“I’m Giulio Spedalletti. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Sophia,” she murmured.
“Just Sophia?”
“We’re at a masked ball. Identities aren’t supposed to matter here.” She smiled graciously at him.
“Excuse my handsome companion, my dear. Tonight is a night where dreams can become true,” a sensuous voice drawled from behind Sophia.
She whipped around to see a gorgeous woman, clothed in a scandalous gold-and-black dress, sitting on her other side, leaning in her direction. “Sometimes, they’re better revealed if done in anonymity, so one can sin without worries, wouldn’t you agree?”
Sophia looked astonished at the woman. She looked like a Greek goddess. Black hair, olive unblemished skin, full red lips, and incredible blue eyes.
“A pleasure, Sophia. I’m Calista,” her sensual and raspy voice blended perfectly with the surroundings. “Are you Greek?”
“No. Why?”
“Your name. It’s Greek. And your appearance. Hazel eyes,” Calista lifted a jeweled hand to play with Sophia’s curls, “And your hair, so black. Is it natural?”
Sophia shrank back, uncomfortable under the close scrutiny of such a brazen woman. “Yes, it’s natural.”
“George will arrive with Antonia soon, my dear,” Calista purred to Giulio. “Order some champagne for us, will you?”
“I see you have ensnared a true beauty for our sinful night, my love,” said a middle-aged, brown-haired man in a striking white-and-gold costume. Draped on his arm was a young woman even more scantily clad than Calista. She wore a white-and-gold, almost-transparent costume and a gray, curly wig; her sensuality a palpable force.
“This is my husband, George, and his friend, Antonia.”
Sophia suddenly felt an overpowering need to run away from this weird group. She rose from her chair. “I’m sorry. I will go look for my date.”
“If I were you, my dear, I would wait for him here. A ravishing woman like you should not wander alone among dark creatures tempting everyone to sin,” said George, grinning.
Suddenly, Sophia’s chair was pulled back and, an arm snaked possessively around her waist, a strong body pressed to her back. She looked up and exhaled, relieved. Ethan.
“Sometimes, George, sin and temptation are nearer to us than we imagine,” Ethan’s voice was hard and unwavering. “Calista, how are you?”
“My dear, you look handsome as always.” Calista rose from her seat and approached Ethan and Sophia. “I see you have finally come to your senses. We’re going to enjoy ourselves greatly this evening.” She tried to kiss him but he recoiled from her lips. “Join us, my dear. Think of something spectacular, something sumptuous, something dreamy. And something sinful,” she said huskily, her fingers caressing his arm. He tensed. “Nothing is forbidden; everything, anything is allowed to happen. You can celebrate carnival and dreams, passion and love!”
“Love! Ha!” he said, scornfully. Lust, you mean. “If I had known that you were here, I wouldn’t have come.” He retrieved Sophia’s bag, “Let’s go, baby.”
“Ethan, where are your manners?” George called, boisterously. “We were getting to know your delightful date. Don’t be selfish.”
“I don’t want to see Sophia tainted by your games,” he said through clenched teeth. “I bid you a good night.” He grabbed Sophia’s hand and towed her behind him, leaving the room in haste.
“Ethan, wait!” Sophia pulled his hand three times before he stopped. He was heaving. She put a calming hand on his chest, “Ask if the hostess can put us at a different table.”
“Goddammit,” he swore and breathed deeply, the turmoil of his emotions unraveling on his face. “You’re right, baby. Come on.”
They wandered around the gardens behind the palazzo admiring the waning moon making its shy appearance behind the clouds. Ethan’s tense grip of Sophia’s hand almost hurt her.
“I’ve always loved Venice but this visit has revealed new treasures and deepened my affection for its charms.” She smiled at him. “I will never forget our romantic gondola ride. The splash of water against the gondolier’s oar as he sang ‘Champagne’ was unforgettable.”
He tried to smile back but it came out as a grimace.
“You shouldn’t let your friends ruin your birthday,” she said hesitantly.
His laughter rose from his bitterness and hurt, “My friends.” He spun to look at her. “They’re not my friends, Sophia. They are my parents.”
Her shocked gasp broke the silent night. “Parents?” Looking at him carefully, she could see the resemblance between Ethan and his parents. He had the same skin and eyes as his mother. His father must have had hair exactly like his when younger.
“Your mother is a stunning woman. And still very young.”
“Yes, she is. So is my father. They deserve each other. The motherfuckers.” He wrung his hands as if he wanted to do the same with his parents’ necks.
She sucked in a breath, astonished by the rage, the pain, and the loathing in Ethan’s voice.
“Don’t be so shocked, Sophia. Not everyone has been graced with a caring, loving, and normal family like yours,” he huffed. “My parents never wanted me. I was born because my Greek grandfather threatened to disinherit and throw my mother out on the street. He wouldn’t abide an abortion.”
His face crumpled from painful memories.
“Calista was too pampered, too self-centered. I was raised in a big and cold house in Chiswick, by nannies and tutors. Every time I started to attach myself to someone, she fired the employee.”
He sighed, the small breath coming out painfully from within him. “She was beautiful, Sophia, so beautiful. I did everything she wanted me to. But nothing was ever good enough. I idolized her. I wanted her to notice me. For her to play with me, hug me, and kiss me. To be my mom.”
Ethan closed his eyes, his brows drawn tight.
“When I was thirteen,” his voice was so low that Sophia stepped closer to hear him, “my parents allowed me to stay late at one of their parties. Of course, I thought it was an honor. The evening started as usual. About ten couples. Cocktails. Dinner. Some cognac and port after. Cigars. As the evening progressed, the older guests left.”
The story started to come out in choppier, uneven sentences. “About midnight, we moved to another reception room. Plush chairs, ottomans, divans, big velvety cushions on the floor. It was all there was. The lights dimmed. Calista appeared in a new gown.”
He opened his eyes to look at her and Sophia snaked her arms around his waist. “A turquoise-gauze dress. Many, many layers of gauze. Tied so strangely. Her hair was down. She had put kohl around her eyes. They sparkled like blue flames. Gone was my mother, always so aloof, cold, and controlled. I thought I’d had too much to drink. I couldn’t believe my eyes.” His brows drew closer together. “Singers and musicians positioned themselves in a corner and sensuous and rhythmic music filled the room. Something Indian or Arabic. Dancers emerged from somewhere. My heart started to thrum inside my chest to the beat of the music.”
He jerked his head, trying to dislodge the memories. They’ll never go away. Try as I might, they won’t subside. Never, ever.
“Ethan, please.” Sophia could almost foretell the rest of the story. Her heart clenched agonizingly for the boy that was still suffering inside the handsome man in front of her.
“I’ve never told this to anyone, Sophia,” he murmured and gathered her closer to his chest, his arms around her.
“My mother and the dancers. They moved so beautifully it was difficult not to stare. The Dance of the Seven Veils. They positioned themselves in front of the sprawled guests and started to… seduce them.” He dropped his head to her shoulder, burying his face in her hair. “Jackets and ties were discarded within seconds. High heels were taken off. I was ashamed. I was tall-already six foot two, but hadn’t started to build a body. All arms and legs. A teenager, you know…” he breathed.