Chapter Twenty-Four
Spencer
After my peaceful day with Sophie, I wasn’t looking forward to this evening. Carlo and I are still reeling after our conversation last night, so discussing our relationship again seemed a little soon.
With the history between us, we were very familiar with hiding our emotions, but it was clear there was still significant tension between us as soon as Sophie started discussing our relationship.
I understood why she was doing it. She wanted to repair what she perceived to be the damage she had caused. Sophie also knew Carlo and I probably wouldn’t talk about it without her intervention, but even so the dynamic felt alien.
Sophie suggested we discuss our feelings and desires, in the same way I would with her. But Carlo and I don’t do that.
After dinner, the three of us ended up chatting in the kitchen. Nowhere else felt neutral.
Carlo was leaning against the counter, arms folded, watching me like he was still deciding if I was here to stay. Sophie sat at the table, her fingers drumming against the mug she hadn’t touched.
No one spoke at first. That used to be my cue to fill the silence with a bad joke, this time, I just let it hang, a little uncertain where I fit.
Sophie broke the silence.
“I don’t want to wake up next month and have to pretend this didn’t happen. We need to accept our faults and learn from our mistakes as we move forward.”
Her voice wasn’t sharp. It was tired, careful.
“You won’t,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t happen. I screwed up and buried things. I—” I glance at Carlo. “—buried us until I couldn’t breathe.”
Carlo shifted, his jaw tight. “You think saying it out loud in pretty words, fixes it?”
“No,” I said. “But it’s a start. And I’m not running from it anymore. Not from you or from Sophie.”
“About time,” Carlo mumbled, under his breath.
Sophie’s eyes flicked between us, like she was looking for the catch.
I nod. “Mostly, I just want to be honest about the way I feel.” Sophie smiles, encouraging me, but Carlo runs his tongue along the outside of his teeth, assessing me.
“Dr. Klein has helped me to understand that loving both of you isn’t a choice. I can’t keep fighting my attraction to you, Carlo. This process has helped me understand that I’ve got to learn to accept and enjoy it.” My gaze flitted to my wife. “But I owe Sophie and Lily more of me.”
Sophie’s focus shifted to Carlo. I followed her eyeline. His hands are pressed into the counter firmly, as if he’d fall if he let go.
Perhaps sensing we were waiting for his comment, he slowly lifted his head.
“Fuck, Spence, I’m not asking to come between you and Soph.”
Sophie and I sat frozen, waiting for his next pearl of wisdom.
He sighed and hid his face again.
“After what’s happened over the last few years, I think Sophie and I both deserve some time with you, alone,” he says, speaking to the worktop.
“We need to learn to trust you again.” His voice cracked, and I felt Sophie's stare boring into the side of my face as if she were trying to convey a message.
“Sophie is more forgiving than me. It’s going to take time for me to forgive you for the way you’ve treated her.”
My shame engulfed me, preventing me from speaking or moving. My lack of response generated a heavy silence in the room.
The air pressure was changing again, becoming unbearable.
I wanted to go to him.
To hold him.
But I didn’t.
It was Sophie who eventually stood. With her usual perfect grace, she rested her hand on the back of Carlo’s, his palm still pressed into the counter.
She didn’t speak, just offered him love, reaffirmed their friendship, and most of all shared his grief.
“I don’t know how else to say I’m sorry.” I said, the words falling from my lips, unchecked.
I half expected Carlo to walk out, refusing to continue this drama. Instead, he lifted his chin.
“We know you’re sorry, Compagno,” His tone was soft but I could detect a slight note of despair. “We don't want you to keep apologizing. We just don’t want any more reason to hear your remorse.”
We didn’t solve everything in that kitchen. We didn’t map the future with our conversation. But when Sophie reached for my hand, drawing me toward them, and Carlo didn’t turn away, I felt it—the quiet click of a door unlocking.
By the end of the evening, we were all more relaxed. Sophie had been transparent with both of us; explaining she supported our relationship wholeheartedly.
It was a relief that I no longer needed to hide anything from my two favorite people. Having all my secrets out in the open helped massively but when I’m lying in bed later, with Sophie beside me, my mind is whirling. I’m certain I won’t relax enough to fall asleep.
My wife’s soft breaths are even, telling me she’s fast asleep. I glance at the clock beside me and see we’ve been in bed for two hours, so presumably Carlo is asleep too.
I flick the covers off, deciding to get up to make a warm drink.
Pulling on my most comfortable joggers, I wander downstairs, being careful not to wake the others.
