Violet stopped us before we made it inside, handing us our masks.
“I didn’t want to forget!” She smiled, only her lips visible below her own mask. “It’s like forgetting the rings at a wedding. We all know how Luca feels about the symbolic.”
Scarlett gave her a quick hug, and at the sight of it, my stomach turned.
Mitch had pulled me aside while the men were lounging around waiting for the women earlier to tell me that he and Violet would be leaving after the first of the year.
After spending time with Violet’s parents in Greece, they would be heading back to New York, and from there—wherever the road led them.
Violet and Mitch had both lost vital parts of themselves after Mick died. He couldn’t risk losing anymore, he’d said. Given the nature of the current life we lived, it felt too chancy to him and Violet. That, and the two older boys were starting to think of Luca as a hero.
I understood and gave him my blessing, but I wasn’t sure how Scarlett would take the news.
She’d be happy for them—a new start—and understanding—knowing the situation—but Violet had not only been closer to her than a sister, but her manager. We loved their children, and they loved ours. Losing them would be a hard blow.
Though never far from our thoughts, an ocean apart was just that—an ocean apart.
The feel of the cool mask sliding onto my face made me blink. Scarlett secured it around my ears, her cool fingers lingering before she looked me over, nodding with approval.
She handed me the other mask. “Now do me.”
A creature with a frozen body but scalding feet skittered up my spine when I secured the black diamond mask to her face. When she’d danced for Nemours in his underground clubs, the mask on her face was a constant in her wardrobe. Such an integral part of her performance, he had it sealed in law abiding ink—in a steel contract.
The mask gave her an aura ofgénialmystique, he’d said over and over in that pompous way of his.
A tide of memories seemed to engulf me. It was a time of great happiness, along with a time of great uncertainty and rage that came together to form the perfect storm.
Turning slowly, after my fingers slid down her bare back, she looked up at me, her eyes even more fierce behind the false face.
“You look—” I raised my hand, wanting to touch her face, but let it fall.
“Like the girl who used to dance sub rosa?” Her voice came out soft, almost timid.
“Yeah.”
She sighed, the heaviness of that time seeming to weigh her down like an anchor. I touched her chin, raised her face, and then kissed her neck, right over her frantic pulse.
She gave me a sad smile and we both straightened up, acknowledging that time but letting it go, stronger together.
I held my arm out to her, and we merged easily enough with the constant flow of traffic.
It was like we were entering the greatest masquerade ball on earth.
The music seemed to bellow out of the doors—an orchestra added to the vibe, along with multicolored feathers and romantic flowers. Thousands of candles lit the space with a soft glow, the smell of flames burning thick and rich in the air. Platters of food hovered and lowered, and each hand seemed to hold a glass of something already.
“You did all of this?” I said, looking around again.
Scarlett almost snorted. “Not alone. It took a force of talented people.”
“You included.”
She grinned and looked around with me, her mask and dress catching the light from the candles, shimmering. “It does look wonderful, doesn’t it?”
“Romantico,” I said, accepting a glass of whiskey from a server. “Come le tue labbra.”
“Ohh,” she said, her crimson lips turning into a full bloom smile. “That sounds romantic in any language.Romantic,like your lips.”
A server came up and offered Scarlett a glass of champagne. She declined politely.
