Shades of Trust

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Saturday, February 6, 2010

9:30 a.m.

Ethan nuzzled Sophia’s neck. “Wake up, lazybones. Breakfast is here.”

As always, he was already up and dressed before her.

“Good morning.” She stretched lazily on the bed and blinked. Saturday, the sixth! “Oh! Ethan!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. “Happy birthday, my dear.”

She kissed him on the lips and jumped from the bed. Grabbing a wrap, she opened the chest of drawers, and removed two boxes that were hidden under her clothes.

She turned to him, with the boxes behind her back.

He grinned at her sudden hurry.

“I have something for you. I hope you like it.”

His azure eyes sparkled with love. “The best gift you can give me is your smile.”

“Very well,” she said, and smiled broadly at him. “Seems I have made the right choice.” She handed him the smaller box with a quick kiss on his cheek. “But first, this. They remind me of your eyes.”

He first opened the cream and navy card attached to the box and smiled as he read it.

Venice, February 6th, 2010

Dear Ethan,

I wish you the same happiness you have given me.

Sophia

He kissed her on the lips, enchanted. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

From the black velvet box, he removed a pair of classic square cufflinks and four shirt studs. Each one featured a three carat cushion-cut Brazilian Paraíba tourmaline almost the exact color of his eyes, set in platinum. “Sophia, darling…” he breathed. “They’re extraordinary. Where did you find such a gem?”

“I had them made for you. The Paraíba tourmaline is Brazilian.” She lifted a shoulder, dismissing all the trouble she’d been through to locate the exact color and size she wanted. The gems were very rare. And the color she had chosen, even more so. “They are beautiful. But nothing compares to your eyes.”

He grinned at her.

“Now. This isn’t your main gift, but I think you will like it the most.” A big, rectangular bluish-gray silk box from Buccellati wrapped with a gray shiny ribbon appeared from behind her back. She beckoned, “Open it.”

He eyed her askance and opened the box, taking out another case. He lifted the lid slowly, blinking when he looked at the intricate silver frame that encased a photo of him embracing a smiling Sophia during a beautiful sunset at his castle in Scotland from their visit there the previous Saturday. At the bottom of the photo was a message in her handwriting, in dark-green ink.

Thanks for bringing me back to life. S.

It took his breath away.

He sat there, frozen, staring at the photo and at the message, in complete wonder. This woman is absolutely perfect. “Sophia…what have I done to deserve you?”

7:44 p.m.

Ethan stood in front of the mirror, wearing a gray wig, a black velvet dress coat finished with antique silver braids and breeches, a silver brocade waistcoat buttoned over a black shirt with cuffs and jabot lace, black knee-high socks, and black velvet shoes with a silver buckle and two-inch heels.

He spun on his heels when Sophia entered the bedroom. “I don’t know if this was such a good idea.”

“What—” She stopped, open-mouthed. She bit her lip to hold her laughter in.

“Laugh on,” he said, smiling. “I’m ridiculous, I know.”

Sophia’s walked up to him and touched his shaved jaw with her fingertips. “Have you gone crazy? Why did you do it?”

“It was that bloody Marco Bianchi’s idea.” He leaned his face on her palm, scowling at himself. “He said that men from the eighteenth century didn’t have beards.”

“You silly man.” Sophia giggled and shook her head. She kissed his jaw then and cleaned the gloss imprint. “I like it better this way. You have a strong jaw.”

“So it’s settled. No more beard for me.” He captured her lips with his and extended his bent arm after he broke the kiss, saying, “Shall we, Your Majesty?”

From the moment they approached the sumptuous Palazzo Pisani Moretta on the Grand Canal, Sophia’s imagination soared. Upon their arrival at the doorstep, they were welcomed into a fairy-tale world of dancers, singers, musicians, jesters, acrobats, and fire-eaters.

The façade of the palazzo was an example of Venetian gothic floral style with its two floors of six-light mullioned windows and ogival arches.