As I round the corner leading into the kitchen, the dim glow of the under-unit LED lights greets me.
Carlo must be awake.
I hesitate, unsure if I’m ready to be alone with him. What I’ve done to Sophie is bad; no, it’s unforgivable. But the way I’ve treated Carlo, when he’s done nothing but support me since we were kids, is so much worse.
The hollow feeling of failure in my gut deepens.
While my mind is churning, I hover in the sitting room, unable to see into the kitchen.
“Are you coming in here or going back to bed?” he sighs.
It galls me that Carlo’s calling me out on my shit, in my own fucking home.
“I came down for privacy,” I snap, and instantly regret my sharp words.
As I enter the room, to see him slumped on the bar stool, our outfits twinning, I notice his dark golden skin exposed.
It lures my disobedient eyes. I’ve never spoken of my sentiments toward Carlo to my friends.
Afraid to admit my attraction, but I’m fairly certain it isn’t usual for a heterosexual man to respond to his best friend the way I do when I look at mine.
He rises, striding over to the fridge to pick up the milk carton before pouring a small quantity into the pan that’s already on the stove. He drops a cinnamon stick into the simmering liquid, just the way Nonna used to do when we couldn’t sleep in Naples.
The familiarity of his gesture helps to calm some of my previous anger, and I slump onto the stool beside his.
My eyes follow him moving around my kitchen. Carlo’s at home here, just as I always wanted him to be. This place is his second home. Whenever he isn’t working, he’s here with us.
I lean forward, flopping the top half of my body onto the counter, resting heavily on my elbows.
“Tell me what to do, Carlo.”
Unhurried, he waits for the milk to reach the perfect temperature before pouring it into a wide-brimmed mug and placing it before me.
“Compagno, the first thing you need to do is accept who you are, and embrace it.”
He stands over me, his hand resting flat on the counter inches from my arm.
“I don’t even like myself. This isn’t just about my sexuality; it’s about everything. I’ll never be good enough.”
He frowns. “For whom? Your wife? Your daughter? Me? Or your father?”
My stomach clenches at the utterance of my dad’s name. Needing to take a moment, I drop my focus down to my steaming drink and trail my finger over the warm porcelain.
Without glancing up, I sense him watching my slow movement. Neither of us speaks for several minutes.
“Did Kalie give you what you need?” he asks, breaking the hum of silence.
I shake my head.
“Tell me what you’re looking for, Spencer?”
Carlo’s voice has dropped an octave, and the intensity of his question coupled with the tone he’s adopted sends goosebumps over my skin.
I don’t move my head; it’s still tilted down.
The angle gives me a chance to admire the definition of his abs.
His sweatpants are hovering on his hips.
It wouldn’t take much to dislodge them, to reveal the end of that happy trail that leads down to his dick.
A movement underneath the fabric tells me he knows I’m admiring him, and his hardness stimulates a twitch in my sweatpants.
“To be with you without feeling guilty,” I say, my voice thick with a combination of exhaustion and lust.
His hand creeps toward me an inch but he still doesn’t make contact.
“After everything we’ve discussed. Why do you still have guilt?” he asks, speaking slowly and carefully. “Sophie couldn’t have made it clearer that she doesn’t have a problem with us.”
I roll my eyes and look up at him. “It’s not just about Sophie; it’s wrong, Carlo,” I sigh.
His jaw twitches. “Says who?”
I drop my shoulders, shaking my head exasperated but unwilling to get into another argument.
“Carlo, don’t be obtuse. What do I tell my daughter if she finds us in bed?” I search between his eyes. “Oh yes, darling, I love sucking Uncle Carlo’s dick and fucking his tight arsehole. Your mother is wonderful, but from time to time only Uncle Carlo will do.”
“Is that how you feel?” his deep voice growls, testing me, ignoring my point and forcing me to admit my sentiments, when for years I’ve avoided the admission.
I’m not sure if it’s the tiredness, the emotion of the day, or that I can’t hide anymore; whatever the purpose doesn’t really matter, the end results are the same.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I understand your concerns about Lily, though honestly, I don’t think she’s the issue. She’s a happy child whom we all adore.”
I bite my teeth together.
“She’s never going to see our physical relationship, Spence.” My shoulder twitches of its volition. “If she witnesses the love we share, surely it will only have a positive effect on her.”
My gaze dusts up his torso again, but this time when I get to his chest I can see from the movement underneath his skin that his breathing is fast and short.
“Fuck, you’re making me hard,” he admits.