Duke for the Summer

12.

Thea’s visit passed in a flurry of sun-soaked days and lazy, intoxicated evenings, in giant meals and endless photoshoots for her Instagram. She and Nate wandered the streets of Collinarossa, walking until his knee throbbed, though he tamped it down and kept going, happy to be moving around again. Giggly from too many spritzes, they got lost in meandering alleyways, fed the pigeons, and marveled over little roadside shrines to saints they didn’t recognize. People invited them into shops, or even into their homes, for drinks and platters of snacks, and Thea took to the role of local celebrity like she’d been born for it, posing for selfies and chattering with the locals in English mixed with Italian phrases from her phone. They borrowed the vespa and drove it around the island, honking at goats to get out of the road and waving to Nonna Stella as they passed her by, trucking along on her ATV with a basket full of foraged herbs on the back. In the market, Thea haggled like a professional and picked out artichokes and chunks of fragrant cheese to bring back to Beatrice’s for dinner, while Nate admired the colors of the fruits and vegetables, his fingers itching for a paintbrush.

The days were full of activity and full of company; it seemed like someone else was always there, usually Gracie and sometimes Mirabella, though she was now in her seventh month of pregnancy and got tired easily. They ate dinner with the Brunettis every night, and even Jacopo came along, though he stayed on the periphery, not speaking much, and often left early. Nate felt starved for him during the day, their only communication a lingering glance, or Jacopo’s hand brushing his lower back as he passed by. Late at night, after Thea had gone to sleep, Nate would sneak down the stairs and out to the caretaker’s hut, a light still on in its window, and find Jacopo awake, and waiting.

In that narrow double bed, Jacopo spent hours taking him apart and putting him back together again, learning things about Nate’s body that nobody else had, his face calm and intent as if he were parsing a sentence for translation. Those nights seemed to take place in a separate world, and Nate, waking up back in his own bed the next morning, would have had a hard time believing they were real at all, if it weren’t for the exhaustion he felt and the echo of Jacopo’s touch that lingered in all of his most intimate places.

He had really thought they were getting away with it, too. It was Thea’s second-to-last day, and in the afternoon lull before dinner time, she and Nate were sitting in the courtyard, playing with the cats. Thea had taught Gnocchi to fetch one of her scrunchies, his sleek, silvery-gray body darting off into the tall grass, to emerge self-importantly with the pink hair tie dangling from his mouth.

“You know what’s so weird?” she asked, as the cat dropped the scrunchie at her feet, chirping at her to throw it again.

“This cat who thinks he’s a dog?” Nate asked, scratching Gnocchi between the ears.

“He’s not weird. He’s a perfect little baby, aren’t you? No, Nate, what’s weird is that my condoms keep disappearing. And I’m pretty sure it’s not the cats who are taking them.”

Nate sighed, tipping his head back.

“Are you and Jacopo having fun?” Thea asked.

“Thea, please tell me you haven’t said anything to–”

“Gracie? No. She just thinks he’s some weird recluse, not that he’s into guys. But honestly, I don’t think it would be a big deal for her. She’s pretty liberal for small-town Italy.”

Nate uprooted a blade of grass, wrapping it around his finger. “It’s not serious, Thea.”

“Isn’t it? You’re friends with his sister, and his family loves you. Besides, I like him a lot better than that finance bro who always acted like you were stupid–”

“Yes, thank you. I know. Thanks for reminding me of my horrible taste in men.” Nate grimaced. There was a reason he hadn’t dated in awhile.

“Well, I’m just saying. You practically live here, now. Maybe you should give it a shot.”

“He’s moving away soon,” Nate said. He tossed the scrunchie for Gnocchi, watching it arc off into the blue sky. “It’s a summer fling. Just like you and boat guy. What ever happened with him, anyway? You’re not planning on keeping in touch, are you?”

“Aw, boat guy!” Thea tossed her hair. “Nah. He’s so sweet. But we have nothing in common, and I think my OnlyFans would break him.”

