The party raged on until dawn. We left the hall just as the first light of day was staining the Monaco sky, turning down the cars. We walked through the deserted streets, cobblestones paved with history and money; our masks gave us even more impunity, if that was even possible. We were laughing like maniacs. Lucius carried me in his arms for a stretch when the heel of my shoe decided to tell me, "Enough, Carmilla, stop pushing me—I wasn't made for this." Bruce kissed Evangelina's hand, Moetia was singing an old song next to Phillipe, and then they kissed, prompting Charlotte to come running to my side, demanding furiously:
"Why is that woman kissing my brother? Tell me that this Moetia person is at least interesting."
"Lucius could tell you better than I can; those two had a summer fling..." I said, injecting as much irony as I could.
Lucius chimed in:
"Moetia is wonderful; if you're not careful, she'll kiss you too. Though she claims she's still in love with me, I think she's actually more attracted to Carmilla than anyone else."
Charlotte walked a few paces in silence before speaking up:
"I've noticed everyone loves you, Carmilla. How do you do it?"
I asked Lucius to let me walk barefoot, and he set me down. I thanked him with a kiss and, turning to look at the beautiful woman beside me, replied:
"You're asking why everyone loves me? Well, a few weeks ago I would've told you 'I don't know,' but it's different now. They love me because I have exactly what they want: freedom—and the joy to live it. You can't buy that combination, you know? You can't inherit it. You have to learn the recipe, and unfortunately, life is like one of those cruel teachers you read about in novels—the kind who hit hard and explain poorly."
Charlotte took my hand, her eyes brimming with tears as she said:
"I know your story. Well, everyone does. I'm so sorry—it breaks my heart to think you had to suffer like that."
I gave her a hug. You could tell from a mile away that Charlotte is a good person, but I can't quite figure out her true passions—at least not in my mind, girl. And I really want to know what she's like outside the stereotype of the devoted sister who lives and dies for her twin. So I did something that no one seems to try anymore: I asked. I showed genuine interest in her.
"Tell me, Charlotte, what would an ideal day look like for you? What do you absolutely have to do to fall into bed exhausted with a smile on your face?"
She stared at me for a few seconds, took off her mask, made a joke about how silly it was to still be wearing it since she wasn't famous, and then locked her eyes back onto mine.
"An ideal day would be any day spent with my brother, knowing he's going to be okay, that he won't do anything stupid... and then there's this guy I really like, but I don't know—he 'doesn't belong,' you know?"
I replied:
"No, of course I don't know. What do you mean he doesn't belong? Do you mean he doesn't have money?"
"Exactly—but it's more complicated than that. You didn't have money, and yet now everything in our world revolves around you; believe me, that almost never happens. His name is Pablo. I like him so much! But I just don't have the nerve. He's what I'd call 'proudly poor,' like some kind of romanticizer of scarcity. He spends all day on construction sites, he loves his social class, and he despises us. He works for me at my new building, and you have no idea—he makes my life a living hell. His presence feels like he's mocking me and wanting me at the exact same time. I hate him as much as I want him to make love to me in the freight elevator. I know he's the man of my life—I just know it."
I loved listening to her. I really liked that, in her heart, love felt like an inevitable tragedy. She felt she'd been dealt a difficult hand, that this was it, that Pablo was her impossible destiny. So of course, girl, I was ready to help her out.
Back at the apartment, exhaustion hit us, but so did a newfound determination. I lay down between Lucius and Bruce, with Evangelina curled up next to me. Their breathing synchronized with mine.
"Tell me the whole truth tomorrow," I asked them before drifting off to sleep. "No masks."
Evangelina smiled in the dim light.
"Only if you promise the same, gorgeous," she replied.
I closed my eyes, my heart pounding hard. The masquerade party hadn't ended the secrets; it had only stripped them bare a little more. And me, right in the middle of it all, I felt more alive than ever. Danger was lurking outside: Big George, Isabel's ex-husband, the shadows of the past. But inside, between these arms and these lips, there was a sanctuary. One I was willing to defend with everything I had.
