by Pati Nagle
“I said you dance prettily, Lady Swan.” He shouted over the chatter and the music. His voice sounded wearied, as if he found her tiresome.
“Thank you, Lord Centurion.”
The music ended before she could think of a compliment in return. Guiliano took her hand and made as if to lead her to the wall, where she saw her mother standing. Before they reached it, a man somewhat taller than Giuliano stepped before them.
He was young, though older than Giuliano, she thought. Closer to Lorenzo’s age, or even a little older. He wore a doublet of red velvet the exact shade and pattern of Valentina’s gown. It was a new fabric, she knew, and quite costly. He must be from a family of considerable means.
His mask was formed like a long-nosed fox’s face, with shiny black whiskers and rusty-red fur. Valentina glimpsed green eyes through the fox mask, and felt her heart jump.
“The next dance is Belfiore,” the fox said in a voice that was smooth and seemed quiet, even in the noise of the hall. “May I have the honor of dancing it with you?”
He bowed, and his green eyes held Valentina’s. She could not move or speak, she was so struck by his gentle grace. It was Giuliano who answered.
“Very well, Lord Fox, but you had better not bite my pretty swan, ha, ha.”
Valentina thought his laughter a little forced. She gave her free hand to the fox, whose hand was warm and gentle as it clasped hers. The three of them returned to the dance floor as the musicians struck up a new tune.
Belfiore was a dance for two men and a lady. Valentina had practiced it with her mother and Giada, but though her feet knew the steps, this felt very, very different. Her heart was aflutter with the attention of the two strong men beside her. She tried to share her smiles equally between both her partners, but found her gaze drawn more often to the green-eyed fox.
He danced gracefully, fluidly, and seemed more elegant than Giuliano. Perhaps that was the fault of the gaudy centurion’s garb, or perhaps his quiet manner appealed more to Valentina than a Medici’s arrogance. She began one step on the wrong foot, and the fox gently corrected her, while the centurion huffed with impatience.
The dance ended far too soon for her liking. As the musicians played their final flourish and the room was filled with applause, Valentina glanced at the fox and saw him watching her.
“Lord Fox,” said Giuliano somewhat haughtily, “do me the kind favor of returning Lady Swan to the lady in green over there. Lady Swan, I beg you to excuse me.”
Giuliano did not wait for an answer, but bowed curtly and turned away, leaving Valentina’s side so abruptly that she felt her cheeks color with embarrassment. If her father had arranged for her marriage to Giuliano, he showed no sign of being pleased.
“Will you walk with me, Lady Swan?” said a gentle voice beside her.
She turned, and smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Lord Fox.”
He led her toward her mother as the musicians began another dance. The center of the hall was instantly crowded again. Valentina wished the fox would ask her to dance, but he merely guided her around the other dancers and off the floor.
“That was the first time I danced Belfiore,” she said, a little nervously.
“I would never have known it. You danced it perfectly.”
“You are very gracious, and also very kind,” she said, stealing a glance at the fox’s profile. “If I danced perfectly it is because you helped me.”
He smiled, but made no answer. They had reached Valentina’s mother, and the fox bowed low to her, making a very handsome leg.
“Madame, I return your swan to you.”
Her mother made a small courtesy. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Valentina added her own thanks, and the fox turned and made another bow to her. She returned a courtesy, and shyly smiled at him. He smiled back, then stepped away and strode toward the archway at the bottom of the hall.
Valentina saw Giuliano standing there, talking and laughing with a group of young men and women. His smile flashed as he leaned toward a pretty blonde lady dressed as a shepherdess.
He had not smiled so at Valentina. She began to fear that she had failed her family.
“What did you think of him?” her mother asked.
Startled, Valentina looked up to find her mother eagerly watching her. She swallowed, and stood up a little straighter.
“Oh—he is a very good dancer.”
“Is that all?”
Valentina caught her breath, and lowered her gaze. She had seen the fox join the centurion and the shepherdess.
“It was kind of him to dance with me.”
“Yes, he is a kind man, or so I have heard. He will make a good husband.”
Valentina looked swiftly up at her mother, who was smiling at her. Her mother nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it.
“Your father has made an agreement with him. He wanted to see you tonight before concluding the bargain. I think he is pleased with you.”
Valentina’s mother turned her head to look toward Guiliano, who was now listening to something the fox was saying. Valentina saw Guiliano nod, then laugh. Her heart went cold.
If Giuliano was to be her husband, she would have no joy in marriage. She would be lonely while he busied himself with city affairs, or amused himself with shepherdesses.
She bowed her head, blushing at the ingratitude of her thoughts. If she married a Medici she would never want for anything. She would be respected throughout Florence, throughout Tuscany, even throughout all Italy. Her joy would come from her children, and from upholding the family’s honor.
Yet she longed for more than that. She longed for a husband who was kind and understanding. Who cared for her, as her own father cared for her mother in his quiet way.
“Come, child. You look a little warm. Let us find you a cool drink.”
Her mother led her down the hall, past the dancers, past the corner where Giuliano was holding court. Valentina glanced up at the little group, and her gaze met the fox’s. She felt a jolt of pain in her heart, almost as if she had been stabbed.