Inside the palace, the sensual and sophisticated decor depicted debauchery at its most extreme. Ancient decadent Rome mixed with Bram Stoker’s Dracula and creatures from hell. Representations of flesh abounded everywhere. Sculptures and paintings of lascivious nudes proliferated.

“God, Ethan. This is more scandalous than Carnival in Rio.”

“Never been to Rio.” He eyed her. “Are you shocked?”

Devils, winged-demons, extravagantly dressed vampires and barely dressed pans, harpies, and fallen angels, some bare breasted, others covered only in body makeup, taunted the guests as they arrived.

“No, not at all.” She linked their arms. “We should go to Carnival one day. It’s one of the most beautiful parties on earth.” But deadly.

After drinking a glass of champagne, they were invited upstairs to the Noble Floor to dine by candlelight in the lavish red-and-black décor.

The air resonated with the theme of the ball: Seven Dreams-Seven Sins. The interiors, created in the baroque style, added the final touch to the licentious ambience.

They were directed to their table by a grim vampire who wore just a loincloth. He helped Sophia with her seat and left. Their table seated six but it was still empty.

“Can I leave you alone for a second?” As she nodded, he kissed her lips. “I’ll return in a minute, baby.”

The rooms were intimate and personal, silk-paneled and with outstanding ceiling frescoes. Comedians and magicians walked among the guests, entertaining.

“Buona sera.” A man wearing a gold and black mask, similar to the one worn by the Phantom of the Opera, sat on the chair by her side. “Mi scusi, signorina.”

“Of course,” she answered in Italian. “Good evening.”

“You’re Italian?” he asked, in a cultured voice.

“No.” She looked around searching for Ethan.

Candles were the only lighting and they were everywhere: in the candelabra, hanging from the walls and ceilings, and on tables, inside and around skulls on niches or consoles. But still the place was in a penumbra.

“First time in Venice?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Do you like it here?”

“Yes, Venice is stunning.”

The masked man smiled at her. “As are you. But, of course, mia cara, you know that, don’t you?” The dark eyes behind the mask gleamed. “If they had a contest for the belle of the ball, you, undoubtedly, would win.”

My goodness. So much for small talk. “Oh, please,” Sophia murmured, and looked down at her pouch bag, playing with it.

“I’m Giulio Spedalletti. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Sophia,” she murmured.

“Just Sophia?”

Her gracious smile didn’t mask her icy tone. “We’re at a masked ball. Identities aren’t supposed to matter here.”

“Excuse my handsome companion, my dear. Tonight is a night where dreams can come true,” a sensuous voice drawled in flawed English from behind Sophia.

She whipped her head 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 stared at the woman, astonished. With black hair, olive unblemished skin, full red lips, and incredible blue eyes, she looked like a goddess.

“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. Your 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,” a middle-aged, brown-haired man in a striking white-and-gold costume said. Draped on his arm was a young woman even more scantily clad than Calista, wearing a white-and-gold nearly transparent costume and a gray, curly wig.

“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 need to 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,” George, grinning said.

Suddenly, Sophia’s chair was pulled back and an arm slipped possessively around her waist, and a strong body pressed against her back.

“Most times, George, sin and temptation are nearer to us than we imagine,” Ethan said, and retrieved her purse from the table. “Sophia, let’s—”

“Don’t be selfish, Ethan. We were getting to know your beautiful date,” George called, boisterously.

“What a…delightful coincidence!” Calista rose from her seat and approached Ethan and Sophia. When she tried to kiss him, he recoiled from her lips. Something flashed in the woman’s blue eyes, and she pouted, before saying, “Ethan, come to your senses. We can enjoy ourselves greatly this evening.”

“Calista.” Ethan tensed, tightening his arm around Sophia’s waist. “I don’t think—”

“Think of something spectacular, something sumptuous, something dreamy. And something sinful. Nothing is forbidden,” Calista said huskily, her fingers caressing Ethan’s arm. “Anything and everything is allowed to happen. Let’s celebrate carnival and dreams, passion and love!”