The next morning, as the sun streamed through the windows, I knew that last night had changed something fundamental. I wasn't just Carmilla with the strange eyes anymore, just living out my own destiny. I was the new Carmilla, choosing to play matchmaker for Charlotte and Pablo, for Evangelina and Bruce, and for myself... well, no one can help me because I love more than one man. And that, girl, was the greatest masquerade of all: pretending I could control it when, in reality, I know I miss Killian like crazy, and I don't want to let go of Lucius's hand, which is intertwined with mine. I'm a total mess—but a happy one.
After breakfast, I convinced Charlotte to get into one of the cars so we could head over to the building she's developing—the one where her man works under her orders. I recruited Moetia for the mission, who, besides being my favorite author, is an incredible architect. I gave her a role in the scene we were about to stage so this Pablo guy would know right away that Charlotte was in love with him.
The plan was simple: Moetia would play a cruel job site inspector who would put the workers between a rock and a hard place. Based on what Charlotte had told me about Pablo, this would trigger him to defend his people—and that's when Charlotte would take his side, back him up, and show him just how much she cared. The rest would be out of our hands.
Acting as a sort of secretary for Moetia, I stepped out of the car, a construction hard hat and a pair of oversized black sunglasses obscuring my face. And there we saw him. Charlotte definitely has good taste when it comes to picking a man: Pablo is a true Latino, his skin a gorgeous river-toned bronze, with striking green eyes. He's tall, with powerful forearms that look like they could bend concrete, and about as manly as a man can get. His imposing physique wasn't built in a gym, but in the heat of hard labor. Yes, he is highly attractive—so much so that he made Moetia tremble at first. But she pulled herself together, and as we toured the building, she quickly slipped into character, picking up on a few execution errors. Nothing serious, but she blew them out of proportion as if they were major catastrophes.
Pablo couldn't stand it for even a second and barked:
"Look, architect, everyone working here knows what they're doing. Believe me, we don't get paid enough to put up with hysterical fits from college girls like you who show zero respect."
Moetia smirked and, looking over at Charlotte, said:
"Where did you dig this guy up? He clearly doesn't know his place. I didn't come here to get a lecture on social classes. Fire him immediately. Make a choice: it's either him or me. Better yet, fire the whole crew; I'll bring you more disciplined workers in a heartbeat."
Pablo shot back instantly:
"Don't you get it? You can hoard millions and degrees, architect, but you'll never understand what truly matters in life. And you, Miss Charlotte, don't bother—I quit. But only if you promise not to fire a single one of these workers. You don't play around with a man's livelihood. Do you promise?"
I gave Charlotte a nod—it was her time to shine. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up right beside him, confronting Moetia.
"Pablo isn't going anywhere. I trust him. He's a man of integrity, and he stands up for what he believes is right. You're the one who's out of line here, architect. Bringing you along was a terrible mistake."
Charlotte turned, looked Pablo dead in the eye, and whispered:
"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'll make it up to you. I'll think of something."
We walked away, confident we had achieved our goal. Pablo's eyes followed the car, scratching his head, completely bewildered as to what the hell had just happened.
When we got back to the apartment, we activated phase two of the plan. Charlotte sent Pablo a text that read: "I apologize again for that arrogant woman. Will you let me buy you a drink tonight? It's my way of saying I'm sorry."
He replied immediately: "No need to apologize; honestly, I never expected that kind of reaction from you. You were great. I can't accept your invitation, though—it's my niece's birthday."
Seconds later, another text popped up: "Do you want to come with me? My little niece is going to be jealous of your beauty, but she'll love you—I'm sure of it."
We cheered like teenagers. She texted back: "I'd love to. See you tonight."
Bruce walked in while we were laughing and said to me:
"Carmilla, let's go look over the Fonzi file. I need your help."
I stared at him for a few seconds. He was wearing blue trousers and a loose shirt that couldn't hide his tense muscles. Charlotte and Moetia couldn't suppress their sighs at the sight of him. I stood up; I looked gorgeous in the mirror. I was wearing a short pleated skirt and a white T-shirt that did nothing to hide the way my nipples hardened in his presence. Blushing, I replied:
"I promised I'd help. Sure, detective—let's go."
Inside, I knew our body heat was going to burn the whole place down.