by Ella Brooke
“Can it,” Seanan said briskly. “There was no one else I would have rather had with me. But see, it hasn't been so awful, has it? The party tonight, it'll be fun, just like the museum was fun, like the orchestra was fun...”
Briony sighed, and Seanan could read her acceptance in the sigh because her face lit up with that thousand-watt smile.
“Perfect. Now let's get you dressed. I need to take care of my own kit, and I won't have all that much time.”
Briony almost sent Seanan away to take care of her own dress, but she was soon relieved that she hadn't. She could already tell the dress was heavy and lovely, more a tailor's item than anything you could buy off of a costume rack, and as Seanan lifted it over her head and tugged it down over her shoulders, Briony started to feel just a little nervous.
"Seanan, is it supposed to be this low cut?"
Her sister's laugh was oddly sly, making Briony even more nervous.
"Seanan, what's going on? Why are you laughing at me like that?"
"Oh shush, sweetie, you are far too nervous about everything. Here, bend forward so your boobs swing down, and I'll get you tightened right up."
"Wait, why do I have to do that...?"
Briony yelped a little as Seanan pushed her to bend over at the waist. Under Seanan's directions, she scooped her breasts forward as Seanan tightened the laces at the back of the dress. When she stood up, Briony had a shocked moment to think about how very much cleavage she was revealing, and then she gasped as Seanan tugged the dress even tighter.
"Oh my god, is there steel in this dress?" Briony asked in shock. It felt as if she was being bound up, cloth and metal wrapped around her torso.
"There is," Seanan said cheerfully. "Don't worry, you get used to it. I had to wear corsets for four months straight, sometimes in the pouring rain for this shoot."
Seanan was the second female lead in An Ancient Beauty, the movie the party was celebrating. It was set in Renaissance Italy, and judging by the first screening that had taken place just a few days ago, it was going to be a hit. Of course, Briony was happy for her sister, but that didn't mean she was happy to be laced down into some kind of strange Renaissance torture device.
"All right," Seanan said, stepping back with a smile. "Walk around, get used to it."
It was on the tip of Briony's tongue to say that was impossible, but as she did as Seanan said, she realized there was more give to the corset than she had thought. She could walk and bend, sit, albeit stiffly, and she looked at her sister dubiously.
"I'm going to topple into the punch bowl," Briony said. "I'm going to trip, fall, be unable to right myself, and tumble right in..."
"No, you're not," Seanan said firmly, and then to Briony's surprise, Seanan reached out to cup her cheek.
"Seanan?"
"You're going to do just fine, I promise," she said. "And if you hate it, you can come right up here and go back to reading your books, okay? It's just..."
"Just what?"
"It's just that I've finally achieved my dream. I know there's still a long way to go, and that what I've won myself is more work and harder work, but this is amazing. This is what I was meant to do. I just thought that maybe if you got out of your shell a little bit, you would find out what you're meant to do as well."
There was genuine worry in Seanan's eyes, and Briony relented.
"I'm doing just fine. And maybe my dreams are different from yours, Seanan. I hate the thought of being in the spotlight, even if I know it makes you so happy. I'm not going to find my happiness out there tonight." At Seanan's look of consternation, Briony sighed. "But I'll try. How's that?"
"That's all I ever wanted," Seanan assured her, and with a little kiss on her forehead, she headed out the door. "Oh, don't forget your mask!"
There was a domino mask hanging over the clothing hook on the wall, but Briony ignored it, looking instead at her reflection in the mirror. The dress pinched her in at the waist and pushed her round, full breasts up until they were almost directly under her chin. Below her waist, her hips billowed out.
Seanan, what the hell have you done to me, she thought haplessly, and then with a wry chuckle, she realized the answer. She made me beautiful by making sure I don’t look like myself at all.
It wasn't just the pinched waist. The steel in the corset made Briony stand up as straight as a yardstick, and the posture made her look proud, perhaps even haughty. Where Briony spent most of her time hunched over with her nose buried in a book, this stranger in the mirror looked like she could challenge a king or a prince and win.
Well, she said if I didn't like it, I could come back here, Briony thought, but bubbling underneath was a new feeling of daring and freedom, one she was not sure she had ever felt before. She simply looked so different.
Experimentally, she pulled the mask from its hook. It was a simple rectangle with an elastic band that was meant to hold it to her head, but it was heavy in her hands. It was made of a light leather rather than paper mache or plastic, and for a moment, Briony simply caressed it with her fingers. When she finally tugged it over her face, letting it settle over her eyes and most of her nose, it felt right somehow.
She turned again to the mirror and gasped. With her face covered up and her body bound by the green velvet dress, she looked like someone entirely new. Briony thrust her chin up as she had seen Seanan do in her movie, imagining a half-dozen cringing noblemen come to kiss her hand.
"No, I won't have you. I fancy something far finer," she said, imitating Seanan's line as best she could. She had done it before, of course, in the past and with different films, but this was the first time she had ever thought that she sounded convincing. In the mirror, she might have been another Florentine courtesan, commanding love like an army.
Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.
