5.
It was official: the sun hated him, and so did Jacopo.
Nate’s next few days were spent inside, waiting for his skin to stop peeling and trying to avoid the castle’s caretaker. Jacopo would go out in the morning, running errands on his little silver-blue vespa, and Nate would do–whatever. There wasn’t a lot to do, besides lurk in the hallways, comb the faces in the many family portraits for some semblance of his own. Nate knew intellectually that it was his castle, but it still felt wrong somehow, exploring the building on his own. He didn’t belong there; he was a creep, a weirdo, etc. So he stayed in his room mostly, watching TV on his laptop or working out. In the afternoons he would sneak down to the kitchen, where a burnt-out hearth from centuries ago sat alongside a chintzy 70’s-era fridge that was always stocked with delicious things: cheeses, meats, tomatoes that tasted like the sun, tupperwares full of pasta in spicy sauce. Then it was time to work out again, doing stair climbs until his thighs shook and sweat streamed down his back, the animals and cherubs and knights on the walls watching him in silent judgment.
Nate had caught Jacopo watching him, too, more than once, from the bottom of the stairwell, an expression of quiet horror on his face. They hadn’t really spoken more than a few words to each other since that disastrous first night. Nate had woken still-drunk, his skin feeling like a thousand bee stings, and, judging by how little Jacopo now seemed to want to do with him, he’d done something incredibly embarrassing.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to reach out. But Jacopo was just as standoffish as the courtyard cats, sneaking around in Nate’s periphery and regarding him with suspicion. Even when they were both in the castle, Nate in his chambers or the sitting room and Jacopo in the library, it was like they were on different planets. Nate had tried to approach him in there one day, if only to say hi, but he had been so–discombobulated–by the sharp, focused lines of Jacopo’s profile as he looked down at a pile of old papers, the way one strand of hair had fallen loose and was brushing his cheek, that he’d ducked back out into the hallway without saying anything.
What would it be like, Nate wondered, to invite himself along on one of Jacopo’s trips to the market, to cuddle up behind him on the motorbike, his crotch flush against Jacopo’s ass and his face buried against the nape of his neck? And he wondered what it would be like to see that same intense expression that he’d seen in the library, above him, in the dark.
Nate had ideas. Too many of them, and most of them happened in the shower.
He had to get out of this castle.
So as soon as he no longer felt like an over-boiled shrimp, Nate doused himself in sunscreen, put on his running shoes, and set out to explore the island.
It was a good place to run if you wanted your ass kicked by hills, that was for sure. After all the stair climbs, his thigh muscles felt like jello, but Nate kept going, through the little piazza where pigeons and the odd villager stared at him strangely, and out onto the open road, enjoying the way his feet sent up plumes of red dirt, the way his calves eventually stopped complaining as his feet got into a rhythm that matched the music in his ears. As the village got further behind him, Nate’s head became pleasantly more vacant. It was just him alone out here in the world, an isolated figure running along a cliffside under the blue magnifying glass of the sky, the breeze warm on his face, the air smelling of sun and salt. He could almost be proud of himself out here, of the way his legs propelled his body forward and his feet pushed off and met the ground again.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been running when the sound of gravel popping under tires and the roar of an engine interrupted his solitude. Nate got over to the shoulder, then took an earbud out when he saw Mirabella leaning out of the window of Antonio’s truck, waving furiously at him.
Gracie was behind the wheel, and once she had pulled over, the two sisters admonished him in a stream of English and Italian.
“Is too much hot! Sei fuori! Crazy Nate!”
“Nobody is out running during the day. Didn’t Jacopo tell you?”
Nate shook his head, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had gotten, the salty taste when he licked his lips. “Jacopo didn’t tell me anything. I just wanted to get outside.”
Gracie let out a huff, rolling her eyes. “Crazy. This is the wrong time of day to do anything but relax. Have you been to the beach yet?”
They wouldn’t take no for an answer, and so even though Nate was crusty with dried sweat and he probably stank and hadn’t even brought a swimsuit, he found himself barrelling down the hill in the back of the truck as the wheels bounced in and out of ruts and the whole body of the vehicle swung vertiginously close the the edge of the cliff, and then they were taking a cutoff he hadn’t noticed before, sweeping downhill and around the side of the island, and the oaks and palms and scrub grass gave way to a white, pebble-studded slice of sand, lapped at by the sea.