“As it would many a mortal man,” Nate intoned.

“So I guess we’re both just hot sluts having summer romances,” Thea concluded, holding her fist out for him to bump. “I won’t say anything. But don’t get your heart broken, Nate. I don’t want to have to come out here and clean you up off the castle floor.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not.”

And he really wasn’t. Sure, it was a little distracting, sitting across the table from Jacopo that night at Thea’s going-away dinner, watching his fingers play up and down the stem of his wine glass. And it was hard to look Beatrice in the eye as she asked if Nate would like another serving of risotto. But a lot of the awkwardness evaporated as the night went on, and after hugs and cheek kisses and showing everyone how well his knee could move now, sans compression sleeve, Nate was able to fade into the sidelines. It was a bigger group than usual. Alessia and her family had come, and Zio Beppe and Zia Grazia, and even Nonna, a tiny old lady with an immaculate manicure and a helmet of shiny orange hair, who bustled around supervising the children and somehow seemed at least ten years younger than her son, Jacopo’s dad.

Nate stayed mostly silent, sipping his wine as dinner went on and the conversations blended together, some in Italian and some in English. At his side of the table, Thea was telling Gracie, Mirabella, and Antonio about baby showers, which apparently weren’t a thing here.

“It’s bad luck to give gifts before the baby comes,” Gracie said. “We do all the celebration after it’s born.”

“We putting on the door of the house, a–how do you say it?” Mirabella looked at Jacopo. “Fiocco?”

“A ribbon,” Jacopo said. It was the most he’d spoken since they’d sat down. His eyes were sleepy, and his plate still had a mound of risotto on it, though Nate noticed he’d been going through a lot of wine. “Pink for a girl, or blue for a boy.”

“Cute!” Thea said. “Do you know what it’s going to be?”

Mirabella rubbed her belly and said something to Gracie.

“At the doctor they said a girl, but Nonna Stella swung a pendulum over the baby and said it’s going to be a boy,” Gracie translated. “So we’re not sure.”

“Well, gender is just a construct,” Thea said, winding a strand of hair around her finger. “That being said, I would trust the village witch. I’ll send you a present after the baby’s born. Nate’s going to be here for it, right?”

“Sure,” he said, though he didn’t actually know. July was nearly over, the year rushing too quickly into fall, and his life after September third was a blank space that he hadn’t begun to fill in. “When’s the baby due?”

Mirabella smiled across the table. “Metà settembre. Maybe Jacopo same birthday.”

“That’s so soon,” Nate said. “I didn’t know your birthday was coming up. We’ll have to do something. Have a party.” He glanced at Jacopo, biting his lip. “You’ll still–” You’ll still be here, right? Jacopo had said he would start making plans once the castle was transferred over, but surely he wouldn’t just–disappear. Not immediately. Not without some kind of goodbye.

Jacopo took a long drink of wine. He almost looked like he was in pain. For a moment, he seemed about to say something, but then Thea was showing Mirabella baby slippers on her phone, and the moment had passed, the conversation moving on.

After dinner, most of the men went off to watch soccer in the living room, and Nate found himself getting dragged along. It wasn’t his thing. The only sport he cared about was skateboarding, and that was really just out of nostalgia. Jacopo evidently hadn’t been invited, and Nate felt unmoored without him. He could feel his skin getting more and more leathery by the minute, from all the cigar smoke, and people kept clapping him on the back and yelling things in his ear. The testosterone levels in the room were through the roof; Nate would probably have to re-trim his chest hair after all this. As soon as his glass was empty, he excused himself, pantomiming that he was going to get another drink, and wandered out to the backyard, where the women had gathered to talk and watch Alessia’s two kids and Nonna’s miniature poodle run around, chasing a ratty old ball that they’d found somewhere.

Jacopo was off in a corner, smoking, looking at his phone. Nate tried to catch his eye, but then Thea was pulling him away. She’d propped up her phone on the cinder block wall along the edge of the patio, and after a few dropped calls and a series of audio issues, Barb and Dave’s pixelated faces appeared on the tiny screen.

