Masquerade

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Anya turned around slowly, sorry that she hadn’t thought to bring her pepper spray with her. The only thing in her jet-bead-embroidered clutch was lipstick, her hotel card key, two €50 notes and her cell.

  So she turned, ready to shuck her shoes and run. She was fast and the building was crowded. She could outrun danger.

  But when she turned, she realized she couldn’t outrun this danger.

  Before her was a tall, well-built man, very tan, short sandy hair, light brown eyes fierce and cold.

  He was in costume, sort of. A well-cut black tuxedo, stiff white pleated shirt, cummerbund, black tie. Half his face was covered with a white Phantom of the Opera mask, but she’d recognize him anywhere.

  Cal. Calvin Burns, after all these years. All grown up.

  He’d been a good-looking young man, but now he was devastating. Leaner, but bulked up in the shoulders that strained against the tux. Formal wear suited him, even as the elegant evening wear contrasted with his very tan, weather-beaten face. The last time she’d seen him his dark blonde hair had fallen to his shoulders. He’d worn his hair long mainly because he couldn’t afford to go to a barber often. Now his hair was buzzed short, so short she could see his scalp.

  “Cal?” she whispered.

  He nodded, face grim.

  It seemed so strange, him here. She reached out a hand then let it drop. “Is it really you?”

  He nodded again.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What?” His mouth tightened. “You don’t think I’m good enough to be here?”

  “What?” She was shocked. When she tried to pull in air it wasn’t there. “No, not at all! How can you say that?”

  It was as if he hadn’t heard her. He stepped forward, close enough that she had to look up to meet his eyes. Had he grown in the past ten years?

  “I have as much right to be here as you do,” he said, his tone belligerent.

  “Of course. I — ah …”

  Her brain just switched off. He was looking at her so intently, light brown eyes fierce, locked onto hers. He was so different from the young man — a boy, really — she remembered so well. Anya had dreamed of him so many times and in her dreams he was the boy she’d left all those years ago.

  But this was a different person, and he was all man. Lean, hardened, cold.

  The old Cal, her Cal, had been basically a puppy. A big, enthusiastic puppy, eager to please, always happy. She couldn’t ever remember him frowning.

  This Cal looked like he’d never smiled in his life.

  She’d thought of him, dreamed of him, yearned for him over the years. Though the days were for working on the big Peace and Jobs project, The Accords, her nights were for dreaming. She’d dreamt of seeing Cal again, a suddenly unmarried and unencumbered Cal, and of them getting together again. She’d dreamed it so often that in her fantasies, the preliminaries disappeared, there was no run-up. There was just her and Cal, together again, the past wiped out.

  She’d pleasured herself to the thought of being in Cal’s arms again countless times.

  It was easy to take a step forward, instinctively, arms coming up for an embrace.

  He didn’t step back but he did stiffen and his entire body turned into a no-touching zone.

  Okay okay. Got it. She’d given up the right to touch him ten years ago. Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands.

  They stood watching each other. Anya felt frozen. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, had no idea what to do.

  Oh God he looked so good. She gulped up all the details as quickly as she could, trying not to stare.

  He had some Slavic blood in him — Cal always said he was a mutt while she was a purebred — and in his younger days his face had been wide, like a pale, friendly moon.

  Not now. Now his brown face was drawn, with high, chiseled cheekbones, hollow cheeks, lean and grim. His body, too, was completely different. He’d been blocky from all the martial arts he did, but he wasn’t blocky now. He had massive shoulders and chest which narrowed down to a lean waist and long, strong legs.

  The tux fit him like a dream.

  Anya tried really hard not to check him out head to toe in an obvious way, but her eyes did stop on his left hand.

  No ring.

  He was married. Why wasn’t he wearing a ring?

  She was staring. Say something! She told herself.

  “I —”

  “What —”

  They both spoke at once. People smiled when that happened, but Cal didn’t smile. He moved his big, tanned hand in an after you gesture.

