9.
“Seriously, Nate? What in the actual fuck did you do to yourself?” Thea stared at the compression sleeve around his knee in disgust, hands on her hips. Instagram-ready even after hours of travel, she was in yoga pants and a crop top, her blond hair piled on top of her head. Nate had already caught several men in the airport staring at her adoringly.
What in the actual fuck, indeed. His body was thrumming like a plucked guitar string, pinpoints of heat seared into his lower back and thighs where Jacopo’s fingers had dug into his skin, and there was an actual bite mark on one of his pecs, burning underneath his t-shirt like a brand. Nate was surprised he even remembered how to breathe, let alone stand up and talk.
“Fell on it. I was training for a half-marathon,” he said dully.
“Jesus, why? Like, don’t.”
Nate sighed. “Love you, too, sis.”
Thea rolled her eyes and swept him into a hug. “Oh my God. Get over here with your stupid broken knee, you dork,” she said, squeezing him. “Ooh, you smell nice. What is that? Lemon?”
Nate stammered something, resolutely not looking at Jacopo, who was busying himself with Thea’s luggage. They hadn’t made eye contact for at least an hour. Gracie had shown up to drive them to the ferry, and Nate had made a pitiful attempt at conversation with her–Hi Gracie, my hand was just on your brother’s dick. How’s your morning been?–while Jacopo had smoked about a thousand cigarettes outside on the deck.
“You okay?” Thea asked. She pulled back to scrutinize his face. “You’re acting a little weird.”
Nate forced a smile. “Just tired.” His palm still itched with the knowledge of Jacopo’s skin, and his body was screaming with frustration that he hadn’t gotten any further.
What would have happened if he had gotten further? Would it have been disastrous? Incandescent? Nate snuck a glance at Jacopo, studying his profile. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he hadn’t had time to shave, his cheeks dark with stubble.
“Tired?” she scoffed. “Well, chug some espresso, my dude. I’m only here for a week and I came to party.” Thea looked over his shoulder at Gracie and Jacopo. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Thea had a way about her that made all awkwardness evaporate, steamrolled by her enthusiasm, and for once, Nate was happy to sit back and let it happen. By the time they’d gotten back to the island, she and Gracie had bonded about how dumb Nate was for hurting his knee, and how stupid big brothers were in general. Then it was time for lunch with the family, where Thea gave Beatrice a jar of Barb’s homemade marionberry jam and charmed everyone with broken scraps of Italian and told a story about her bag getting searched on the way and her bras and thongs being strewn all over the airport in front of some poor, officious security guard in Rome (Nate wasn’t sure how much of it Gracie actually translated). Even Papà Brunetti cracked a half-smile, and after a glasses of Willamette Valley cabernet–another gift from Nate’s parents–Beatrice was calling Thea principessa Barbie and Mirabella was braiding her hair, and in the whirlwind of group photos and hugs, it was easy to shove that morning’s events to the back of his mind.
Until they were back at the castle, showing Thea around, and Nate, still a little clumsy on the stairs, stumbled. Jacopo was there before Nate could even blink, his hand solid against his lower back, and Nate looked up at him in a daze, pleasure exploding across his brain.
“Are you alright?”
Yes. No. Fuck. Nate licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “Fine,” he managed.
“Be careful,” Jacopo said. “Please.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go slow.”
Jacopo insisted on leaving Nate in the sitting room on the second floor while he brought Thea’s luggage up. The owls on either side of the fireplace seemed to be mocking him. Nate sat, glaring at them, picking at a loose thread on the ornate sofa. His body was buzzing, pins and needles dancing along his skin.
After an interminable amount of time, Jacopo slunk back in through the doorway and stood there, not looking at Nate. He seemed unsure what to do with his hands, tucking them in his pockets and then hiding them behind his back. “Your sister wanted to change.”
“Ok,” Nate said slowly. “Should we–”
“Prosecco!” Gracie crowed, waltzing into the room with two bottles held aloft. “Jacopo, help me get more from the cellar. This is all I could carry.”
“Oh,” said Jacopo. “Yes. Prosecco.” And he darted back out into the stairwell.
*
“What’s something Italian we can do?” Thea demanded, freshly changed into a floral jumpsuit and fuzzy slippers, a cut-glass goblet in her hand. She looked like a magnificent and possibly deranged princess, curled up as she was in one of the sitting room’s overlarge armchairs, the fireplace and the tapestries looming ornately behind her.
“Scopa!” Gracie said. “I can teach you. And Nate still needs to learn.”
“I think I’ll go to bed,” Jacopo tried, but Gracie and Nate both interrupted him.
“Can’t you stay?”