“Thea! Natey! It’s so good to see you!” Barb squinted into the camera, a knitting project draped over her lap.

“Hey, how’s the weather over there?” Dave asked. His beard was bigger and a little grayer than the last time Nate had seen him.

Nate’s heart twisted a little, and he wet his lips, trying to come up with something to say as he waved at the phone. It was weird seeing them here, this little piece of his other life deposited into Beatrice’s back garden. Weird to hear their voices echoing out into the warm, fragrant air. He knew the pattern on their sofa by heart, recognized all the paintings on the wall behind them.

Thea had pulled Beatrice over, introducing her to their parents, and soon the rest of the women were crowding around the phone as well. Everyone was talking over each other, asking questions, Nonna’s sparkly coffin nails catching the light as she gestured, Gracie trying to provide translation but getting overwhelmed. Nate felt a little dizzy seeing Beatrice and Barb in the same space, his plump, sweet-faced mom with her chunky giraffe earrings so different from Beatrice in her crisp starched blouse and raisin-colored lipstick, her severe expression breaking into a smile as they talked. Heat rushed to Nate’s cheeks as he realized they were talking about him, and he drained his wine glass, wishing he could duck out of sight, but Beatrice’s hand was on his arm, and she was pulling him into frame.

“Your son good boy,” she said, brandishing him at the screen as if to prove her point.

“Aw, isn’t he? I’m so glad you’re having a good time there, Natey.”

“Thanks,” Nate said. He could feel sweat gathering under his collar.

“Where’s your son? What was his name, Jacob? Oh, he was so sweet, and I remember we were so nervous about Nate going all the way to Italy on his own–”

Beatrice looked over her shoulder, shouting across the garden. “Ehi! Jacopo, vieni!” She motioned to him to come over.

“Oh, Jacopo, hi!” Barb exclaimed when he came into view, a hangdog look on his face. The smell of smoke clung to him, and his shoulder was very warm where it brushed against Nate’s. Nate didn’t dare to look up at him, his face feeling as bright as a lantern. “It’s so good to see you! Have you been doing well?”

“Yes, Mrs. Schafer. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be so formal.” She tucked a knitting needle behind her ear. “But anyway, Beatrice, like I was saying, we were so worried that Nate was going to be by himself, and how hard it would be for him, getting used to living in a foreign country. But your boy was so helpful, and so smart and responsible, and I just felt like there was no one else I’d trust more to keep Nate company and watch out for him.”

“Hm,” said Beatrice, after Gracie had translated. She looked at Jacopo, arms crossed skeptically.

Jacopo’s finger nudged against Nate’s hand where it hung at his side. He cleared his throat.

“And I know I was right, because it looks like you’re having a wonderful time!” Barb continued. “Thea has been sending the most beautiful pictures.”

Thea took over, telling her about the amphitheater and the beaches, and Nate joined her in describing the castle, its quirks and weird frescos and many rooms. Nate’s pulse was elevated despite the change of subject. He scratched the back of his neck, finding it sweaty.

“Nate’s got a huge claw-foot tub in his bathroom, and I’m gonna kick him out and take a bath in it tonight,” Thea said, elbowing him.

“Are you?”

“Hell yeah. A bubble bath in a castle? That’s going to be fire.”

“Ooh, I hope not,” Dave said. “Sounds toasty.”

“Daaaave-uh,” Thea groaned.

They talked about Thea’s travel plans, how she was headed to Milan next, and then to Venice, and when Dave asked Nate if he was planning to travel, too, he found himself fumbling, not sure what to say. Of course he wanted to; all these places that he had only seen in 2D were now possible, but somehow he couldn’t picture himself there. He couldn’t really picture anything beyond September, and he looked around for Jacopo, only to find that he had snuck off.

He found him later, in the kitchen, after the party had wound down and Zia Grazia had left, taking Nonna with her. Gracie had said he might be there. Nate stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him, the tight set of his shoulders and the economic way he dried each plate in a few swipes. Wondering what he was thinking.

