Duke for the Summer

20.

“And that’s when the shit really hit the fan, as you would say,” Jacopo told Nate over the phone, later that night, from the relative safety of the caretaker’s hut, a cat draped over his lap and another one nuzzling against the phone, trying to knock it out of his hand. The cats, at least, had been unconditionally glad to see him again.

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Nate’s voice was warm and comforting against his ear, and Jacopo luxuriated in it like he would a hot bath. “It’s kind of a lot to tell your whole family all at once.”

It had been a lot. Emotions had been high, and there had been tears, and yelling, and hand-wringing, and finger pointing (Mamma, scolding Jacopo for making everything all about him; Gracie, yelling at Mamma to Let Jacopo love who he wants to love!), and then the baby had started crying, big, whooping cries that seemed beyond its tiny lung capacity, and Jacopo had thought it best to remove himself from the situation, fleeing down the stairs and past Antonio’s bewildered parents and grandparents.

He still didn’t really know what to make of it. Maybe the strangest thing, the most stunning and terrifying and euphoric thing, was how little it had mattered to his sisters, how they hadn’t seemed to look at him any differently after everything was out in the open.

Jacopo sighed, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. It was bare white stucco, but with Nate here with him on the phone, it seemed covered in stars. The tension in his chest was gone; he felt scraped out, so tired he could barely think. Nate’s voice was the only thing keeping him from slipping into unconsciousness. “It all happened so quickly that I still don’t know what Mamma thinks. And–and I’m sure Papà knows by now, too. And probably the whole town. Gracie can’t keep a secret.”

“I know, she’s like Tuesday. And she must have talked to Thea, because she’s been texting me nonstop. If it’s any consolation, my family is one hundred percent on board.”

“Your family is wonderful.” Jacopo pictured Nate lying on an ornate bedspread in his room in Venice, his hair a brighter gold than the embroidery, looking up at another ceiling. The miles of air between their lips seemed heavy, buzzing with longing.

“They’re really not,” Nate said. “Just wait until Dave starts talking your ear off about chem trails, or until Mom tries to cleanse your aura.”

“I think I can put up with it. It’s just good not to be alone.”

“Of course you’re not alone. You’ve got your sisters, and Thea, and my parents, and what sounds like a very badass lesbian couple in Ireland. And your daughter. And me, of course.”

Jacopo rubbed his knuckles along the hand rest of the chair. He could almost feel Nate’s skin beneath his, instead of the rough fabric. “Of course you.” His body was leaden with exhaustion, but his brain felt like it was made of sparks. He stifled a yawn. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”

Nate laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m too excited.”

“Me, too. And worried. I don’t know what will happen when you get here.”

“I don’t either. But we’ll figure it out. I love you.”

“I love you, Nate.”

After they hung up, Jacopo wandered out into the courtyard, smoking what he really hoped was his last cigarette. Night had fallen, but the shapes of the castle in the dark, the crumbling mound of the Roman wall and the vague silhouettes of the town down below, were as familiar to him as his own hands, and he knew their exact dimensions even without the light. He wondered how many more times he would look out over this view, the road winding down the hills, silvery as a discarded snakeskin in the moonlight, the far-off blink of lights on the sea. He wondered how many more times he would breathe in the smell of trees and dried grass and saltwater and listen to the hushed sounds of the night. It was different, prettier and more peaceful; the island’s smallness no longer seemed to crush the life out of him, and the shoreline no longer spoke to him of being trapped. Jacopo took a deep breath. He would try to sleep. Or, barring that, he would clean his apartment, prune the plants that he’d left neglected for a week, iron the shirt he planned to wear tomorrow. Anything to fill up the remaining seconds that Nate wasn’t in his arms.

He had just turned to go back inside when he heard the scuff of footsteps on the road leading up from the village. There was very little light out, but he recognized his mother’s tall, slim figure, taller than any of the other women in the village, and the purposeful way she walked. She was alone, her hands clenched at her sides. Once she was within speaking distance, she slumped in on herself, wrapping her arms around her own midsection, and stood there looking at him.

“Would you like to come in?” Jacopo was the one to break the silence.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why did you come?”

Mamma rubbed a hand over her face, still staring at him. Her eyes sparkled in the starlight. She cleared her throat. “I know–I know our family doesn’t talk, Jacopo.”

“No.” He crossed his arms. The back of his throat felt tight, and his fingers ached for the comforting texture of cigarette paper.

“I just don’t understand,” she said. Jacopo could see tears on her face, and his stomach lurched, wanting to go to her. He couldn’t remember the last time he had hugged his mother, really clung to her, buried his face in her hair and breathed in her comforting, familiar smell. Probably not since childhood. He stayed where he was. “You had a child with this girl–I don’t see why you couldn’t just get married, live a normal life. Even now, you could still marry her, and my granddaughter could be christened in the church, and–it’s not too late.”

“It’s much too late, Mamma. Lucia is already married. To a woman, by the way.”

