His eyes travel down my body hungrily. It makes my skin tingle with excitement. “We’re only going to another floor.”
“I can’t leave Sam here,” I protest, turning to look at her. She is still in exactly the same position as before, leaning in to listen to her Professor pontificate.
“We won’t be long.”
“Okay, let me just tell her I’m popping to another part of the building.”
“That won’t be necessary. If she looks up from her conversation and appears to be searching for you, that woman over there who works for me,” he nods towards a young woman who is looking at us, “will escort her to the party we will be at.”
My eyebrows rise. “We’re going to a party?”
“I’m afraid so,” he says with a slight wince.
I laugh. “I thought parties were supposed to be fun.”
His lips twist. “I’ll let you decide for yourself if the party is fun.”
We walk side by side towards the entrance. I can feel heads turning to watch our progress. I see us in the mirrored walls. I hardly recognize myself. We look strangely regal. Him tall, blond and immaculate, and me dark-haired, vital, and somehow glossy. As we get closer I stare at myself. I know something is different about me, but I cannot say what. Then, just as we go through the door, I realize what it is. It is my skin. My skin appears more radiant, almost as if I am glowing from inside. It must be the massage and facial I had at the Spa.
We walk down the wide corridor towards the elevators, but instead of waiting at the banks he leads me away from them. We go through a door and arrive at another elevator. He presses the button and it immediately opens. Once we are inside, he inserts a card key. The elevator doors close and the car starts moving. He turns towards me. “If you ever feel uncomfortable, let me know and we’ll leave immediately.”
I smile “Okay. Make sure you do the same.”
A strange expression crosses his lips, it seems almost like regret, then a ghost of a smile lifts the corners of his lips. “Deal.”
I look up at the lights that show the floors we are travelling through and realize we are not going up, but down. Before I can ask him about it, the doors swish open. Rocco retrieves his card from the slot and guides me down a corridor. The ceiling is higher here than the floor we were on before. The walls are powder blue with very fine white plasterwork decorations.
We come upon a set of double doors with two men in costumes, like the footmen of days gone by, standing on either side of it. I can hear the faint sounds of voices and laughter coming from the other side of the doors. Silently, one of the men makes a graceful motion towards a long table pushed up against the wall next to the doors.
“Come and choose your mask,” Rocco says, leading me towards the table.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” I comment as I look down at the array of available masks.
There are full masks, half-masks, and those that only cover the eyes. Rocco chooses a plain white half-mask, fashioned to look like a bird with a beak. I pick a red one decorated with black crystals to match my dress. I carefully fit it over my head and turn towards him.
“What do you think?”
“Perfect choice,” he says approvingly.
I realize I don’t like him in a mask. It is almost a sense of loss. Suddenly, he seems like a stranger, his eyes very blue and fierce. The doormen open the doors and we walk through. Three things hit me immediately. One, every masked head in that huge, brightly lit room, either subtly or openly, stops their conversation to turn and look at us. The second thing is the overpowering smell of perfume. It hangs in the air as if someone has broken a perfume bottle in a closed place. And the third is there is something sinister, unnatural, and fearful about a room full of adults in masks.
A body detaches itself from the crowd and comes towards us. She is wearing a very elaborately jeweled full-face mask and a long, shimmering peacock-blue dress. Around her wrist is a distinctive white-gold snake bracelet. Its mouth is open and its eyes are fashioned from blue stones, maybe sapphires. She reminds me of that phrase, ‘everything is brilliance and fury’. I also recognize her immediately, Rocco’s sister.
“Hello,” she drawls. “How lovely that you could make it to my party.”
Next to me Rocco stands very still, as still as a statue.
“Hello,” I return the greeting warily.
“We must get you a drink,” she says, just as a waiter comes with a large tray of champagne flutes.
Rocco takes two and hands a glass to me. Rocco must know the source of the drinks, because he takes a sip. I do too. The champagne is delicious, more delicious than what I had at the party, and more delicious than the complimentary bottle of Dom Sam and I had in the room.