Sharing Nicely (13 page)

I was in the centre of layers of skirts. I could feel their weight, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable. I admired the delicate embroidery on the bodice of my dress, long rows of golden embroidered flowers, with pearls and sequins sparkling and highlighting the delicate work that rolled down onto the body of the skirts. The middle panel was edged with golden brocade, separating it from the plain silk of the outer areas of the gown.

Juliet pressed my hand into a sleeve and I let her pull a long lined jacket over my arms. I gasped when she pulled it over my other shoulder and moved round me to straighten the velvet frock coat. The dark softness caressed my curves, and the softly rounded and shaped edges revealed the light eggshell blue silk of the lining and the golden brocade and sparkling sequins that lay there.

“You like?” Juliet asked after a few moments of me staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I just nodded. Tears pricked at my eyes. I looked like a princess, like I’d walked out of the history books. I couldn’t believe how emotional I felt simply because of a dress. Juliet squeezed my shoulder and smiled.

“Many women react the same,” she said. “It is a revelation, yes?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied with a nod. “Can I show Greg?”

“Yes, yes. I shall go and see if they are ready.”

Juliet bustled out of the changing room and I tried swishing my dress from side to side. It moved with such ease that I giggled with joy and stepped back then forward to watch the material move and settle around me. It was stunning.

“Come,
signora
, your prince, he awaits.”

I felt so light and happy as I walked out into that shop. I know it sounds shallow, some pretty clothes made me feel good, but they did. I can’t deny it. I knew it wasn’t long-lasting, I knew it wasn’t a turning point in my life, but I felt good and I revelled in it.

I gawped at Greg waiting there for me. He was a prince. The tight blue breeches clung to his legs above the startling white stockings and matching blue shoes. That long coat we’d viewed earlier clung to his broad shoulders and cascaded down his lithe body to emphasise his manliness. The matching waistcoat below held tight to his chest, the bright white of a ruffled shirt below it, showing off the deepness of his tan.

Greg looked me over as I took him in. Our gazes met and we laughed, the joy and craziness of the situation spilling out from our lips.

“You look stunning,” he said and walked towards me.

“You too,” I replied, reaching out to stroke the soft material of his jacket.

“You both like?” Stephano’s voice broke into our moment and we looked up at the designer. I nodded and Greg answered for us.

“We love them, Stephano. They’re perfect.”

I was very reluctant to take the robe off again but I had to. We had the masks still to buy. When I emerged in my boring long dress and cardigan, Greg was taking back his credit card from the smiling Stephano.

“I shall send them over now,
signore
, so they will await you at the hotel.”

“Wonderful, thank you.”

Greg waved at me when I walked over then slipped his arm around my waist. “Ready to go mask shopping, my princess?” I nodded, my cheeks flushed from his compliment and touch.

We’d not walked far before we were faced by a man with a large camera. It was immediately apparent he was interested in taking photos of us, not the pretty town around us.

“Well, I knew they’d find me eventually.” Greg shrugged and we continued walking. I didn’t think I could ever be so dismissive of being photographed. I supposed that you got used to it in time, and Greg must have had journalists poking into his business for many years—he had started his computer company in his late teens and had been in the media ever since.

The shop we went to had windows filled with masks of all shapes and sizes. It was clear what its business was. We went in and I wondered if we’d ever find what we wanted—there were just so many different masks to choose from. Large ones, small ones, ones to cover the whole face, eye masks, ones on sticks and ones with huge, long noses.

Greg was talking to a short man in an apron. I was sure the apron had once been white, but years of wear and paint splatters meant it was far more colourful than its original state. He nodded and pointed out a mask. Greg took it down off the wall and held it out to me. It was perfect.

“This is a columbina mask,” Greg told me. “It’s easier on the wearer as it leaves half the face uncovered.”

“It’s beautiful,” I gasped and traced the gold brocade around the edge with my finger. The mask was delicate and light when I took it from his hands and the gold glitter sparkled when I tipped it from side to side. The bright blue ribbons tickled my wrists and I imagined they’d be soft against my skin when I tied it on. The painting around the cheeks and over the bridge of the nose was delicate and exquisite, small flowers and leaves twirled together in all the shades of blue featured in my dress, picked out by the golden highlights. It was as if the mask had been made to complement my outfit.

“Do you like it?” Greg asked.

“Oh, yes, I love it. It’s perfect,” I gushed.

“Then that one is yours. Now we just need to pick one out for me.
Signore
?” He turned to the shopkeeper, who looked at the mask in my hand, bit his brown, wrinkled lip in contemplation then strode past us with great purpose.

I gazed around me and was lost in my surroundings, so Greg grabbed my elbow and led me along. It was a strange mix of joyful and creepy being surrounded by so many bright colours, sequins and sparkles and so many empty, staring eye sockets.

“How is this one?” The shop owner spoke in a deeply accented tone. He passed Greg a mask in a similar style to mine, but the feminine frills and flowers were replaced by a highly sheened dark blue lustre and one single three-feathered decoration at the middle of the forehead, one single golden jewel directly in the centre of the plume.

“What do you think?” Greg held it up before his eyes and I nodded emphatically.

“Oh yes, that’s very you,” I said. “Very masculine, it’ll go perfectly with your outfit.”

“Brilliant,” he replied, leaning in to gently kiss my lips. I felt embarrassed—the poor shopkeeper didn’t need to see such an intimate gesture. He didn’t seem to be bothered about it, though. He was already striding off towards the till.

After paying, Greg looked at his watch as our masks were wrapped in layers of tissue paper.

