Epilogue Ramin
epilogue
Ramin
One Year Later
They took the lifts up to the terraces of the Duomo—no stairs, not on a day like today. Ramin had no intention of getting all sweaty.
Not until they were back in bed, at least.
Tourists packed into the elevator. Noah pressed Ramin into the corner as they ascended. He linked his pinky with Ramin’s. Excitement danced in his eyes.
Despite the extra time last year, they’d never actually made it back to the Duomo.
They’d met up with Maria and Tomaso in Verona.
They’d ventured farther south to see the museums in Florence.
They’d explored Milan’s nooks and crannies.
They’d lived, laughed, and made love every day until it was time to go home. Together.
And they’d been together ever since.
The past year hadn’t been perfect. They’d had fights. They’d learned how to annoy each other, but they’d also learned how to apologize to each other. They were growing, learning how to be, how to smooth out each other’s rough edges, how to support each other, how to listen.
How to have make-up sex.
Six months ago, after a lot of discussion—not just with Noah but with Jake and Angela, too—Noah and Jake had moved into Ramin’s house.
He had the space, Noah’s lease was up, and though Jake was sad to move schools, he was excited to have a backyard again.
Not to mention a finished basement he’d swiftly taken over with a veritable Lego fortress.
Ramin had to wear slippers when he went downstairs to do laundry, lest he step on a stray brick.
Still, he was glad to put up with a few stabs to the plantar fascia in exchange for the laughter and shouts of joy that carried upstairs from Jake and his friends.
They’d even started talking about getting a dog.
Ramin had never had a dog before.
He couldn’t wait.
And now here they were, back in Milan, a year after they’d found each other again. Jake had spent the summer in Como with Angela and Nonno and Nonna. Noah and Ramin were headed there in a few days to visit, and then the three of them would fly home together.
For now, though, it was just Ramin and Noah.
Remembering where they found each other again.
Where they fell in love.
What could be more perfect?
Well, one thing, and Ramin’s stomach was in his throat at the thought of it. Last time he’d tried this, it hadn’t gone well. But that was then. This was now. Ramin wasn’t Elle Woods, Noah wasn’t Warner, and they weren’t at a swanky restaurant.
They were Ramin and Noah, just like they’d always been.
Still, Ramin checked his pocket for the twentieth time. Just to be sure.
The elevator opened onto the lower part of the terraces: a narrow marble walkway, with carved rails and columns to the right, and the sloping slabs of rooftop to the left. The setting sun turned everything a soft, pinkish gold that matched the flush of excitement in Noah’s skin.
“Oh, wow,” Noah whispered. They didn’t have time to stop yet, not with another lift full of people already on the way.
They followed the edge of the transept and turned left at the corner, past a little guard booth, then right again to follow the northern edge of the nave.
In the Galleria across the way, tourists drank their Aperol spritzes seated on patios beneath orange umbrellas.
Far below, folks mingled with the pigeons in the piazza.
Noah and Ramin passed beneath buttress after buttress, each decorated with several sizes of statue, and topped by spires capped with even more statues.
“It’s incredible,” Noah said. “Can you imagine? All the work that went into this?”
While Noah admired the architecture, Ramin admired Noah.
Every day he loved Noah more.
When they’d first gotten back to Kansas City, Noah’s attention was divided between work, helping Angela get ready for the move, and getting Jake settled full-time at his apartment.
But they’d carved out time to be together, too, and as Ramin had started helping more and more with Jake, Noah had actually found time to do the things he enjoyed, beyond his daily gym routine.
He’d started taking drawing classes at night. Ramin’s house was littered with sketchbooks, all in different sizes, all in different stages of being filled. And Noah was making more friends, too, at church, at the gym, in class. He was blossoming, and Ramin loved to see it.
Noah had become a staple at Shiraz Bistro, too, sharing Thursday night dinners with Farzan and David and Arya, who grumbled good-naturedly about being the fifth wheel.
Ramin knew Arya was happy for him, though, because Arya told him all the time.
And sometimes, when Noah had the day off, and Ramin had a day full of video conferences, Noah would stand out of view of the camera, in nothing but one of his singlets, teasing Ramin as his bulge grew, trying to draw him into a little afternoon delight…
Ramin shook himself. Was it blasphemous to get an erection on top of a cathedral? He wasn’t going to risk it.
They reached the western end of the nave, where a set of stairs led upward to another level of terraces. The steps were narrow and steep, some of them scooped hollow from millions of footsteps over the years.
Finally they reached the upper level, which ran directly over the center of the nave. A slight ridge down the middle formed two gentle opposing slopes.
Milan’s cathedral didn’t have a dome. Instead, the edifice climbed higher, with flying buttresses and statues everywhere, until it was capped by a gleaming gold statue of the Virgin Mary.
The terraces were crowded with people standing on the center ridge to take selfies or group photos, but along the sides, at the end of the sloping slabs of roof, walkways led to arched windows looking out over the city.
Ramin followed Noah as he gazed at the skyline stretching out beyond them, pointing to landmarks they recognized or statues that were particularly beautiful.
Loudspeakers made an announcement in Italian.