She made a face. “That’s–” his mother pressed her lips together, waving a hand in the air as if dismissing the notion. “I don’t–I don’t understand it, Jacopo. I love you. I want you to be happy. But I don’t understand why you’ve chosen to be different.”

“Dear God, Mamma. I didn’t choose anything. I’m just this way.” He was so tired, and he’d cried so many times in the last twenty-four hours, tears for what felt like every emotion under the sun, that it was a surprise to hear his voice getting thick. “I tried to tell you before.”

“I know.” She hugged herself even tighter. “And I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. About how that went.”

“Which part are you sorry about?” he asked. “Not saying anything then? Or not saying anything for all those years afterwards, and letting Papà hold it over my head?”

“Jacopo–”

“Don’t.” Jacopo ran his tongue across his teeth, a sour pit in his stomach. “I’m still the same person, you know. I’m still the little boy you taught to cook, who you danced and sang songs with. Do you remember how we used to watch your afternoon shows, while the bread was rising for dinner? How we’d make up the dialogue when the English was too hard to understand, and dream about going to New York together? You were my best friend, Mamma. For many years.”

She looked away, hand over her mouth. Jacopo heard her suppress a sob.

“And Nate’s still the same, as well,” he continued, knowing he was hurting her and knowing that staying quiet would hurt him more. “You’ve adored Nate since he set foot on this island. Do you feel differently about him now, too?”

“I don’t know.” She still wouldn’t look at him.

Jacopo let out a long sigh. “He’s coming here tomorrow. Are you just going to pretend we don’t exist?”

“I don’t want that,” Mamma said quickly. “I don’t know. Your sisters are angry at me, and your father wants nothing to do with you, and I–I just need time, Jacopo. I don’t want to lose you. And I want to meet my granddaughter. But–”

“Time,” he said, surprised at the harshness in his voice. He felt sick, and he was shivering so hard that he had to lock his teeth together to keep them from chattering. “It’s already been so many years, Mamma. I don’t know how much more time I can give.” He turned away, heart pounding, and went back into the caretaker’s hut. He thought maybe she would call after him, or knock on the door, but she didn’t, and Jacopo buried his head in his hands and sat there at the table, dry-eyed and shuddering, until eventually his tense muscles wore themselves out and he slipped into a thin, uneasy sleep.

A knock on the door woke him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to hope that she had come back. It was early morning, birds chirping, a slanted ray of sunlight seeping across the tabletop. When Jacopo opened the door, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, it wasn’t his mother who stood there, but Nonna Stella and Zio Beppe. Nonna Stella had switched out her regular stained overalls for a smock dress, and Zio Beppe wore a velvet smoking jacket straight out of the 1970s.

“Hello?” Jacopo said cautiously.

“Hurry up, kid, it’s time to go to the airport.” Zio Beppe clapped him on the shoulder, beaming.

“Your sisters are already waiting,” Nonna Stella added.

Jacopo had the bleary sensation that he was still dreaming. “The airport?”

“Of course.” Nonna Stella took his arm. The little ATV was sitting at the end of the drive. “We couldn’t let you go pick up Nate on your own. Oh, I’m so happy you finally found someone! And what a handsome couple, too.”

“You know, I knew a couple of guys like you and Nate in Rome,” Zio Beppe said conspiratorially, taking Jacopo’s other arm. “Great people. Always had the best drugs.”

“Beppe. Jacopo is a good boy. Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he does drugs.”

“I–” Jacopo could feel his face getting hot. He blinked, the morning sunlight shockingly bright. “You’re both–okay with this?”

Nonna Stella shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we be? Come on, Jacopo. Wash your face and put on a nice shirt and let’s go get your duke.”

*

“Dude, I hate chinos. I’ve never worn chinos in my life.” Nate had already gone through three potential outfits on FaceTime with Thea, and he’d actually tried to put gel in his hair, not that it was noticeable now, since he’d long since sweated it back into a wavy mess that fell into his eyes. He plucked in frustration at the pants in question. Everything was fine, everything was amazing; he was going to see the man he was in love with, but he was so fed up with waiting and so worried about everything that he kind of felt like he might cry. “I can’t get the fucking creases right on these things and I feel stupid.”

“You’re a rich person now,” Thea said from the phone screen. “Rich people wear chinos.”

“I don’t want to be rich people. I just want to look good for Jacopo, and I’ve already pit-stained the shit out of this shirt–”

“I told you to wear linen.”

“I don’t know what linen looks like!” Nate wailed.

“Oh my God, Nate, breathe.” Thea leaned into the camera. “It doesn’t matter how you look, okay? Jacopo said he loves you. Oh, and Nonna Stella, like, foretold it in the Tarot, too, so you’re good. You’re going to get off that plane, and he’s going to see you, and it’s going to be fireworks and rainbows and, like, a supernova explosion of gay love, and everything will be alright. When does your bus leave?”

“Oh, shit,” Nate said, noticing the time. “Like, now.”

“Ok, then chinos it is. No time for more wardrobe changes. Go out there and get your man.”

