their fellow guests would be privileged to have him on their arm for his grace alone. To say nothing of how desirable his family and rank must make him. And yet, as Fiore began to consider the matter, the thought of someone else dancing with Enzo sparked a slow simmer in his blood. He didn’t know if he could handle the sight of Enzo dancing with anyone else. Which was absurd, because most of the people who fell into his bed had someone else awaiting them back home—and none of them had proved foolish enough to expect exclusivity without paying enough to provide him for life. It was particularly absurd in Enzo’s case, when Fiore had already cast aside his offer.
Still, Fiore found himself wondering how Enzo could bear the sight of him in the cavaliere’s arms. He dared another glance away from the besotted cavaliere. This time he searched through the crowd rather than amongst his fellow dancers. A hundred masked faces gazed back at him, none of them the one he wanted, until—there, just when he’d despaired of ever finding him again, a dark shadow loomed above the throng.
Fiore’s heart leapt as it always did at the merest glimpse of Enzo. But in the lightning flash he had of Enzo’s masked face now, he beheld something which gave him pause. From crown to heel Enzo remained covered. Save his eyes. And even from this distance, even in so brief a glance, Fiore beheld a look quite unlike the beatific ease with which Enzo had gazed down at him since they entered Ca’ Grimaldi. Now, he saw only a wistful echo of a smile, overwhelmed by the unmistakable look of someone swallowing down their own heartache to make their beloved happy.
A look, Fiore realized, that Enzo wore only when he thought Fiore couldn’t see him.
Fiore beheld him for but a heartbeat before the dance whirled him away. But the haunting gaze of those dark eyes lingered in his mind.
The dance came to its natural end. Fiore bowed and, in a stroke of inspiration he hoped might work some sympathetic magic, kissed the cavaliere’s bejeweled rings. A delighted gasp escaped the cavaliere, almost too soft to hear above the general murmur of the crowd.
Whatever the cavaliere wished to express beyond that was silenced by the sudden arrival of a billowing shadow.