  Anya had no idea what she wanted to say. Or rather, there were so many things jostling in her head, buzzing like angry bees. What to say first?

  How are you? Where have you been? Why are you here and no, I don’t think you don’t belong here, why should I? But — did you work on the Accords? Are you part of this? Why haven’t I seen you? Where do you live now?

  Where’s your wife?

  No, she couldn’t ask that.

  She opened her mouth to say something bland but a laughing group of cosplayers turned the corner and filled the hallway with shrieks and comments in four languages. As they passed by, the air was thick with scents — perfumes and brandy. It was traditional in Venice during Mardi Gras to dress in 17th-century costume, when Venice was la Serenissima — one of the world’s major superpowers. But they hadn’t gotten the memo and there was a Harley Quinn, a Wonder Woman, a Princess Leia, a Batman and two Jokers.

  They were loud and raucous and made noise all the way down the hallway toward the monumental staircase.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” Cal asked, scowling.

  “Yes.” She’d worked for months in Palazzo Maltese and knew every single room in the huge building.

  In the old days, she’d have grabbed Cal’s hand but that was now off limits. So she merely nodded at him, turned around and walked to the end of the hallway. He was following her. She knew this because of the electrical charge in the air, not because she heard him. He was completely silent as he walked, whereas her twenties shoes with the silk bow ties were loud in the sudden silence. The raucous party had reached the other end of the hallway and walked through the big doors into the larger room. The sounds of the party flowed through when the doors opened, then dulled again as they closed.

  Anya turned right and tested the brass handle of the second door to the left. Maybe they had sealed off some of the rooms that weren’t suited to the revelry? But no, the door opened easily and she stood aside as Cal entered the room, looking around.

  It was a lovely room, as all the rooms in Palazzo Maltese were. Intimate, decorated with priceless antiques, frescoed. There was an enormous 18th-century table in the center with delicate, silk-upholstered armchairs around it, which made it a meeting room. Anya had had numerous meetings here. Someone had held a meeting earlier in the evening because a sideboard held an ice bucket full of melting ice and three bottles of champagne and there were platters of canapés on end tables.

  Cal took in the room at a glance and headed for the sideboard, yanking off his half mask on the way. “Champagne?” he asked, his hand hovering over the bucket.

  Alcohol? After seeing the love of her life after a ten-year absence? God yes!

  “Yes, thank you.” She kept her voice low because there was something about Cal that was like an explosive device just waiting to detonate. She didn’t want to be what set him off but she feared she would be.

  There was a quiet pop as he uncorked the champagne. He poured her a flute and held it out by the stem. She took it from him without touching his fingers. He poured himself a glass, gulped it down fast, then poured another one.

  And that’s when she noticed his hands. They were trembling. You could barely see it, but the liquid in the flute made little waves.

  Cal Burns’ hands were trembling.

  Impossible. The Cal Burns she knew was the steadiest human being she’d ever met, including her fa
ther who’d had nerves of steel. Maybe it was basically growing up in a dojo, maybe it was having to make his own way in the world completely on his own, but whatever the reason, Cal had turned himself into a machine with a big heart. He wasn’t intimidated by anything, he wasn’t afraid of anything. He relished challenge.

  Yet his hands were trembling slightly.

  She did this to him. His hands were trembling because of her.

  It emboldened her. She stepped forward. One step, to see how he reacted.

  He flinched. It was so subtle it could hardly be seen, but she saw. She saw because she knew him so very well. Ten years separated them, a gulf of time, but people didn’t change all that much. Cal hadn’t flinched, ever, when he was a poor student carrying two jobs, a full student load, and a ton of student debt, always one step away from absolute penury.

  This Cal looked prosperous. That was an Armani tuxedo he was wearing, unless she missed her guess. And if he was here, he was one of the world’s elite. The Accords were the biggest international event in the past hundred years. To be here was to have status.

