‘This isthe mask,’ she said after a few moments. She traced the lines around the eye holes, and the memory of how the man’s brown eyes had seemed to float behind them returned to her mind.
‘I know it is,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I didn’t think I’d find you.’
He half laughed. ‘And you think I expected to be sought out? The only reason I saw your friend’s post is because a friend ofmineforwarded it to me knowing I had attended a ball that night. He thought of it as a bit of a joke, but I guess the joke’s on him.’ His wine arrived and he proceeded to take a mouthful. ‘Buono.’
Lucia studied him across the table and relaxed back into her chair, feeling more at ease. She returned the mask to its black satin pouch, then reached for her glass of wine. ‘Tell me about you, Nic.’
‘Just as long as you’ll tell me everything about you.’
Under normal circumstances, this request for personal information would have terrified Lucia. Sharing everything about herself to a perfect stranger? It simply wouldn’t happen. But something about the man across from her enveloped her with a sense of calm. So she nodded. ‘I will do my best.’ She glanced covertly across to Francesco nearby, who was seemingly engrossed in his book.
Nicolò nodded, then began. ‘I’m in advertising, specifically working with major food brands around their seasonal campaigns. It’s only March, yet we are already busy working on this year’s portfolios forNatale. I’m an only child who grew up here in Venezia but who escaped for university. I really only return home when awkward family gatherings are on the table. Like today’s lunch for my father’s birthday.’ They shared a laugh. ‘My parents area lot. Too much, sometimes.’ While he had intended the comment as a joke, he suddenly realised how it might have come across. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That was very insensitive of me.’
Lucia was touched by his kindness but waved off his concerns. ‘It’s fine. We all have problematic versions offamily.’
From the next table Francesco cleared his throat loudly, which drew a stifled laugh from Lucia.
‘And what about you, Lucia?’ Nicolò asked, taking another sip of wine. ‘I am sorry to say that all I know is what I have seen in the media over the years. And I really don’t like that fact.’ He gave a wry wince. ‘Tell me about thereal you.’
So there, at that little table in the bar, feeling seen and safe, Lucia opened up a tiny corner of her heart and decided to trust someone.
Just a little.
But it was a start.
After two hours of chatting, and two shared helpings ofcicchetti, Nicolò insisted on walking Lucia home.
With her arm looped around his, and with the not-so-distant echo of Francesco’s footsteps fifty metres or so behind them, they set off in the direction of Calle del Leone.
Just as they were approaching the Ponte dei Zogatoli Lucia asked, ‘When are you leaving Venice?’
‘First thing tomorrow morning. Work on Monday.’ His eyes hit the starry night sky, then came to meet hers. They shared a smile.
Lucia had thoroughly enjoyed their evening together. Nicolò was handsome and charismatic, the conversation had been easy, and the chemical connection that Lucia had shared with him during that kiss seemed to extend beyond masked balls and stolen midnight encounters. Her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, ‘And when are you returning?’
‘Not soon enough, I’m afraid.’
Did he sound wistful about that? Lucia wondered. ‘Oh, ok,’ she said.
‘We still have the rest of tonight.’ His tone was hopeful, gentlemanly. And his sweet nature and charming smile reassured her.
Then Lucia did something she never thought she could do. It had been Nicolò who had initiated their first kiss in the piazzetta. What was stopping her from initiating a second? Checking over her shoulder she gave Francesco a covert signal that she needed a moment to herself, then Lucia pulled them to a stop.
‘Everything alright?’ he asked.
‘Perfect.’ Releasing herself from the looped hold of their arms, Lucia pressed both hands to Nicolò’s chest. Even under the layers of his woollen coat and knit, she could feel the strength and tightness of his chest. It felt familiar. With a flick of her eyes she coaxed him to step back into the shadows of an overhanging portico, and there, hidden from the night, she pinned him against the glass window.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, lowering his chin playfully, allowing his cheek to brush against hers.
‘I want another before you go.’ She almost didn’t recognise her own voice vibrate in the cold night air. It sounded foreign to her; too enthusiastically dominant to be that of Lucia Trevisan.
‘Allow me to oblige,’ he said, and his grasp moved down her arms, and in time, just as his lips were dipping to catch hers in the shadows, his hands found hers.
They were incredibly warm. A soft, welcome reprieve from the frosty night air.
As his fingers interlaced themselves with hers, the realisation hit her.