Who was he? Even as she wondered, she realized she might never know. She might never meet him again. Most likely she would not, unless he were a close friend of Giuliano’s.
That thought gave her no pleasure, for it would be no pleasure to welcome green-eyed Lord Fox to her husband’s home. She liked him far better than she would ever like Giuliano.
She followed her mother out into the first chamber, which seemed cool and dark by contrast with the hall where she had been dancing. Piero had left, but Lorenzo and his lady still stood talking with the guests who came and went.
Valentina followed her mother to the long table and accepted a goblet of cool, sweet wine. She sipped it, but her stomach twisted. Suddenly she wished she were home.
She no longer wanted to play. What good would it do her to dance until midnight? She would only meet more people she liked better than the man her parents had chosen for her husband.
Her father joined them, his face lit with a happy smile beneath the ridiculous long nose of his red mask. “My daughter, there is a noble gentleman here who wishes to make your acquaintance!”
Valentina’s heart jumped with dismay. “Should we not wait until midnight?” she said, hoping to delay her doom a little longer.
Her father shook his head, and held out his hand, commanding her to attend him. “He is impatient to be presented to you, my child. Come, he is waiting in the loggia.”
Impatient. Yes, that sounded like Giuliano. He did not seem to like waiting for anyone.
Valentina felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders, gently urging her forward. Her father beckoned her toward the entryway. She set her wine down on the table and followed her father out, her mother keeping close behind.
She thought wildly of escaping, of running away. Perhaps she could find the fox, and they could have a secret wedding, a Valentine wedding, and be happy together.
Foolish thoughts, she knew. The fox would probably be appalled at
such an idea. Certainly her parents would never forgive her.
They went up a flight of stairs to the palazzo’s third story, a broad loggia that was open to the chilly night air. It was quiet here, and dark. They had left the light and laughter of the masked ball below.
Valentina looked down into the palazzo’s central courtyard, where she saw statues, including one of a winged angel. How she wished she had wings, like the swan she had pretended to be. She could fly away from all her troubles.
Or she could fly without the wings, she thought bitterly, looking at the hard stone of the courtyard below. Her heart jumped sharply at the thought. Which would be worse, to throw herself to the wind, or to be bound to Giuliano de Medici?
“Signore,” her father said beside her, “I have brought my daughter to meet you.”
Valentina glimpsed a man standing in the darkness nearby. She lowered her gaze to the stone floor, unwilling to meet Giuliano’s cold eyes. She heard his footsteps as he approached. She clasped her hands together, wishing they were not so cold.
“We are most grateful to your cousin for bringing her to your notice,” her mother said brightly.
“As am I,” said a quiet, gentle voice.
Valentina’s gaze flew up. In the darkness she could not really see the features of the man before her, but the starlight was just enough to show her the stripes on the doublet he wore. Gold stripes on red velvet, like her gown.
“Valentina Alberti,” said her father formally, “I present to you Signore Prospero de’Medici.”
Prospero. She had heard the name, some cousin of Piero’s, she thought. The gentleman bowed, and Valentina saw in his hand a mask, shaped like a fox’s face. At that same moment she felt her mother lift the swan from her head.
She curtseyed slowly, never taking her eyes from the man before her, feeling warmth steal into her cheeks as her heart beat with excitement. The gentleman straightened, and starlight lit a glint of green in his eyes.
“I am honored to make Signorina Alberti’s acquaintance,” he said softly.
Valentina found her voice. “The honor is mine, signore.”
She reached out her hand, and Signore de’Medici caught it in his warm clasp and bowed over it. She felt his lips brush her skin, and a tingle went all through her as her heart took flight on swan’s wings.
Stranded
“You scared the piss out of me.”
She dug in her purse for her cigarettes. One left. She pulled it out, crumpled the pack and tossed it into the road. It glinted, reflecting the flame of her lighter, then winked out.
She took a long drag, let it out slowly, and said “Shit.”
She was perched on her suitcase on the side of the road in the middle of godforsaken nowhere. Her boyfriend was nearby, muttering obscenities as he inspected the damage to his Mustang convertible. The pickup that had forced them off the road had continued blithely on into the night, and they were alone.
“It won’t start. I can’t figure out the problem,” he called to her, up to his elbows in the guts of the engine.
“Must’ve died of fright,” she yelled back.
“Ah, fuck it!”
He came over, flashlight in hand and looking as pissed as she felt. He reached for her cigarette.
“Uh-uh,” she said, holding it away. “It’s my last one.”
“Shit.” He picked up her purse and began to rummage.
“Hey—”
”Last one?” He held up an unopened pack, dropping the purse back to the ground beside her. “Thanks a bunch, sugar.”
“I didn’t know that was in there,” she protested, but held strolled away, lighting a smoke and sticking the pack in his shirt pocket.
She could just see his silhouette, head tilted up to look at the moon. The air was still and misty, making the moonlight soft, fairy-like. She hadn’t noticed the fog coming in. It had been clear when they’d crashed.
