Page 70 of Fiorenzo
“What’s this?” Fiore asked as Enzo handed him a thrice-folded page of thick paper. The wax seal was already broken.
“An invitation,” Enzo answered him. “To a masquerade.”
Fiore, having just unfolded it, saw so for himself. He vaguely recognized the name of the host. As for the recipient, he’d presupposed it would be Enzo, though it still looked odd to have his full name and title written out.
“There will be dancing,” said Enzo. “And a banquet.”
Fiore smirked. “A banquet of chestnuts?”
Enzo chuckled. “If only we might be so lucky.”
Fiore’s heartbeat stuttered. He doubted he’d heard Enzo aright. Still he kept his good humor as he echoed, “‘We?’”
Enzo served him the shy, handsome smile he’d grown to love so well. “If you’ll do me the honor of accompanying me there.”
Fiore’s pulse continued fluttering. To attend an aristocratic ball was enticing enough. To do so on Enzo’s arm was more wonderful than he’d dared hope.
Only when Enzo spoke on did Fiore realize he’d let himself fall silent for far too long.
“That is to say,” Enzo continued, a becoming blush arising in his sharp cheeks, “if you would indulge me, then there will be at least one person there whose company I genuinely enjoy.”
Fiore felt a matching and unaccountable heat flaring in his own face. He bit back the grin that threatened to steal over it. With concerted effort to sound less earnest than he felt, he replied, “Well, if it would spare you an evening of loneliness, it would be monstrous of me not to accept.”
The joy Fiore suppressed in his own features was writ broad upon Enzo’s.
“And besides,” Enzo added, “it will give you an opportunity to find a patron.”
Fiore stared up at him as an icy pall crept over his heart.
Enzo was right, of course. This party would prove a splendid opportunity to make acquaintances he could never hope to attain otherwise. Acquaintances which with any luck would lead all his plans to fruition. By all rights he ought to feel at least as happy as Enzo evidently felt to invite him.
Yet the realization that Enzo could smile so even as he spoke of his intentions to give Fiore away to another didn’t sit well in Fiore’s chest.
He forced a smile over it anyway. He ought to feel happy. And so he would make himself so until it stuck.
“There is some formality expected in the costume of those attending,” Enzo went on, heedless of Fiore’s inner turmoil. “And some artistry as well.”
“Ah,” said Fiore. Enzo had hinted delicately enough but the implication rang in Fiore’s head regardless. Nothing in his current wardrobe would suffice to attend a ball of this distinction.
“If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition,” Enzo continued, “would you care to accompany me to visit my tailor?”
If nothing else, Fiore would get a new suit out of the bargain. And it was sweet of Enzo to offer—even as Fiore told himself that Enzo could do little else if he didn’t want Fiore’s garb to shame him. Despite this practical reminder, his smile grew more sincere. “No imposition whatsoever.”
Enzo’s smile outshone his own.
~
The edifice of the tailor’s shop, with its enormous columns flanking broad windows to display a tasteful selection of what the discerning client might expect of its offerings, looked like the sort of establishment which would see Fiore’s scarlet sash and block him from entering.
When Enzo had asked him to meet here at the appointed day and hour, Fiore had readily agreed. Now that he stood before it in the broad light of said day, however, he found his courage flagging.
The opera houses and theatres considered courtesans a necessary evil. The more exclusive establishments, in Fiore’s experience, had a far less charitable opinion.
The building itself was as ancient as anything could be in the city on the sea. Despite the centuries since its construction, someone had decorated it in the latest fashion—ornate furled gilding adorning every corner, and what wasn’t already pale marble painted up in a similar hue. The old and the new combined to lend it a dashing air above its foundation of respectability. Perhaps it had once been one of the early palazzi, sold once its noble family grew impoverished. Or maybe said impoverished noble family had turned to the hands-on trade of tailoring. Either way Fiore admired the impressive result. His librarian friend would’ve known the building’s entire true history at a glance—but Gnaeus could never have afforded to patronize such an establishment on his own behalf, much less on behalf of a mere courtesan.
Enzo arrived in short order. Fiore glimpsed him before Enzo found him in turn. He could hardly do elsewise, given how the combined prow of his tricorn hat and bauta beak sailed a full head above most of the crowd, who gave his billowing cloak a wide berth. Fiore’s own scarlet sash seemed demure by comparison.
More striking still was the relief that washed over Fiore at the sight of him. He told himself it was just the intimidating edifice contrasted with the arrival of one who could see him through its doors. But that didn’t quite account for the flutter in his heart as his eyes fell upon Enzo’s familiar frame.