Page 41 of The Wanted Prince
A woman came up to us, presumably the boy’s mother. “He’s asking you, where are your masks for the dance?”
Alessandro glanced at me. I shrugged, shook my head.
“We lost them,” I said, playing the part of a tourist. “Our car got stolen, and our masks were in back.”
“Not to worry,” she said, and dug in her handbag. “I brought a few extra. The kids always lose theirs.” She pulled out a pair of crumpled cat’s eye masks, decorated with rhinestones and gaily dyed feathers. Alessandro pulled his on with a sigh of relief. I smoothed mine out, then did the same. We joined with the crowds heading into the village, making our way up the old cobbled streets. Alessandro hooked his arm through mine.
“Too bad we can’t wear these masks everywhere.”
I laughed. “I know, right? It’s like we’re invisible.”
It really was, in the gathering dusk: we could’ve been anyone, our faces half-covered. For the first time in days, I felt light and carefree, safe behind sequins and glitter-flecked plumes. Alessandro stood tall to peer over the crowd.
“Looks like they’ve got food, and some kind of street fair. Should we, do you think… We could stay a while.”
I turned to him and saw he was smiling, a bright glint of mischief in his dark eyes. I did want to stay, and not just for the food, though something nearby smelled sweet and delicious. But what had me excited was the sudden freedom, the release I’d felt when I’d slipped on my mask. It was like when I’d first moved to New York, and I’d realized nobody knew who I was. I’d found myself doing things I wouldn’t have dared do back home — shopping at discount stores. Eating messy burgers. Dashing to the corner store in my PJs and slippers, my coat thrown on top, to grab a quick coffee.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
“Wait, just let me check—” He dug in his pockets. “Oh, thank the heavens, I’ve still got my wallet.”
He got us cannoli and sweet little seed cakes, then meatballs on sticks to cut through the sweetness. We laughed at their messiness as we tried to eat them, leaning over to keep the sauce off our clothes. Then, stuffed and happy, we tried out some games, horseshoes and ring toss and something like croquet. I was terrible at all of them, but Alessandro won horseshoes, and the man running the game let him pick out a prize. He chose a colorful scarf that looked hand-embroidered, woven with riotous scatters of flowers.
“Stand still,” he said, and draped it over my shoulders, tying it carefully in a loose knot. He smoothed down the ends to let the flowers show, then stood back and smiled. “It suits you. Hold on.” He snapped a quick photo and held out his phone. “See, the blue of the cornflowers matches your eyes.”
I couldn’t make out my eyes in the grainy flash photo, but I glowed anyway, and touched the soft scarf. Music struck up down the street, in the square, and Alessandro lit up.
“You think that’s the dance?”
“One way to find out.”
We followed the stream of masked revelers to the square, and sure enough, half the village was dancing, women in flared skirts, men in billowing shirts. Alessandro took my arm.
“I don’t know the steps!” I cried.
“Doesn’t matter.” He laughed. “Look at them, over there.”
I looked where he was pointing, at a loud group of tourists, stumbling in circles and kicking up their feet.
“Oh, God, that’s just?—”
“Right? We’ll do better than that.”
We waltzed to the music, and when it slowed down, Alessandro pulled me closer, one hand on my waist. The other, he rested high on my back. We spun in slow circles and the night spun around us, lanterns and fairy lights, the bright bursts of fireworks. Glittering masks glided past in the dark, and we glided with them, lost in the crowd. Alessandro pulled me clear as a tourist blundered up to us, and I nestled against him as the man floundered by. He murmured something, maybe I’ve got you, and my heart swelled then clenched in my chest. This was what it would be like, a date with Alessandro, if he wasn’t a Montañez, nor I a Cardona. If he were just him and I were just me.
A wave of want caught me, so intense I stumbled, and I wished we could stay here, stay in this night. It felt enchanted here, like a scene from a fairy tale, and I closed my eyes and laid my head on his chest. Maybe if I wished hard enough, if I believed, maybe somehow, somehow, this night wouldn’t end.
We danced till our feet hurt, then drank sweet, cold cider, then sat and watched the fireworks display. Alessandro held my hand. I leaned up against him and tried not to notice the passage of time. But the full moon rose high and the music ended, and the dancers dispersed. The musicians packed up. Families with children began heading home, and Alessandro sighed, and I shook my head. No.
“We should find a phone,” he said.
I bit my lip. Surely we could stay here at least for the night. An hour or two more of this. One more dance by moonlight.
“Tomorrow’s Friday. We need to get back. We’ll see André in the morning, then head for France.”
I didn’t want to see André, or anyone else, or hide in any more hotel rooms, or run from the press. But I stood up and sighed, and touched the hem of my scarf.
“I saw a payphone,” I said. “You think it still works?”