Thinking of it made her shudder. Lucky they hadn’t been hurt, in an open car like that. Memory replayed the bouncing, the lurching, the sick fear.
To get away from it she stood, and as she did something flickered on the outskirts of her vision. She turned, but whatever it was had gone. Vanished into the mist. She shivered.
“Wait up,” she called, hurrying after him.
Her spiked heels were awkward on the rough pavement. Fuck the stockings, she thought, and kicked off the shoes, stooping to pick them up. She took a last pull on the cig—almost down to the filter—and stubbed it out on the road, then straightened, ears straining toward a faint echo.
“Was that you?”
“Was what me?” came his voice from down the road.
“I thought I heard something.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh,” she said, casting a glance around. “Wait up.”
“Well, come on then.”
She hobbled toward him, sharp asphalt hurting her feet through the stockings. His shape loomed out of the mist, standing in the middle of the two-lane highway, looking back the way they’d come.
“When did we pass Kingman?” he asked.
“About an hour ago, I think.” She stood next to him and peered into the white blankness. “How far are we from Vegas?”
“Over thirty miles,” he said, dropping the butt of his cigarette and stepping on it. “Got a long walk ahead of us—“
”Not me, not in these!” she waved the heels.
He sighed. “You can wait here, then.”
“Alone? No thanks!”
“We can’t just sit here. You got a better idea?”
She turned away, angry. She wanted her coat, not because she felt cold, but because she felt vulnerable in the slinky outfit she’d worn. If they were going to have to hitch a ride with some trucker, she didn’t want to be ogled.
There were some new designer jeans in her suitcase; maybe she’d slip into them. Too bad she hadn’t packed sneakers. But you don’t wear sneakers on a romantic weekend getaway.
God, what a disaster.
She walked gingerly back to the car, rough pavement biting at the soles of her feet. Sat on the suitcase again, setting the heels down beside it, and checked her stockings for snags. Couldn’t tell in the moonlight. She reached down for her purse and automatically rummaged it, then remembered about the cigarettes.
“Shit.”
He had them. She didn’t want to go back down the road to ask for one. Maybe she had some gum. She dug around in the purse some more. Her hand closed on a package and she pulled it out. Cigarettes.
A creepy feeling crawled across the back of her shoulders, making her shiver. She looked up sharply, looked all around. No one in sight.
She must have forgotten and bought an extra pack. She had to have. There was no one around to sneak cigarettes—her brand, no less—into her purse.
She lit up, hands shaking a little as she cupped the flame.
Stop it, she thought. You’ll just make yourself nuts.
She glanced back at the car with its nose in the ditch, tangled in the barbed wire fence. Past the fence was a figure, some local ranch hand, maybe. It was hard to see. She jumped up and called “Hey!” and it faded into the mist.
“What?” shouted her boyfriend from down the road. She turned and saw him hurrying back.
“I thought I saw someone,” she said. “Over by the car.”
She waited for him, not wanting to investigate by herself. He walked up to the car.
“Hello,” he called out. “Could you help us? Hello?” He turned back to her. “There’s no one here.”
“I just saw him! Behind the fence!”
He shrugged. “Not here now. If he wanted to help, he’d have stuck around.” He leaned over the engine again. “Could you hold the flashlight?”
“You already said you can’t fix it,” she groused, limping up to the car. She peered into her seat. “Is my coat in the trunk?”
“You weren’t wearing it.”
“But I just had it
—” she stopped. She’d just had it cleaned, specially for this trip. And she’d forgotten to pick it up from the cleaners.
“Damn it! Give me yours then.”
“It’s in the back seat. Or it was. Could be anywhere now, the way we bounced around.”
Don’t say anything, she thought. Don’t start a fight. You’ve got to get home. Then you can chew him out for speeding around a blind curve.
She leaned over the side of the car and felt around in the back seat for his leather jacket. Instead her hands closed on wool—very familiar wool. She froze for a second, then slowly drew her floor-length, silk-lined, lightweight wool coat from under the passenger seat. She stood there holding it like it would bite her if she didn’t keep an eye on it.
“Could you please come hold the flashlight?”
She walked to the front of the car, stopping short of the barbed wire mess. “Something very strange is going on.”
He looked up from the engine. “Come around this side, there’s more room.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Baby, if we’re gonna get out of here—”
“Look.” She held up the coat.
“You found it. Great. Now could you—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you picked it up for me?” she demanded.
“Huh? I didn’t.”
“You must have. I forgot to.”
“No head trips, baby. Not now. If you’re not going to help—”
“I’ll help.”
She tossed the end of her cigarette onto the road and walked around behind the car, feeling the coat all the way. It was clean, pockets empty, no tag from the cleaners. She shrugged into it, took the flashlight and pointed it where he indicated.
“It doesn’t look like there’s anything wrong,” he said.
“Then why won’t it start?”
“If I knew that—”
“Yeah, yeah.”
She didn’t want to get into the sort of inane conversation where they both knew they were telling each other things they’d said before. She was feeling edgy and grouchy and didn’t want to talk. Instead she stared over the fence at white nothingness, thinking about the weekend she’d looked forward to, the condo they’d reserved, the show they were missing.
