Our Last Dance [ONC 2021]

Chapter II ~ Names and Last Dances

6 months later

The weather was still hot when the carnival season came to a close. Autumn was around the corner, but here in Venice, it was hardly noticeable.

I hadn't seen the stranger again since that night. I remember running through the city, passing streets decorated with garlands and light, trying to mingle in the crowds, but when I thought I had successfully gotten rid of him, it became clear that he had made no effort of chasing after me.

It's impossible to describe the immense relieve and disappointment I had felt in that moment.

Now, half a year later, I wasn't scared of running into him anymore. The hope that I would see him again had faded with time, while I was still not sure whether I would really want to.

In the end, I didn't get to choose.

It was at a garden party that we met again. Like I said, the weather was hot, and the dresses were informal and fun. Not hundreds of layers of fabric, just colours and flower prints. The time for anonymity was over: no masks, nowhere to hide, no way to go, other than directly towards him.

The host, a rich woman called Anzola, had come up to me, and we were making small talk about how lovely this garden party of hers was, and about how good the wine was, and how delicious the tarts were. The women wouldn't stop bragging about how the recipe was made especially for her by some renowned Italian chef. Just when I planned to leave to supposedly powder my nose, I was frozen in my spot.

'So, we meet yet again, it seems.'

I didn't turn around when I heard his voice. How was it that after so many months and so little conversation I still recognised it as his?

'Nowhere to go now, wouldn't you say? Don't worry, I have forgiven you for the wallet.' His words barely reached me, seeming to briefly drift through my head, without sticking. 'I haven't, however, forgiven you for not granting me a proper last dance. So, my lady, if you would let me?'

The wine was waltzing in my glass and I pretended to be too intrigued by it to notice the stranger. All of a sudden, the tiny tarts on the platter in front of me seemed to be very interesting indeed.

'Oh, you've already met my nephew. How lovely.' Anzola exclaimed, clasping her hands together. Her fan –a highly impractical thing, made completely out of lace, with more holes than my memory— rested in her palm for only a moment before she swatted it at me. 'Well don't just stand there, go dance with him. He's quite adequate at it.'

Before I knew it, the women had grabbed my glass and was waving me towards the man that was apparently her nephew. Her look told me that saying no would probably get me banned, not only from her house and all the fun parties, but from Venice all together. Oh hell, what would one last dance matter?

As we swerved around the room, I could finally take a proper look at the stranger's face. His skin seemed fairer than mine, his eyes more vibrant, and his hair softer. It had grown a bit since when I first met him, now playfully bouncing in front of his lashes. The grin on his face hadn't changed a bit. With a shock, I realised that this was what was considered "pretty". By standards, he was probably prettier than me, and even I got the fair share of admirers. It had been how I'd gotten an invitation in the first place.

Our last dance turned into our last two, and then it became three and just like at the carnival, there seemed to be no end to it, but after a rather energetic waltz, exhaustion got to me and as soon as the piece ended, I wrung my hands from his and took a small step back.

'Pardon me, just need a break.'

His smile told me he didn't mind. Instead, he held out his arm and looked at me expectantly.