“Ah, yes.” His words were a sigh.
My excitement deflated. “You don’t like it? I’m sorry I thought we were dressing as movie characters.”
“And you are Cinderella, yes, I know.” But that light in his eyes had dimmed. A sudden weight pressed on my chest. I tripped. Our steps slowed. “You see, that was Bianca’s dress. And it was very expensive, as I recall. I suppose my mother did not want to part with it.” Here he clucked and shook his head. “My mother can be something else, as you Americans say.”
The fabric of the dress burned my skin, or so I thought just then.
“Really, I hadn’t noticed.” His mother was something else all right, but I’d deal with that later. Back to the dress. “So the dress belonged to Bianca, Gregorio's mother.”
“Yes, but Gregorio would not remember. He was too little.” The night had lost its sparkle, and the music receded. Marco gave me a small shake. “Do not feel sad, Profesora. Please. What happened was sad, but not for you. You bring your own charm to the dress.”
What had happened to Bianca? But I didn’t dare ask. Most Europeans thought Americans were too bold, too brash and I was determined that I would not be that way.
“Why do you squeeze your eyes shut?”
My eyes flew open. This was just a natural reflex with me. when I didn’t want to face something. Thank goodness I never did it while driving. But Lexi kidded me about it all the time.
“I’m so sorry for bringing up painful memories. I wouldn’t have worn the dress, had I known.”
His featured darkened with concern. “But you didn’t know. My mother made a mistake.”
Well, he had that one right. An intentional mistake.
“She means well. You are a big help to me and to Gregorio.” The song had ended. As if she’d overheard our conversation, Ama appeared at my elbow.
“Mama, are you having a good time?” Marco was such a good son.
Ama wore her usual stern expression, a lady waiting for the worst to happen. “Where have Gregorio and your daughter gone?” She addressed her comments to me.
Glancing around, I bristled at the accusation in her voice. “Are they missing?”
When was the last time I’d seen Lexi?
15
“They are here somewhere.” Marco’s eyes swept the crowd. The orchestra was playing “Somewhere my Love,” another one of my favorite songs. My mind spun. Had I been so busy dancing that I couldn’t keep track of my own child?
I’d brought Lexi here to save her from her wild friends and their experimentation. Yes, Gregorio was my student, but had I been ignoring my daughter? After all, Lexi was still Lexi.
“Come. We will look.” As he took my hand, Marco spoke into his lapel. What was this? “Milo, we are looking for Gregorio. Please track him.”
Track him?Did Marco have some sort of device on his son? At first that appalled me. Then I felt grateful. Wherever Gregorio was, Lexi was probably with him. I tried to keep up as he rushed me from the fountain up to the patio.
“We’ll get a good view from here.”
Scanning the crowd below, I slid my hand from Marco’s. How hard could it be to find Lexi’s purple hair? But I didn’t see her anywhere.
Marco kept looking until finally he said, “No, I do not see them. Where would they be?” He turned to me.
My mind leapt ahead, as always, just like the time Lexi was supposed to be at a slumber party at Merrilee’s. That night something just didn’t feel right. And yes, I’d gone snooping, sweeping one hand under Lexi’s pillow to see if she’d taken her pajamas. They were gone and for a while, I’d relaxed. Even watchedMrs. Maiselepisodes on TV.
But the police call later that night shattered my calm. I drove to the station to pick up my daughter. She was shame-faced, her eyes ringed with makeup smeared by tears. There had been a wild party at another girl’s house. So wild that a neighbor had called the police. She had lied to me.
That had just been the beginning. But I wouldn’t think about all that now.
“Does Gregorio have a special place?” I asked, turning from the party and a carefree life that certainly wasn’t mine. “A private place.”
“Well, yes. His room. But what would they be doing there?” Marco’s voice slowed. I could tell he wasn’t used to thinking about stuff like this. After all, the castle was isolated. When he turned, our eyes locked––two parents having the same thought. Just then a slight ping sounded. Marco bent to his lapel, clicked something and listened. “Right. Yes, that makes sense. Thank you, Milo.”