Chapter Two
Marco Bianchi arrived late to the party, but frankly, they were lucky to get him at all. Indeed, he might have stayed at the fundraiser he had left for the entire night if his friend Cosimo had not texted him.
You need to get out here, my friend. This is shaping up to be the event of the season. Would hate to see the prince of Florence get locked out of that.
He had snorted at Cosimo's joke, but he’d made his goodbyes to the fundraiser’s host and headed for the party in his savagely quick Ferrari. The party was on his schedule, of course, celebrating some popular film or other about Florence. It had sounded like a piece of nonsense to him, but the reviews were good, and he was always inclined to look kindly on people who loved his city.
The party was being held on the outskirts of Florence at the small mansion of one of the producers. It was an elegant place that Marco thought must have been hosting star-studded events like this one since the 1800s, and as he left his car with the valet and made his way to the rear garden where the festivities were being held, he smiled a little.
At the end of the day, we might not be as flash as the Venetians, but we know how to enjoy ourselves.
Before he could join the crush, a waiter blocked his path.
"Mr. Baldassare's rules," the waiter said apologetically. "This is a masquerade ball, after all, sir."
Marco looked at the masked waiter long enough to make the skinnier man squirm, but with a shrug, he finally took the mask that was offered to him. It was a simple domino, and when he put it on, he found that it was fairly comfortable, at least.
While most of the women were done up in Renaissance dresses and elaborate masks, most of the men had defaulted to masks and tuxedos. It took Marco some doing to find Cosimo and his wife Valentine, and when he did, they greeted him with cheerful grins.
"You two have already been enjoying yourselves, I see," he said as Cosimo clasped his arm and Valentine gave him the traditional French kisses, one on each cheek.
"No harm to it, my friend," Cosimo said with a grin. "Baldassare was kind enough to loan us a room, and now we can simply do as we please until we crawl upstairs to bed. Here, let me get
you something..."
"That sounds nice, but I'm driving home. I should be on better behavior than that..."
He paused as a stunning woman in green waltzed past him, her dress fanning out as her partner spun her around the floor. He had a brief impression of long chestnut hair and a lovely, husky laugh. For some reason, that combination made his heart beat faster, and he had to shake his head to pull himself out of his daze.
"Though perhaps I might not want to be on my best behavior with all things... Who the hell was that?"
"Oh, it seems as if the prince of Florence has a crush," Valentine teased. "Is it Renaissance dress and some anonymity that draws your eye?"
Most of the time, Marco would have been pleased to flirt and tease with Valentine, but right now, he barely realized she was standing next to him. Instead, his eyes were searching the crowd, looking for that flash of chestnut hair and green velvet again.
"There's not much use to the mask if you are just going to announce my identity to the room," Marco remarked, still scanning the crowd.
"What a good idea," Valentine cooed. "Go, go walk incognito among your people and learn the identity of your lady in green."
"Lady in green? Was that a part in the movie we are celebrating, perhaps?"
It was Cosimo who answered with a shrug. "No one really knows. She arrived fashionably late, and ever since then, well, you see. She's had no end of people interested in who she is or where she comes from, but so far, no one's had any luck figuring it out. The best guess is that she's one of the actresses."
"I see," Marco said thoughtfully, and then he glanced with slight guilt at his friends. "I really did come to see you at least for a little while..."
Valentine laughed, slapping him on the arm. "No problems at all, Marco. You should take your time to enjoy yourself the way we've been doing all evening."
She turned back to Cosimo with a look of love that was completely undulled by the champagne she had consumed, and it made Marco shake his head with a grin before heading off into the crowd.
As much as Cosimo was sometimes pompous, and as much as Valentine was an inveterate flirt, you could search all of Florence and not find two people who were more well suited to each other. It was always good for him to spend time with people like that, who cared so much for each other's company.
While being the prince of Florence was mostly an honorary title these days and unrelated to the vast wealth and estates his family owned, Marco had to admit there was definitely some stress associated with the position. He wasn't sure he could remember the last time he had been able to just cut loose and enjoy himself without worrying about what everyone around him would say, without wondering whether that flirtation or that kiss was motivated out of interest in his position.
Marco touched the mask that shielded him from recognition with a slight smirk.
He owed Cosimo a drink before this was all over. Perhaps tonight he could be a little more himself than he usually got to be.
A prince would have to be restrained and dignified at anything resembling a gala. A prince would have to applaud as a beautiful woman danced by, too conscious of his position to impose or to give a young woman hope for some kind of favor.
Instead, Marco was simply himself, and he cut through the throng of dancers, coming to the woman in green and her companion in short order.
"Excuse me, but I am cutting in."
The masked man dancing with the beauty turned to him, ready to argue, perhaps, but then he took in Marco's lean but muscled form, his height, and the bright glint of sharp, white teeth. The man thought about it for a moment and then ceded the lady’s hand to Marco before stepping away.
Marco turned to the lady, ready with a suave line, but the shock that traveled from her hand to his as soon as they touched rendered him silent in surprise. It was a feeling of both intense heat and blessed coolness, and for a moment, all Marco wanted to do was experiment until he felt it again.