“Dai, resta qui, Jacopo. It’s better with an even number. We can play teams.”
“Please,” Nate said. He tried to meet his eyes, but Jacopo looked away, at the wallpaper above his head. “I need all the help I can get.”
“One game,” Jacopo said, helping himself to the prosecco.
One game turned into two, and as the bottles emptied and their interpretation of the rules grew looser, scopa turned into slap, also known as Egyptian Rat Screw, a game at which Nate and Thea had built up a bitter, storied rivalry on Barb’s dinner table as children. The three of them scrambled for matching pairs while Jacopo drank and wondered aloud why so much American slang had to do with Egypt. Thea was shrieking and almost falling out of her chair every time she won, and Gracie was coming up with ever more creative strings of combined Italian and English swear words, and eventually even Jacopo was laughing, his hair in his eyes and his shirtsleeves rolled up to show his strong, tanned forearms. Nate gazed at him unabashedly, forgetting to play, longing to cover him in kisses.
By the time the limoncello came out, they had abandoned the cards, and Thea was lounging on the floor, one slipper already lost, eyes blurry and cheeks pink. “I want to play Truth or Dare,” she said.
“Dude, there’s no way.” Nate could think of several things he wanted to dare Jacopo to do. He snuck a glance at the other man, who was laid out in an armchair, eyes closed, cradling his forehead.
“What is it?” Gracie asked, voice slurring slightly. She poured another shot of limoncello. “I want to play.”
“We’re not going to,” Nate said, trying to sound stern. “Everybody’s too drunk, and I don’t want to fuck up my knee even worse doing something stupid.”
Thea rolled her eyes. “Well, if you’d ever choose truth–”
“Ok, fine. Truth.”
He immediately regretted it; Thea had her chin propped up on her fists, and she was eyeing him like a cat who had just seen a particularly delicious bird. “Alright, Nate,” she said. “Tell me the truth: do you have a crush on anybody?”
“Easy.” He swallowed, trying to keep his voice level. “Neel Batra.” Thea would recognize the name immediately. She had been talking his ear off about the Prince of Archimbault and his new fiance for the past year.
“Omigod, I didn’t say celebrity crush.” Thea threw a prosecco cork at him. “That’s cheating.”
Nate crossed his arms. “What can I say, I like bookish, competent, slightly awkward guys.” He didn’t dare look at Jacopo, to see if his eyes were open.
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t they have the most beautiful love story?” Gracie said. There was a dreamy look on her face. “I heard they’re having two weddings, one traditional western one and one Indian-style.”
Thea squealed, pounding on the table. “Prince Thibault is going to look so fucking hot, oh my God. I can’t wait to see what they wear.”
“Eeeeee, I knowwwwww!!”
“Dude,” Nate said. “Control your vaginas, both of you. Are we playing this game, or not?”
“Ok, ok,” Gracie said. “I want to go. Ask me a truth.”
“Hm.” Thea gave her an assessing look, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “Weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”
Gracie shrugged. “A car?”
“Gracie.” Jacopo was sitting up, fully alert all of a sudden.
“What?” Gracie rolled her eyes. “I’m twenty-six, Jacopo.”
“Man, you gotta branch out,” Thea said.
“No, I want to. But there aren’t a lot of opportunities on this island.”
“Gracie,” Jacopo said again. He looked a little bit sick.
“Thea, seriously.” Nate ran a hand over his face, feeling how hot his skin was. This game was getting very awkward, very quickly.
“Gracie, ask him.” Thea nodded toward Jacopo. “What’s the weirdest place he’s ever had sex?”“Thea.” Nate’s pulse was pounding in his ears. He licked his lips, tasting limoncello. “No more weird sex questions.”
“That’s the entire point of the game!”
Gracie looked at her brother, eyebrows raised. She toyed with her glass, tipping it back and forth. “Jacopo?”
“I’m not answering that,” Jacopo snapped.
Nate wanted to know, despite himself. His mouth was dry, and he felt a tremor of desire, remembering how Jacopo’s eyes had burned, looking down at him in the early morning light. How needy his hands and mouth had been on Nate’s skin. He rubbed a hand over his chest unconsciously, touching the mark Jacopo had left there, and a flush rose in his cheeks as he caught Jacopo watching his movement.
Jacopo cleared his throat. “This is a stupid game. We should all go to sleep, anyway.”
“No way, if you won’t answer the question, you have to drink.” Thea rolled over, her hair spilling across the carpet. She pointed an accusatory finger at Jacopo. “Those are the rules.”
“Maybe we really should–” Nate tried, but Jacopo was already wordlessly reaching for the bottle, his lips pressed together.