“Well, we’ve managed that just in the nick of time.” He laughed. “Just time to get back and get changed, I think.”

It was a short walk back to the hotel. We strolled along hand in hand. Greg carried the paper bag with our masks in and it swung at his side with each step. I was happy in his presence. The questions that had plagued me the night before seemed silly in the light of day with his hand in mine.

The sun was dropping when we came up to the hotel front. It glinted off the water of the canal and warmed the white bricks around us to burnished orange. I thought it was busy but thought nothing more of it until the crowd of people surged towards us and the noise and flashes of cameras brought me to the realisation of what was going on.

“Keep your head down. Say nothing,” Greg whispered in my ear and gripped my hand all the tighter.

“Are you on holiday, Mr Stamford?”

“Why are you here with Darren Bennett’s girlfriend?”

I went to snap at the man asking such a rude question but Greg squeezed my hand and pulled me back, so I stopped.

“Miss Matthews, are you playing the field?”

“Are you not marrying Darren Bennett?”

“Who is looking after your club?”

The questions came thick and fast as we bowed our heads and pushed through the crowd and into the foyer of the Ca Dei Conte where the doormen stopped the yammering journalists in their tracks.

“I’m so sorry,” Greg sighed.

“It’s not your fault,” I responded, squeezing his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not pleasant.” He shrugged. “But sadly it’s part of my life.”

“Well, I want to be part of your life so I’ll have to get used to it.”

Greg stopped at the bottom of the staircase and kissed me.

“Thank you,” he whispered then pulled me up the stairs after him. “I am so glad you’re in my life, Kerry. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

In the room we got down to it—getting dressed to go to the ball. After I showered and tried to tame my curls into something sedate and elegant, Greg helped me into my gown. The moment I pressed myself into its comforting, soft folds I felt better. I was instantly an elegant lady without a worry in the world. I slipped my feet into the soft blue slippers we’d bought to match my outfit and fussed and faffed as Greg dressed himself.

“My lady.” He held out my mask. “Let me assist you.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir.”

Greg walked behind me and lowered the mask over my face from above. I guided it into position onto my nose and Greg smoothed his hand along the sides, over my ears, and grasped the ties to pull and fasten the ribbons behind my head. I felt constricted but not painfully so. It was exciting to be covered and disguised from the world
—
I could do anything I wanted, or so I felt.

I helped Greg into his mask and ran my fingers through his hair as I tied him in. He carried the ensemble off perfectly. He held himself tall and proud and where I imagined some men would look comical covered in such bright colours and curls, he looked confident and hot.

We shared a be-masked kiss. On the second attempt we managed it without cracking our hard noses together. His lips were hot and giving and all I wanted was for him to strip all those clothes off again, even though it’d taken such time to get ready—I forgot all that at the press of his lips against mine.

“We’d best go, Kerry. It’s getting late and if I kiss you again we’re not going to leave this room tonight.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

“No,” he admitted and pulled his body from mine, “but there are three good reasons for going. One, I don’t like to waste good money, two, I want to walk into the party with the most beautiful woman on my arm, and three, the Conte would kill me if I didn’t turn up to his party after I went to such lengths to get invited.”

“Fair enough,” I shrugged. “I can wait.”

“I can too,” he replied and licked his lips. “Just.”

It was a little easier to ignore the journalists on our way out, since we stepped straight from the hotel into a waiting water taxi. The flashes were blinding from all the cameras pointed our way. I just smiled and hoped I looked good on the photos. I was sure I would, I was dressed in such wonderful clothes.

I stepped gingerly down into the body of the boat and swept my dress down before sitting.

“I’m glad I don’t have to wear this every day,” I sighed. “It would get wearying, I’m sure.”

“I don’t think I could do business in these breeches,” Greg replied. “I don’t think my rivals would take me seriously.”

We laughed and as the bright lights and chattering of the paparazzi were left behind us we continued to chat and get back into the party frame of mind.

The Conte’s home was directly connected to the canal. It wasn’t a particularly ornate building, made of the white stone that dominated Venice and relatively plain in its exterior. Inside, however, was a revelation. It was precisely like I’d stepped back in time—the rooms were immaculate, high-ceilinged and covered with plaster relief work, ornate and gold-leafed.

We were led by a liveried young man through a vaulted hall, past an elaborate stairway and in through two huge, wide-flung doors into a magnificent ballroom. The room was filled with people as bright and opulent as the mural-covered walls. I didn’t know where to look next. Above me hung great chandeliers of shimmering glass. Around me swirled women in bright gowns and men in tight britches. I was completely agog with wonder.

Greg took things in his stride. He held my hand through the crook of his arm and led me into the crush of people. He obviously knew where he was going as he strode confidently forward. I was amazed by the way people parted around us, some stopping to say hello, others nodding their recognition. I smiled and trailed behind him, trying to walk elegantly in my gown and not trip over the hem.

Finally we reached our destination and Greg introduced me to the Conte and Contessa. They both wore blood red velvet and the Contessa’s neck was decorated with several strings of sparkling necklaces. I felt instantly humbled, like a servant dressed in her mistress’s best clothes. It was strange, I was used to meeting the rich and famous in my capacity as club manager, but these people of high standing in their ornate golden masks scared me stiff.

“So glad you could come, Greg, and with such a beautiful young lady on your arm.”

I smiled and the conversation turned to business technicalities that I didn’t understand. I turned to speak to the Contessa but she’d already moved on. She was clearly the person in charge because when she moved across the room, engaging in conversation with all the guests and giving directions to any members of staff she crossed paths with, she did it with such authority and confidence. She was clearly a formidable woman.