Ramin and Noah (and Jake) had been practicing all year, and he could pick up most of it now: No picnics (who was bringing picnic baskets up to the Duomo?), no smoking (why did so many Italians still smoke?), no lying down (weird), no professional photos (that one, at least, made sense).
Ramin swallowed away the sand in his throat. There was no prohibition against what he was planning. But this was a functioning cathedral. It wouldn’t hurt if they were a little farther away from the stairs, where a bored-looking guard gazed out from another tiny booth.
Once they reached the corner, Noah pulled Ramin in close for a few selfies. Ramin tried to make sure he didn’t brush the contents of his pocket against Noah’s hip.
Noah showed Ramin the photos. Milan lay golden and gleaming in the sunset behind them, but Noah’s eyes were brighter still.
“Perfect,” he muttered.
It was perfect. Ramin’s heart hammered.
This was it.
He was done waiting.
While Noah was distracted admiring the Museo Novecento across the way, its huge arched windows sparkling in the light, Ramin pulled out the box from his pocket.
“Noah?”
“Huh? Yeah?” Noah turned, looked at Ramin, saw what he was holding—and froze.
Ramin broke into a sweat, despite the pleasant breeze across the terraces.
“Noah Bartlett,” Ramin said. “This last year has been the best of my life. You’ve filled my days with love and laughter and joy, and I want to spend every single one with you, from now until the day I die.”
He got down on one knee.
Fuckety-fuck, please-please-please let Noah say yes.
“Will you marry me?”
Ramin held his breath. The murmur of the crowd died away. Time slowed. Pigeons paused in their flight. All while Ramin waited.
He’d seen so many beautiful things in Italy.
The waters of the Ligurian Sea. Michelangelo’s David . The sun setting over fair Verona.
But the smile that dawned on Noah’s face put them all to shame.
“Yes.” Noah took Ramin’s hands with a joyful laugh and helped him back up. “Nothing would make me happier.”
He pulled Ramin into a kiss—a quick, chaste one, given they were not only in public but also on holy ground—then stood back as Ramin pulled the pair of rings out of their box. They were matching black tungsten bands, each set with a single pale green emerald.
Noah’s favorite color.
Ramin slid on Noah’s, then let Noah slide on his.
Noah let out Ramin’s favorite giggle. “We’re going to get married!”
“Assuming we don’t get smote for getting gay-engaged at a church.”
“God is love,” Noah said. “I’m not worried.”
Ramin pulled out his phone. He grabbed a selfie of his own, took a quick picture of their hands together with their new rings. Then he started a FaceTime call.
“Now? Here? Really?” Noah asked, incredulous. He’d never complained out loud, but he lived with Ramin, which meant he was constantly in the background of Ramin FaceTiming Farzan and Arya.
This was different, though.
“I promised.”
Jake’s face appeared. Once the light adjusted, Ramin recognized the back room of Enoteca Russo, cases of wine stacked to the ceiling.
“Did he say yes?” Jake asked without preamble, his eyes wide and hopeful.
Noah laughed and squeezed his face into frame. “I did.”
“I told you he would!”
“You did,” Ramin agreed. “Thanks for letting your dad marry me.”
Jake grinned so wide, his face nearly split in two. He’d lost an upper canine the day before he left for Italy, an unfortunate incident involving a game of basketball in one of the neighbor’s driveways, but his new tooth was almost all the way grown in.
Jake was growing up too fast, and Ramin had only known him for a year. How could Noah stand it?
“Now you’ll both be my dads. For real.”
“Congrats, you two!” Angela squeezed in next to Jake, a radiant smile on her face. Life in Italy suited her. She seemed more relaxed, more happy, more at home than Ramin remembered her last year. Noah had mentioned the change, too. How glad he was for her.
The transition had been difficult, but all of them were happier now.
“Thanks, Angela.”
“Tanti tanti auguri!” Maria chanted as Jake swiveled the phone to her and Tomaso. “It’s a tough life.”
“It’s a tough life!” Ramin agreed.
“Don’t forget, you promised I could be your ring bearer!” Jake pointed out.
“I remember,” Ramin said. “Okay. We better let you go. People are staring.”
“Okay, love you, bye!” Jake hung up without even letting them say bye in return.
Noah chuckled, but then his face turned serious. “You asked Jake if I could marry you?”
Ramin shrugged, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
“Iranians think of marriage as a joining of families. And I thought, well, what could be more important than making sure he agrees to us joining?”
Noah pulled Ramin’s hand up and kissed him right on the ring finger. It was a strange sensation, that simple band of metal, already warming from his body temperature.
Strange and wonderful.
Ramin was never taking it off.
He tugged Noah’s hand up so he could return the gesture. Noah’s finger looked good with an engagement ring on it.
Ramin sighed, gazing out at the city beyond, but he sensed Noah was still looking at him and turned back.
“What? Do I have pit stains?” His flop sweat had been truly heinous.
Noah just laughed. “No.”
“Then what?”
Noah looked at him, wonder written in his smile. His eyes sparkled as he pulled Ramin in close.
“You, Ramin Yazdani, are full of surprises.”