It looked like the whole town was out, kids and teenagers shrieking and playing in the surf, neon-colored floaties punctuating the gentle surface of the waves, parents and grandparents splayed out in the sun, their skin turning the color of mahogany. An old van sat parked at the edge of the sand, seemingly repurposed into a restaurant. People were lining up to buy ice creams and paper cones full of fries. Nate couldn’t believe he hadn’t known this was here. He couldn’t believe, he thought with a sad little twinge, that Jacopo hadn’t cared to tell him.
Something darted through his mind from the first night at the castle, foggy and insubstantial. Something about the beaches, and an owl. Jacopo had talked to him, sitting next to him on the bed, a cold cloth against his neck.
Unless that had been a dream.
The thought fled quickly; there was too much to look at, and before he could even find a place to sit, Mirabella had shoved a beer and a big plate of fries and calamari and other seafood into his hands. Free, she explained, with Gracie translating, for the duke. Nate blushed and gave a bashful wave to the guy manning the fish van.
Lazy from food and beer, his muscles loose and leaden after his run, Nate napped in a patch of shade as Gracie and Mirabella talked nearby. Later, they convinced him to go into the ocean, and then Nate didn’t want to get out. The Mediterranean was calm and warm as a bathtub, and he scrunched sand between his toes on the sea floor, looking out at the shards of light dancing along the horizon. The immensity of being in another place hit him suddenly, how far he was from Oregon, his body submerged in a different sea, and Nate swayed, feeling a little dizzy, and had to lean back and dunk his hair in the water to clear his head.
“I’m glad you showed me the beach,” Nate said, back on the sand, over another beer with Gracie.
“Anytime. I’ll show you the market, too, and there is a Roman amphitheater on the other side of the island. And if you’d like, we can take the ferry to Sicilia. There are a lot of good clubs there.” Gracie cast a look at Mirabella, who lay on the sand taking a nap of her own, her rounded belly rising and falling gently. “I need an excuse to get out of the house. I am only here for summer vacations, but it’s too much, sometimes. Everything is just preparation for the baby.” She rolled her eyes and clinked her beer against Nate’s. “So, I’m glad you’re here. Maybe now the family can focus on you, and stop asking me when I’m going to give them grandchildren, too.” Gracie grimaced. “Ugh, unless they think maybe we will fall in love. No offense, Nate, but I don’t think–”
“Nah, don’t worry. Not going to happen.”
“Do you have a girlfriend at home?”
“Gracie, I don’t–” he lowered his voice, looking out at the ocean, all the people out there. The light on the water seemed a little dimmer, somehow. Jacopo had said it was best not to advertise, and the hair rose on the back of Nate’s neck as he paused to think, really think, about the fact that he was very alone on a very small island in a very Catholic country. “I don’t like girls.”
She gave him a delighted look over the rim of her bottle. “Oh. Oh. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I’m single.”
“Do you watch the Drag Race?”
“Gracie. Not all gays watch Drag Race.” Well, he did, but that wasn’t the point.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just very excited. I have nobody to watch RuPaul with. Nonna says it’s–”
“The Devil?” Nate hazarded.
“Exactly. And I’ve never had a gay friend. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Nate’s heart, which had clenched at the word friend, sank. Right. All the nice grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles probably wouldn’t be so fond of him if they knew he liked guys. He sighed, taking a long swig of beer.
“Anyway, you should come to dinner. Mamma is worried that you’re not eating enough.”
“I’m fine. I’m probably eating too much, to be honest. All that pasta she’s been sending to the house is delicious.”
Gracie frowned. “She hasn’t been sending anything. We all just leave Jacopo alone, up there. It seems to be what he wants.”
Where had the food been coming from, then? Had Jacopo cooked it himself? Nate took another gulp of beer, his stomach squirming oddly. He was looking out at the ocean, but in the forefront of his mind he was seeing Jacopo, his hunched shoulders and the cigarette hanging from his lips as he bent down to pet a sleeping cat. Jacopo who had been cooking for him and who told him stories about owls during the night and wouldn’t talk to him during the day.