  Cal had never flinched when he’d been poor and powerless.

  So if Cal flinched now …

  She took another step forward and he gulped his second glass of champagne as if it were water.

  She still meant something to him. He still had feelings for her. Those feelings might be anger or even hatred, but they were there.

  And oh God, she had feelings for him. She’d never stopped, not for a second.

  Another step forward and he drew himself up to his full height. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. Those bright, fierce, almost yellow eyes she’d loved to gaze into.

  A sudden flashback. They were in his studio apartment, making love. He was always so ashamed of his place. It was dingy, with thin walls, chilly in the winter, steaming in the summer. But he kept it spotlessly clean and she hadn’t cared at all about the miserable surroundings, as long as she was with him.

  The room and the whole world disappeared anyway when they were having sex.

  She remembered, as clearly as if it had been yesterday, when he entered her. He was big, and it was always a tight fit right at the start and she had to consciously relax to accommodate him. And he always stopped, just inside her, to give her time. But that time they’d had extensive foreplay and he was really aroused and so was she and he slid inside her to the hilt right away.

  He was on top. They experimented, but they both liked it when he was on top. His face was an inch from hers, their noses touched. When he realized that he’d slid right in, his eyes had widened. When they were making love there seemed to be a light inside his head and his eyes just glowed like a tiger’s in the night.

  That time she’d locked eyes with his and it had been like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Magnetic and almost scary. She’d started shaking and had started coming as soon as he moved, an explosive orgasm that left her gasping and trembling. And that whole time, those tiger eyes had never left hers.

  She remembered it. And how. Her body remembered that time, too. Her treacherous, treacherous body. It was like a fire had started inside her, heat exploding outward, burning up all the oxygen in her lungs. The sound of her gasping for breath was loud in the room. Her skin prickled. She could feel the material of her costume rasping against super-sensitized skin, though the costume was the smoothest silk possible. It felt like her bra and panties suddenly shrank several sizes. Her breasts felt heavy, the nipples brushing against the lace bra, so tender it almost hurt.

  Oh God, could he tell just by looking at her how turned on she was? She’d almost forgotten this feeling. The few lovers she’d had since Cal had never excited her like this, not even close. She hadn’t felt like this since — since Cal.

  She took another gasp of air, as if she were drowning. It couldn’t be helped, the air in the room didn’t seem to be enough.

  Her knees trembled.

  Anya had spent the past nine years in rooms with men who disliked her, personally and because of her gender, men who hated everything she stood for, who despised her for being a woman, a Westerner, in a position of power.

  She’d long ago learned to control every aspect of her outward appearance, to remain cool and calm in negotiations between parties that had hated each other for a thousand years, bitter enmity poisoning the air. Yet here she was, spiraling out of control, her body betraying her because of an old lover.

  She couldn’t do this. She shouldn’t do this. Their break was her fault, but the Anya of ten years ago no longer existed. And the Cal Burns of ten years ago definitely no longer existed.

  He’d never looked at her with anything less than warm love in his gaze. Now his eyes were cold and flat, unreadable.

  They were staring at each other, unblinking. She had to break this spell.

  “So —” Anya gestured with her glass, misjudging. A little champagne sloshed over the top. Cal didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were locked on hers. “What are you doing here?”

  Cal shook his head sharply, like someone waking out of a trance. “Phoenix.” His voice was cold, deep, clipped. “Phoenix Enterprises.”

  “Phoenix? I, ah, I don’t —” and then she did understand. The Accords consisted of a million moving parts. One of those parts, which she’d never had dealings with because they were part of the Technical Dossier, was a big corporation called Phoenix Enterprises, providing safe desalinated water to the Middle East. “So — you work for Phoenix Enterprises?”

  “No.” He stopped, jaws working.

  “No?” He looked angry. So angry. What had she said? Something about Phoenix Enterprises had set him off. Maybe she should change the subject. Her mouth opened and she had to trust that something would fill the silence. But then he spoke.