"Well, well," the woman said, getting in the first word. "How brave you are."
The music sped up, and with a slight shrug, Marco led her back into the steps of the dance. She moved with a kind of grace he hadn't expected. This was something he had taken classes on as a child, so he did well, but this woman floated through the steps of the dance with ease. Cosimo was probably right that she was an actress with the movie. He couldn't figure out why anyone else would be so good at an archaic art form.
"Brave, cara mia?" he asked, a slight smile quirking his lips. "I see no monsters here to fight, do you?"
Her laugh was a low and husky thing. Hearing it while she was nearly in his arms made Marco shiver. His body was responding to her in a way that only had a little to do with sexual arousal. There was something that drew him to her, and he had to fight down the urge to do anything foolish.
"No monsters, no, but it can be the hardest thing in the world to enter into an accord between two people, uncertain on whether you are wanted, trusting to courtesy and tradition to allow you in."
Marco snorted, raising an eyebrow slightly. Under her mask, her red lips curved, a sensual thing that he had to keep himself from leaning forward to taste.
"Your last partner did not give way to courtesy and tradition." He snorted. "He gave way because I was bigger than he was and because he did not want to lose to me in a fight."
He had thought she would make some kind of remark about how arrogant he was, but instead, she only shook her head.
"You'll pardon me if I laugh," she said. "The idea that a man might want my company enough to fight for it sounds like the strangest kind of fairy tale."
"Why, do you think you are not worth fighting for?" he teased.
Any other woman he knew would have thrown it right back at him, laughed and made a joke about men and fighting. Instead, the woman's smile dropped briefly before she pulled it up again. She looked up at him for the first time, and he caught a glimpse of intoxicating blue behind the eye holes of her mask.
"I think I am very lucky to be here," she said at last. "I think I am going to ride this story as long as I can, but I won't be so surprised when it's time to wake up and go home..."
Almost against his will, Marco found himself leaning towards his partner as they danced. Perhaps another woman might have found it almost distasteful how close he had come without an invitation, but this one only tilted her face slightly as if considering him.
"And when this is all over, you'll return to your life among the cinders?" Marco asked softly. "Content to gaze on the dancing lights from afar and never approach again?"
"I do believe so," she said immediately. "Believe me when I say this is not my usual Saturday night's entertainment. It's all..."
She struggled for a moment to come up with the right word, shaking her head helplessly.
"Magical," she finally said with a half-laugh, and for some reason, Marco found himself enchanted.
"Tell me what else you have found magical in all your life," he said, spinning her through the motions of the dance. She danced as lightly as a fairy, as quick as a flash of light. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see other men watching her, envying him, and almost without thinking of what he was doing, he drew her closer to him, protective.
"You do ask for a great deal when you became my dance partner," she complained with good nature. "Magic, let me see..."
The dance ended, but Marco kept hold of her hand, guiding her off of the dance floor. He wondered if she would object, but instead she folded herself close to his side, letting him lead as if they had done this for ages. There was an olive grove behind Baldassare's mansion, the delicate, twisting branches holding up multicolored paper lanterns, and Marco led her along the path.
"Magic is waking up one day to discover that it is no longer winter but spring," the mysterious woman said softly. "That moment when you realize the cold is over and things will be well again. Magic is...the first time someone smiles at you, and you realize you have made a friend. Magic is the first breath o
f baked bread fresh out of the oven..."
"But those are quite ordinary things," Marco teased, and she gazed at him with a solemnity that seemed out of balance with the youthfulness of her features. He could see now that the woman who had enchanted him was young; her face was a perfect heart shape, her mouth as soft and tender as a new strawberry.
"Then I think you have not looked so closely," she said quietly. "What do you think magic is, then?"
The candid question caught Marco off guard.
"I don't believe in it," he admitted. "But if I did, hm. An honest politician? An unselfish cat? A woman of character?"
They had been walking along the path, but now the woman in green stopped short, gazing up at him. In the dimness of the lanterns, her eyes looked black.
"What do you mean by that?"
Marco shrugged, vaguely aware that he had made a mistake but unsure how. "A woman of character, a woman of integrity and respect. I do not mean anything by it..."
"Is it so much easier for a man to have those things than a woman?" she asked softly. "Is there some circumstance where women are lacking such things?"
Marco frowned at her. "You must admit that women are very different from men, yes? The circumstances of the world are different, and women have to develop a very different set of skills just to survive."
"I'm afraid I do not understand what you mean. Are you telling me that, because women have different struggles, there can be no integrity or character in the choices they make?"
"Not in the standards that are used by men." It was perfectly self-evident to him. "If a woman is offended, she cannot strike a man down for the offense if she is so much slighter and less powerful than he. A woman's strength is not so much that she can work endlessly for a career. If a woman falls pregnant unmarried, she must beg the man to become a husband and father, as she cannot provide herself..."
The woman in green took a frosty step back from him. He had thought she was young and sweet before, but now he discovered that sweetness could have a razor edge.
"Despite thinking that you know a great deal of women, I find your conclusions are weak and flawed. I think we have nothing else to say to one another, sir."