“Hey. Can I help?”

“Nate.” Jacopo turned in surprise, wiping his hands on a towel. He crossed the room in a few short strides, and then his arms were around Nate, his face buried in his hair. He clung to him for a moment, inhaling deeply, as if breathing him in.

Nate clutched Jacopo’s shirt, his heart hiccupping in his chest. “What’s this for?”

“Nothing.” Jacopo nuzzled against his scalp, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Nothing, I just wanted to hold you.” He sighed. “You have a good family.”

*

They went to Palermo for Thea’s last day, wandering palm-lined streets that wove through a tangle of eras and architectural styles: Byzantine, Roman, Islamic. Jacopo narrated, telling Nate about the history of the buildings, about the Bible scenes depicted in cathedrals that were soaring and sumptuous and gilded inside. The sheer awe of it, the sensory overload of colors and geometry, made him grab Jacopo’s hand and squeeze, forgetting for a moment that Gracie and Thea were there. In the city markets, they saw bundles of hot peppers, wickedly sharp and lipstick-red. They ate arancini out of brown paper bags, their fingers and lips greasy, and spooned gelato out of brioche buns–a local specialty of carbs-on-dairy-on-carbs that horrified Nate a little with its extravagance.

Thea wanted a do-over of her and Gracie’s club night, so the four of them ended up in a sweltering discotheque, bass thudding in Nate’s chest and his sneakers sticking to the floor. The DJ was playing some mashup of American pop hits and European techno that did nothing for him, but Nate was content to stand at the bar with Jacopo, watching the neon lights play over his face, the long arc of his neck as he tilted his head back to drink from his beer. It would be nice to dance with him, though Nate knew it wouldn’t happen. Nice to press up against him and feel their bodies slide against each other, to lace his arms around his neck and breathe in the smell of his sweat and not care if anyone saw. The thought made him restless, and he had to get away from it, so Nate moved out onto the dance floor to keep Thea and Gracie company.

The night started to get away from him at that point. There were shots, and some hot-pink liquid in a plastic test tube that Thea made him try, and a few absolutely stupid dance moves that were unbecoming of a duke, and then a long period of darkness from which a few bleary memories surfaced, like jellyfish in the deep: peeing in a tiny bathroom that smelled like socks and old urine, bracing himself with one hand against the wall, graffiti crawling across the plaster before his eyes. Shouting in Thea’s ear over the music, something impassioned and extremely important that he couldn’t remember. Jacopo dragging him outside for some air, his shirt sticking to his chest and his hair in his eyes. Bumming a cigarette that his fingers couldn’t hold, telling Jacopo how bad these things were for you. Kissing in an alleyway, the brick scraping his shoulder blades and Jacopo’s hands squeezing his ass and the music throbbing through the wall behind them.

He had a vague recollection of the cab ride back to the hotel, Thea peeling her false eyelashes off as she sat wedged in beside him, and then he was alone with Jacopo in the suite, because Nate might not have that sweet, sweet duke money yet but he did have a credit card, and he had made sure that they got good rooms. Jacopo did dance with him then, clumsily and without music, their hips glued together and his mouth against Nate’s neck, as Nate gasped and dug his nails into Jacopo’s back and kissed every part of him that he could reach.

“I want you,” he heard himself say. His heart was pounding in his ears and his equilibrium was gone and he felt dirty, and desperate, and white-hot.

“You’re so drunk, Nate,” Jacopo laughed.

“So are you. I don’t care. I want you, and we don’t have enough time.”

Jacopo smoothed his hair, and kissed his forehead, his cheeks. Soft, lingering kisses. “Tomorrow,” he said.

And he meant it, rolling over onto him in the periwinkle light before dawn, waking Nate up with a hand between his legs. Nate’s breath caught in his throat, heat rushing to his face. He was still a little buzzed, grimy from the club, his body feeling more like a soft, disgusting thing than an object of desire.