  “Phoenix Enterprises. It’s mine.”

  Her eyes widened. Phoenix Enterprises was Cal’s? Oh God. It was one of the great companies of the world — right up there with Microsoft and Apple and Google. Maybe more important because it was saving lives. Drought was no longer a scourge. For the first time in history, water was no longer a fighting issue, something people died for.

  A great rush of emotion went through her, a flood of pure pride. Cal had started life with nothing, but he’d always had outsized smarts and courage and ambition. But this — this was amazing. Gone was the memory of their breakup and of the last ten long and lonely years. Something in her heart brightened. The boy she’d loved so much had turned into a remarkable man. Cal had worked a miracle.

  She reached out to him instinctively, touching his forearm. “Oh my gosh, Cal! How amazing!”

  It had come straight from the heart, but his heart was unmoved. He jerked back as if she had Ebola that could be transmitted by touch. As if her touch could taint him, burn him.

  Well, that pain had to be just tucked away, didn’t it? She deserved that. It hurt, but then a lot of things in life hurt.

  Her hand dropped. She made it look natural, not as if it broke her heart, just a little, not to be able to touch him. Diplomatic training took over and instead of snatching her hand back, she waved it at the couch. “Should we sit down?”

  His jaw muscles clenched again. Clearly he didn’t want to sit down, not with her at any rate. He looked like he didn’t want to be in the same room with her, in the same building, in the same city.

  Anya’s heart broke just a little bit more. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes but she’d be damned if she’d let any of that show.

  He didn’t want to sit with her, but she wanted to sit with him. The hell with it. Ten years had gone by and maybe this would be the last time in this lifetime that she’d be next to him again. No matter the blow to her pride, she needed this.

  A part of her realized that she was storing up memories that she’d take out again and again in the future. The smell of him, the heat his big body generated, that handsome, lean face, those huge shoulders, all encased in a gorgeous black tuxedo.
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br />   She sat, the jet beads rustling, tinkling. When she chose this dress, sitting hadn’t been part of the plan. It was necessary for her to take part in the huge Mardi Gras party celebrating the Accords but the plan had been to stand, mingle, drink some champagne and then, when everyone was too soused to notice, leave quietly.

  The last thing she expected was to come across Cal Burns.

  He sat stiffly, muscles tense, a scowl between his eyebrows. He was sitting on the edge of the pretty brocaded couch, almost quivering with eagerness to get away.

  Oh God. If only she could stop time! Just stop it, like in the movies. Press pause. He would freeze, and then she could look at him to her heart’s content. And oh, she just wanted to gobble up every detail. To compare the man in front of her with the boy she’d carried in her heart all these years.

  Cal used to wear his hair long. He’d just let it grow. It made him look a little like a Viking, scruffy and rough. Now he had what must have been a $300 haircut, so precise it could have been done by laser. She hadn’t appreciated how well-shaped his head was when he had hair down to his shoulders, but this cut showed off the clean lines of his head and face.

  As a student, Cal had bothered to shave only a couple of times a week and there was always a sandy scruff covering his jaw. Now his face gleamed from a very close shave.

  His face had narrowed, hollowed under sharp cheekbones. Lines fanned out from his eyes in his sun-tanned face.

  And his body. Oh man. He’d been a buff young man — he’d practically grown up in a dojo and he’d been strong and muscled. This man looked lethal — sharper, cut and infinitely dangerous.

  Age had only added to his appeal, not taken anything away. Plus he had this hard and commanding air, as if he’d been slaying dragons all this time. Well, if he had founded Phoenix and made it into what it was today, he really had been slaying dragons.

  Oh how she wished she’d been at his side, helping him create Phoenix and watching it grow. They’d have done it together. She didn’t know anything about engineering or desalination but she was good at public relations. They’d have made the most amazing team …