Her words tumbled around in his head as sat on the humid bus to the airport, his shirt sticking to his back, the glittering waters of the city giving way to fields and freeways and suburbia, and again as he sat in the air-conditioned plane, the window jamb rattling and music blaring in his earbuds and the Italian countryside spooling out below. To be able to call Jacopo his seemed like a treasure he hadn’t earned, and his heart was fluttering like a moth in a jar as the familiar sight of Sicily swung into view.

God, he didn’t know what he was doing. He’d been in relationships before, but he’d never felt right about it, never felt like an equal, some voice in the back of his head always telling him he wasn’t good enough for this. That voice was oddly quiet now, but there were others to replace it. He worried that Jacopo would get tired of him. He worried that they were too different, that Nate wouldn’t be able to handle being with someone who had a kid, that–shit, maybe Jacopo’s daughter wouldn’t even like him. He worried that Barb and Dave’s relationship was the only stable, happy relationship in the world and that nothing he would find could ever live up to that, that he could never possibly be that lucky.

But mostly he worried that this damn plane wasn’t getting there fast enough, because in spite of everything, he ached to be in Jacopo’s arms again.

Nate remembered the first time he’d seen this place from above, the scattered confetti of the cities and the tan domes of the volcanoes, the arcs of white coastline and the sea a purer blue than anything that came in a pallet of paints. He thought of how his heart had leapt then, how he’d squeezed Jacopo’s arm inadvertently, hardly believing any of this was real. He felt the same way now, knowing that somewhere down there in that collection of buildings was someone who wanted him, whose breath was fast and whose legs were trembling and who was probably going just as fucking insane as Nate was with every agonizing extra second that the plane took to land, and taxi interminably, and finally pull up to the gate.

He barreled through security as quickly as he could, and then he was jogging out into the main concourse, unable to walk at a normal pace. Nate felt like a carbonated bottle that had been shaken up, and the creases in his pants were all fucked up and his hair was rumbled and he was sure he smelled like sour sweat, could taste salt on his upper lip, and his face was probably bright red and—

Thea had been right. None of it mattered, because there he was, taller than probably half the people waiting, his dark hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights and the handsome angles of his face so familiar and so arresting, even now, that Nate’s breath caught in his throat, and then the distance between them disappeared and Jacopo was holding Nate, and kissing him, kissing him like it didn’t matter who saw, and Nate, his knees a little weak now, flung his arms around Jacopo’s neck and kissed him back.

Someone wolf-whistled from behind them. Nate broke away, face bright red, and looked over Jacopo’s shoulder to see Gracie, jumping up and down and waving excitedly. She wasn’t alone. To Nate’s surprise, there was a whole welcoming crew: Nonna Stella, Zio Beppe, and an exhausted-looking Mirabella and Antonio, their new baby in a carrier on Antonio’s chest, noise-canceling earphones on its dark-haired little head. Even Jacopo’s quiet older sister, Alessia, was there. Nate laughed, a little embarrassed and unsure what to do in front of all these people, and pressed his burning forehead against Jacopo’s shirt, inhaling the crisp, lemony smell of him. Jacopo was breathing just as fast as he was, his heart hammering against Nate’s ear.

“I missed you,” Nate murmured. “I missed the way you smell, and the way you feel. And, just, everything.” He clutched at his shoulders as if he could burrow into him, unwilling to get out of the embrace just yet. “Something’s different. Did you quit smoking?”

Jacopo’s lips skimmed Nate’s forehead, his thumb rubbing the nape of his neck. “I think so. I’m trying to. You look different, too.” He plucked at Nate’s waistband. “What are these trousers?”

“Oh, God. Don’t even fucking ask.”

“You look good.” Jacopo pulled back, studying him, and even though Nate knew that Jacopo was his, even though they would have hours, and days, and hopefully years ahead of them where they could stare into each other’s eyes, he felt a moment of vertigo, his body swaying and his heart giving a little squeeze, because Jacopo was just so beautiful. He hoped it never got old, being held like this in Jacopo’s dark, intense gaze.

As much as he wanted to linger there, he could see Gracie approaching, and so he squeezed Jacopo’s hands, and kissed him one more time, asking against his lips, “Are you ready for all this? With your family, I mean?”

Sadness passed across his face for a moment, and Nate could feel Jacopo take a deep breath. “No,” he said. “But yes. Are you?”

Nate stroked his cheek. “Not even a little bit.”

And then Gracie was upon them, the rest of the group not far behind, and there were hugs, and cheek-kisses, and laughter, and tears from all of the Brunetti siblings, and Gracie was shaking them both, admonishing them for not telling her sooner and insisting they pose for dozens of pictures together because Thea wanted official documentation of them as a couple, and Nonna Stella was telling Nate something very important in Italian, and Zio Beppe was ruffling Jacopo’s hair and smiling proudly, and once they finally made it out of the airport and into the open air, the sun was shining, the air thick with the heat of late summer and the sky bright blue and free of clouds. Jacopo’s hand was warm in his, and Nate had never seen a brighter day.