Page 17 of Enzo

The women look incredible. Long gowns in black, in rich, deep colors. Jewels sparkle at throats and ears. Elaborate masks glitter with gold and feathers.

I can't stop staring.

Some of the men are polished and elegant in tuxedos and dark suits, while others look as though they’ve stepped straight out of another century, dressed in brocade coats and embroidered waistcoats, with lace at their throats and feathered tricorn hats.

I glance down at myself in my simple long bright yellow dress.

Seriously, Molly?

I feel so underdressed. I may as well have worn a high-vis jacket. For the first time since leaving the hotel, I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. Everyone else looks as though they belong here.

I look back at the palace, glowing against the darkening sky.

And I feel very, very small.

Kiki texts me:

Kiki: You there?

Me: I'm queuing

Kiki: I’m proud of you and excited for you. Don’t forget to send lots of pics!

The queue moves quickly, and before I know it, I’m at the front. A smartly dressed attendant checks my invitation, then another offers to take my jacket.

I shrug out of it, juggling my mask and clutch as he takes it from me and hands me a small numbered ticket in return. I immediately tuck it safely inside my clutch.

“Enjoy your evening, madam.”

“Thank you. I will.” I flash him a smile, excited about my evening.

I follow the group of people who were before me. I don’t know what to do, where to go, and looking around, I see glitter and sequins, ornate costumes and masks. It’s almost as if I’ve accidentally wandered into someone’s dream.

I hold up my mask with the baton. This is fun, looking out through this. Hiding behind it. It feels mysterious and makes me feel a little daring.

A waiter walks towards me, carrying a tray in both hands, laden with champagne glasses.

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.

I would love some champagne.

I reach for a glass, but I’m holding my mask by one hand and my clutch in the other. I slip my clutch under my arm and awkwardly reach for a glass.

“Thank you.” I smile at the server, then sip my champagne. It’s nice. Cold and crisp, the bubbles fizzing against my tongue.

I take another sip and look around. I’d pinch myself if I had a spare hand, but this is all so surreal, me here with all these people, in this beautiful building, in Venice!

How is this my life? Ordinarily, on a Saturday evening, I’d be at home, likely playing Jenga with myself.

People are gathered beneath glittering chandeliers, talking and laughing while waiters dart between them with trays of champagne and tiny things to eat. A woman wearing a sequined mask with feathers smiles at me as she passes. Another tells me she loves my dress.

I thank them, and take another sip of champagne.

I can do this.

Miss T believes in me.

I quickly finish my champagne because I want to take photos, and small clips of video, even though I’m not sure that I'm allowed to. I want them for Miss T. She’s missed this, and I want to bring a little of this evening to her.