“And once the castle passes over to you, I don’t even know if we’ll see him again.”
“What do you mean?” Nate felt panic rise in his chest, though he really shouldn’t be surprised. Of course Jacopo wouldn’t stick around. He barely wanted anything to do with Nate as it was. So Nate would be on his own, trying to figure out what to do with a castle and a dukedom. God, what a mess. Nate could barely remember to pay his taxes on time, and now he’d have a whole-ass estate to worry about. “He’s the caretaker. He’s got to stay. I don’t know how to manage the castle.”
“I’m sure you can hire someone to manage it for you. And you won’t have to live there, you know. A lot of the villagers hope you’ll open it up to the public, as a tourist attraction. They think it’ll bring the island money and create jobs. Make the young people stay.” Her freckled cheeks creased as she shot him a smile, but Nate couldn’t return it. “Although I don’t think selling keychains and spritzes to tourists would be any better than farming goats, personally.”
Nate picked at the label on his beer. “I can’t believe he would just leave. He hasn’t said anything about it.”
Gracie shrugged. “He’s been trying to for years. If it hadn’t been for Papà’s accident, I think he’d still be in Napoli. Or somewhere else. He’s not close with the family, you know. And I think for her, especially–” she paused, glancing at Mirabella, who had begun to stir, rubbing a hand over her face. “Never mind. Let’s go back to the house. Mamma has probably started cooking already.”
*
Jacopo had already smoked half a pack of cigarettes, and he was pacing so violently that the cats had all given him a wide berth. Periodically he would take out his phone and stare in agony at the lack of messages before stuffing it back in his pocket. He wouldn’t call. Nate’s business was his own, and he occupied enough space in Jacopo’s head already. It wasn’t fair that now Jacopo had to worry about him, as well.
But as the shadows lengthened and the moon crested the hills and the smell of eucalyptus rose on the cooling air, Jacopo began to despair. The roads weren’t lit at night. There were too many ways to get hurt, and accidents happened fast out here, and images swarmed uninvited into his head: Nate lying in a ditch somewhere, Nate covered in blood, or kidnapped, or–
Or sauntering up the hill from the village like nothing was wrong, his hair curling in the sea air and his pale skin shining in the moonlight. He was wearing one of those loose tank tops that Jacopo hated, and there were muscles visible along the sides of his torso that Jacopo didn’t even know the name of in Italian.
He stabbed his cigarette out against the wall, not trusting himself to speak.
“Hey.” There was a lazy half-smile on Nate’s face, but it faded as Jacopo studied him.
“Where were you?”
“I was at dinner with your family. I ran into Gracie and Mirabella and they invited me. They showed me the beach, too.”
How nice for him. Jacopo wondered what they had talked about. A sour taste rose in the back of his throat. “You should have said something. I was–” He shook his head, looking away. “I would just like you to be careful.”
Nate frowned. “Look, don’t feel obligated to watch out for me. I can take care of myself, and I–I know you didn’t sign up to babysit some dumb American.”
“Nate.” Jacopo’s stomach went cold. “I don’t think you’re dumb.”
“Sure.” Nate fidgeted with a loose thread on his shirt, not meeting Jacopo’s eyes. “But you obviously don’t want to be friends. You’re trying to get out of here, right? Gracie told me.”
Jacopo cursed under his breath. “Gracie talks too much.”
“So you are going to leave, then. When the three months are over.”
“Yes.” Why not admit it? He hadn’t told anyone yet, but since Gracie had decided to speculate about his business, he might as well make it official. God knew, everyone was already disappointed in him enough already. They’d hardly be surprised.
“I get it. I was just hoping–” Nate stuffed his hands in his pockets, trailing off. “Never mind.”
Jacopo swallowed. His jaw felt tight as he said, “You should go to bed.” Nate was right: he was just a way off the island, and Jacopo didn’t owe him anything. And Nate already had Gracie, and Mirabella, and even Jacopo’s own mother, apparently. So he wouldn’t be lonely.
“You’re right, it’s late. I’ll, um–I’ll see you around.” Nate pushed past him, into the castle, and Jacopo was left standing alone, with his arm burning where Nate had brushed against it, and his chest feeling oddly hollow.