“Nate?” he asked some time later. He was slumped in the chair like a fainting dandy, long legs tucked over one of the armrests. Gracie and Thea had disappeared in search of snacks. Nate could hear them clattering around on the stairs. Thea was chanting something that sounded like “midnight cheese” over and over again.
Peeling himself off the carpet, he got onto his hands and knees. The frescoes on the walls cavorted merrily for a second before becoming still. There was one peacock that seemed especially stressed out, like it was the daycare provider for the rest of the animals, and the thought made Nate laugh. He crawled over to Jacopo’s chair and rested his head against his thigh, looking up at him.
“Hey.”
“Nate.”
God, he was so big, and so pretty, and Nate bit his lip, a happy little shudder traveling through him. “Your face is really symmetrical,” he said.
Jacopo traced a fingertip down Nate’s cheek, over his lips. He murmured something in Italian.
“Huh?”
“He says he wants to make a dictionary for you.”
Nate sat bolt upright, blood rushing to his face. Gracie was standing in the doorway, yawning. Behind her, Thea was doing some kind of happy dance and double-fisting a salami and a block of parmesan.
Jacopo said something else and closed his eyes, leaning back against the upholstery.
“Also he is very sorry, but he can’t speak English anymore because he is too drunk.”
“Oh.” Nate patted Jacopo’s leg. “You should probably take a nap, buddy.”
Thea and Gracie had started talking about ex-boyfriends, which was Nate’s cue to leave, because it was only a matter of time before Tantric Yoga Guy came up, and Nate would happily have all his teeth pulled before he had to hear about his sister’s yonic energy ever again. He shuffled out into the stairwell and made his way oh-so-carefully up to the ramparts, where he lay on the still-warm stone and watched the stars dance, running an idle finger over his lips where Jacopo had touched him.
Heat bloomed in his groin as he thought about Jacopo’s hands on him, Jacopo’s rough, insistent kisses. God, he wanted him. Even though Jacopo obviously wasn’t out. Even though involving himself in that whole mess would be a lot of unnecessary angst, and Nate knew that it wouldn’t last.
At the moment, it didn’t really matter. Maybe it hadn’t mattered for a while.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Thea was crouched at his side, shaking him, the sky turning a faint lavender behind her.
“I can’t believe you’re still awake,” Nate grumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“I had to pee,” Thea explained. “Which was a whole-ass production in this, let me tell you.” She plucked at the strap of her jumpsuit. A heavily-embroidered blanket was draped over her shoulders like a cape, and there were half-moons of smeared mascara under her eyes. “And then I was worried about you, so I had to find you.”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you?” She settled in next to him against the wall, nudging his foot with hers. “You didn’t tell me about your knee.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It could have been. Gracie said you were running alone at night? That’s super unsafe, Nate.” She hugged her knees to her chest, and for a second she was a little kid again, her eyes big and luminous in the pre-dawn light.
“I had to stay in shape somehow. There’s no gym here.” Nate shuffled his feet on the stone, nerves prickling, suddenly aware of the softness of his muscles.
“I don’t know, man. Sometimes I think it’s problematic.”
“You don’t get it, Thea. It’s all I have going for me.”
“All you have–you’re a duke, dumbass. You’ve got a castle and a big fat bank account.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t earn any of that.”
Thea sighed. “Look.” She took Nate’s arm, gazing at him with sudden intensity. “I know I’m hot. But I’ll still be hot in ten years when my metabolism tanks and I gain like 50 pounds and turn into our mother. You’ve got to like yourself the way you are, Nate. You’re a good-looking guy.”
“I can’t, Thea.” He tried to free himself, but she held on. “I can’t do the thing where you get drunk and gas me up. I really just want to go to sleep.”
“Jacopo thinks you’re hot,” she said slyly.
Nate blew out a long breath, covering his face with his hands.
“Am I wrong? He’s been sneaking looks at you all day. And he practically ran to help you up the stairs.”
“It’s complicated.” He thought of resting his head against Jacopo’s thigh, how good it had felt to be close to him. Last night it had seemed easy, but now his heart stuttered at the thought of seeing him again. Addressing what had happened. If Jacopo would even talk about it at all. Nate’s stomach grew cold as he realized that maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would want to pretend it had never happened, and Nate wasn’t sure he could stand that.
“Well, in case you want to uncomplicate it,” Thea said, with a sidelong glance, “or complicate it more, I don’t know… Gracie did invite me to go clubbing tomorrow night in Palermo. And I’m guessing you can’t go dancing on your knee yet. So you’ll have the castle to yourselves. And there’s like, a ton of condoms in my suitcase.”