Page 38 of Enzo

He shrugs again, his hands in his pockets. He does that a lot. It makes him look more closed off.

“It doesn't bother me. They're busier now and I don't get to see them as much as I usually would.”

He’s gone quiet again. I’m feeling a little restless looking these paintings. I almost wish I hadn’t suggested we explore the palace.

“I’m bored,” I announce. “What about you?”

I wait for his answer, but he doesn’t give one.

“I don’t want to spoil your fun,” I say, “so if you’d rather go back and dance or—”

“Whatever you want.”

I tilt my head. This guy is willing to do whatever I want. He knows people here, so he has more reason than I do to stay, but he’d rather do whatever I want.

“How about we leave?”

“Okay.”

He said it so easily, without any reservation.

“Don’t you want to know what for?” I ask, because I didn’t make an alternative suggestion on what we could do, and it now strikes me that he might think I’m making a pass at him. That I have other, nightly pursuits in mind.

I flap a hand between us. “I’m not propositioning you,” I say quickly. “We’re just friends.”

“I’m honored, and yes, I know we’re just friends. I didn’t come here looking for anything.”

“Me neither.”

Phew. I’m glad we cleared that up.

I rush off to the cloakroom and hand the attendant my ticket. I glance over my shoulder to see my masked friend watching me with a curious expression on his face. The cloakroom is still within sight of where he is, and when I slip into my faux-fur jacket, he nods and starts to walk towards me.

“Never had you for wearing fur.”

I immediately sense disapproval.

“It's not real. It's fake fur, and it keeps me nice and warm. I would never harm a living creature.”

“I had a feeling it was fake.”

“Because it looks cheap?”

“Because I can’t imagine you wearing a skinned animal.”

“You’re getting to know me so well.”

He doesn’t reply. We’re soon outside and I wonder what he’s thinking. He’s one of the most guarded people I’ve met, and even though I’ve only known him for a few hours, I can already tell this much about him.

He also knows my name, but I haven’t asked him his. Nor has he offered that information. I’ve decided not to press him on it. He’s kept his mask on the entire evening, like it’s his second skin. Most of the other guests took theirs off. But not this man.

“Are you ever going to take that thing off?”

“It's an Evening of Masks,” he reminds me. “So, no.”

We start to walk. Outside the palace a string quartet playing. We stop to listen. I look up at the tiny, jewelled stars twinkling in the inky night sky. This evening, this moment, is beautiful. I pinch myself, because it feels so much like a dream I never want to wake from.

In front of us an elderly couple are dancing cheek-to-cheek. Given their normal clothes, and that they’re not wearing masks, it’s obvious that they’re not from the masked ball. They're probably tourists. A crowd starts to form, as caught up in the moment as I am.