He stepped back, pulling Sophia with him. “If I’d known that you were here, I wouldn’t have come.”

“Where are your manners, Ethan!” George exclaimed.

“I bid you a good night,” he said through clenched teeth, leaving the room in haste, towing a bewildered Sophia behind him.

They wandered around the gardens behind the palazzo, admiring the waning moon making its shy appearance behind the clouds as they waited for the hostess to find another table for them. Ethan’s tense grip on Sophia’s hand almost hurt her.

“You shouldn’t let your friends ruin your birthday,” she said hesitantly.

“My friends.” He laughed bitterly as he spun to look at her. “They’re not my friends, Sophia. They’re my parents.”

“Parents?” Looking at him carefully, she could see the resemblance now. He had the same skin and eyes as his mother. His father must have had hair exactly like his when he was 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, surprised by the rage, pain, and 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. “Calista never wanted me. I was only born because my Greek grandfather threatened to disinherit and throw her out on the street if she aborted me.”

“My God, Ethan!”

“Calista was too pampered, too self-centered. I was raised in a big cold house in Chiswick by nannies and tutors.” His face crumpled from painful memories. “Every time I started to get attached to one, she’d fire them.” 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,” he said his voice low.

Sophia stepped closer to hear him better.

“When I was thirteen, my parents allowed me to stay late at one of their parties. Of course, I thought it was an honor.” He closed his eyes as he recalled the experience. “The evening started as usual. About ten couples. Cocktails. Dinner. Some cognac and port after. Cigars.” 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.

Sophia gently embraced him.

“A turquoise transparent dress, with layers tied strangely. Her hair was down. She had darkened her eyes. Gone was my mother, always so aloof, cold, and controlled. I thought I’d had too much to drink. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.” His brows drew closer together and he looked at her with such sadness in his face.

Staring at his agony, Sophia wanted to cry.

“Singers and musicians positioned themselves in a corner and sensuous 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. My mother and the dancers. They moved so beautifully it was difficult not to stare. They positioned themselves in front of the sprawled guests and started to…seduce them. And me.”

Sophia stifled a gasp. She could almost foretell the rest of the story.

“I’ve never told this to anyone, Sophia,” he murmured, and gathered her closer to his chest, his arms around her.

“Oh, Ethan. It’s okay,” she whispered. Those creepy bastards.

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 already tall, but hadn’t started to build a body. All arms and legs. A teenager, you know…”

“Yes, I know.” She tightened her arms around him.

“But then—then, Calista started to dance for me, shedding layer after layer of her dress, like the dance of the Seven Veils.”

Her heart clenched for the boy that was still suffering inside the handsome man in front of her. He was crying and hadn’t even realized it. Sophia tenderly framed his face between her hands. “It’s okay, Ethan.”

“My father stood behind me and took off my jacket, my tie, and my belt. When they stepped closer, crowding over me—when Calista kneeled to—I pushed her hard and ran. She was going to…” He sobbed. “They wanted to…”

“Shhh.” Sophia scattered tiny kisses on his face. “They won’t hurt you anymore. No one will.”

“I called my grandfather that very night and asked him if I could move in with him. He asked why but I was too shaken to explain the real reasons. But he must have guessed because he cursed Calista…the next morning when I was packing, I heard King, my sheepdog puppy, yelping.”

He whispered so low that Sophia could barely hear his voice.

“I looked for him through the house and found him in the back garden. Dead. She left a note beside his body in her childish handwriting. ‘Never reject me again.’ But I did.”

“I’m so sorry.” Pity, angst, and anger constricted her throat. Oh, my God. Now I understand why you have so many issues.

“I furtively buried King in the garden with the help of the cook and fled to Athens, only to return to England for college. I have not set foot in their house since.”

Silence reigned for a few moments.

“Unfortunately, Sophia,” he said mournfully, “that’s my story.”

“That is your past.” She put a calming hand on his chest. “Let’s make a new beginning. Today. Now.”

He breathed deeply. “You’re right. Come on.”