“I can’t believe you want me like this,” he muttered. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth, and I look–”

“You look gorgeous.” Jacopo’s lips grazed his. He ran his hand over Nate’s chest in slow, deliberate admiration. “I think you worry too much.”

Nate craned his neck, pressing up and into the kiss. He closed his eyes, and in the warm dark behind his eyelids, he felt the knot in his chest loosen and his muscles become liquid as Jacopo’s tongue stroked against his. He wanted to believe that he was worthy of this. He wanted to believe that he was whoever Jacopo saw when he looked at him. God, what an embarrassing thing to want. He was tender and trembly and his emotions were all over the place from the hangover, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a shaky little cry as Jacopo’s fingers slipped inside of him. Jacopo must have found lotion somewhere, because his fingers were slick, and he had learned Nate so well in the last few days that soon Nate was begging, saying stupid things, his thighs shaking and his hips canted upwards to give Jacopo better access.

He put a hand on Jacopo’s cock, guiding him, and they were face-to-face, noses grazing, Jacopo’s pupils heavy and his eyes wide, so close that Nate could have counted each eyelash. Jacopo cursed.

“No condom,” he said.

Nate swallowed. His thoughts were racing. He brushed a strand of hair off Jacopo’s forehead, hands trembling slightly. “It’s okay, I think.”

“Nate,” Jacopo sighed. He kissed him, hard, and said his name again, against his lips, and then he was sinking into him.

It was achingly familiar but also new, the friction and the heft of him. Nate wrapped his legs around Jacopo’s back, giving himself up, letting him in deeper. Little shivers of pleasure traveled out from his core, down his thighs and up his back. It felt so good to be filled like this, skin-to-skin, stretched out, his dick already hopelessly sensitive as it scraped against Jacopo’s belly. Jacopo groaned, and his thumbs dug into Nate’s hips, a second possession just as fierce as the first. Nate kissed him as he began to move, his shoulder, his jaw, the taut line of his throat, tasting the salt of his sweat. Jacopo was whispering things with each thrust, tangled scraps of Italian that sent sparks dancing down Nate’s spine, that made his heart dizzy and his eyes wet, and the bedroom, the city outside the window, and the expectations of the day, the week, the rest of time, seemed to disintegrate. It was only the the trembling in Nate’s abdomen and his fingers clenching in the sheets and this man above him, this moment, and he wanted it to go on forever, wanted to drown in it, as Jacopo’s breaths grew choppy and his teeth grazed Nate’s neck and Nate felt like a rubber band stretched too tight, aching and scintillant and mindless.

It couldn’t last, as much as he wanted it to, and soon the orgasm was slamming into him, rolling through him, and he heard Jacopo let out something like a sob as he came moments later, collapsing against him, his face pressed into Nate’s hair.

They lay there for a moment, limp and messy and tangled together, and then Jacopo began to stir. Nate put a hand on the nape of his neck, his legs still locked behind Jacopo’s back, the two of them fused together.

“Stay here.”

Jacopo was breathing heavily. Nate could feel his pulse through his skin, the heat he radiated. He bowed his head. Nuzzling against Nate’s shoulder, the dip between his collarbones, he muttered something too quiet for Nate to hear.

“Just for a little bit. Please.”

“Okay,” Jacopo said. “Okay.”

*

Gracie cried when they dropped Thea off at the airport, squeezing her new best friend tight, and between all the hugs and hand-wringing and promises to text and plans for Gracie to visit the US, Nate thought he might not even get a chance to say goodbye. But Thea flung her arms around his neck, the smell of her perfume enveloping him like a cloud.

“I love you.” She pulled back, looking at his face. “Do you remember anything we talked about last night?”

“Not even remotely, no.”

Thea grimaced. “Well, just be careful. Protect your heart, Nate.”

He wanted to reassure her that he was fine, but the words caught in his throat. Nate stood there silently, waving at Thea’s back as she walked toward security, her bag wheeling along behind her and her ponytail swinging confidently in the air.