Chapter Sixteen
SIXTEEN
CHARLIE
“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Charlie says.
“You could never,” Dario says, looking at him in such a funny sort of way.
“I came to check and see how you were doing.” Anxious energy shoots down to his feet, causing him to rock back and forth.
As soon as he heard the commotion down in the kitchen when he stepped out of the shower earlier, he raced to see what was wrong. His gut sank at the uncomfortable scene he stumbled upon.
The way Selina spoke to Dario lit a fire beneath Charlie’s skin. The urge to protect Dario flamed up, fierce and immediate. While he commended Selina for her directness, he wishes she’d been gentler about it.
“Va bene,” Dario says, one hand still clutching the wood of the door. He looks one wind gust away from toppling over.
“Didn’t seem va bene back there,” says Charlie. “Selina’s left, if that matters to you.” Selfishly, he is glad of this. One less person in the villa means one less person to compete with for Dario’s hand.
“Va—” Dario clears his throat. “Thank you for letting me know.”
They stumble through a long silence. “I can go,” Charlie says, afraid he has made a wrong move by coming out here. Maybe Dario is someone who prefers to sit with his feelings in silence.
“I would rather you didn’t,” Dario says, opening the door wider. An offering.
Charlie steps inside.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Dario says.
The chair he sat on to video-chat with his family a few days ago is piled high with work papers, so he takes a hesitant seat on the edge of the bed. He swipes his hands along the silken quilt that is both homey and high-quality.
“Can I get you anything?” Dario moves to the mini fridge that buzzes beneath the window.
“I’m okay,” Charlie says. Tries for more: “Are you? Okay, I mean.”
A can of San Pellegrino hisses as Dario opens it. It sweats in his palm, the way Charlie sweats with nerves on the bed. “I am. I think I am.”
“You think?” Charlie’s hands bunch up in the quilt as Dario leans his backside against the reclaimed wood counter behind him. For such a short man, he has a big presence and, it seems, even bigger emotions.
“I’ve faced worse. I’m more upset that this is the cap to our lovely day together,” he says. A refreshing ahh follows his first sip. The sound makes Charlie’s toes wiggle.
“It doesn’t have to be the cap. The night is still young,” Charlie says. The clock on the wall is in plain sight. It is slightly after 8:00 p.m. “Plenty of time to turn this night around.”
He waits patiently for Dario’s eyes to light up with recognition.
Is he being too coy? He is slightly out of practice in the subtle art of seduction.
Half his sexual encounters back in Pennsylvania involve endless app conversations and quickies in the back seats of cars.
There’s not much conversation or eye contact before the zippers rake down in search of frantic release.
This is a different kind of encounter. Far more about showing Dario that he’s here, that he cares, that he’s attracted to him. Who needs Selina when they could make a life together? A beautiful life if it remained anything like today.
“Whatever you have in mind sounds better than wallowing,” says Dario. “I am being too dramatic.”
Charlie stands and catches Dario’s drooping chin between his fingers.
Lifts his gaze so they are eye to eye. He’s not sure where this confidence came from, but he peers into those limitless hazel eyes that seem to morph with each passing second like a fast-moving storm.
“Where you see dramatics, I see conviction,” Charlie says.
“Selina didn’t think so,” Dario says, sounding downtrodden.
“Let’s not talk about her anymore,” says Charlie. He drops his hand. “If she doesn’t see your passion for sustainability, kindness and connection, that’s her loss.”
“But your gain?” Dario asks, slipping his palm into the hand Charlie dropped.
“Yeah.” Charlie slams the space between them shut. Their chests graze.
“Charlie Moore…” Dario gasps. “Did you come here to make me feel better with sex?”
Charlie shyly smirks and shrugs, playing up his small-town innocence. “If sex would make you feel better, then yes, that’s what I came here to do. But if that’s not what you need, I’m happy to snuggle and listen or leave or…”
In his head, this went smoother. But this is somehow…better? More honest, at least. Their fingertips trace tepid lines up each other’s forearms. A tickling, sensual gesture that makes his breath hitch.
“That’s very kind of you,” says Dario, cupping his hands around Charlie’s wrists.
“My grandma always says, ‘Kindness is key,’” Charlie says, then cringes. “I can’t believe I just brought up my grandma. There’s nothing more unsexy than somebody’s grandma.”
“I’m sure your grandma was very sexy in her day,” Dario says without thought. Charlie gapes at him. “I made it so much worse, didn’t I?”
“So, so much worse!” Charlie shakes his head as his incredulous smile blooms.
“The moment is gone,” Dario says ruefully.
“We can get it back. Let’s try to get it back,” Charlie says, remaining positive. He didn’t break out his manscaper for nothing.
“How should we do that?” Dario asks, sounding as if he would go to the ends of the earth if that’s what Charlie told him it took. But he’s not here to make Dario work for it. He’s here to make Dario feel good, valued. To build him back up after Selina’s dressing-down.
“What if we listed things about each other that turn us on?” Charlie asks. Talking about sex always ratchets up his desire in any given situation. “You go first.”
Dario laughs awkwardly. “Putting the pressure on me here.”
“You’re the one who said my grandma was very sexy in her day without any photographic evidence!” Charlie points out.
“Would photographic evidence have made it better?” Dario asks with raised eyebrows. A laugh blasts out of him. “You’re the one who brought up your grandma in the first place!”
“Okay,” Charlie concedes through a fit of his own laughs. “We’re getting nowhere. I’ll go first. Your eyes.” He takes a calming breath and really looks at Dario. “God, your eyes are sexy. So open and searching. You have these big, basset hound eyes.”
“First grandmas, and now dogs?” Dario cries. Charlie drops his face into his hands. “Speaking of dogs. Angelo, vai a giocare in giardino.”
Angelo trots from his bed and out through the doggy door. His tiny arfs puncture the night.
The sultry darkness swells in through the half-open windows. They laugh again. Stilted and uncertain.
“I’ll also see myself out through the doggie door,” Charlie jokes. He’s no more than two steps away from the door when Dario grabs him by the forearm and reels him back in.
“You will do no such thing.” His palms graze Charlie’s cheeks before he pulls him in by the back of the neck and kisses him.
The kiss is so spectacular that it ruins Charlie for all future kisses. What other experience could ever compare to kissing Dario Cotogna in his bedroom in his historic Italian villa?
This is Charlie’s pinnacle. He’s lightheaded as he finds himself at this unexpected romantic summit.
They topple onto the bed together. “Aside from my basset hound eyes,” Dario says teasingly, “what else about me do you find sexy?”
“Your hair,” Charlie says as he rakes a hand through the glossy strands. Charlie imagines what the top of Dario’s head might look like while his face is buried between his thighs. “It frames your handsome face so well.”
“I’m handsome?” Dario asks with earnestness. He truly doesn’t know, can’t see it himself. How does one look in a mirror and not see obvious beauty?
“You’re handsome,” Charlie confirms before planting a kiss on the back of Dario’s hand. “Your intelligence only makes you handsomer. You know and honor your family history. When you gave the tour in the museum, my heart raced. I was kinda turned on.”
“Si?” Dario asks. “So my grandma is sexy, too?”
“Shut it, Candy Man,” Charlie says, quieting Dario with a kiss.
The time for joking is over. His hands grip Dario’s lapel tightly as if he is afraid to lose control of this situation again. “And you have an impeccable sense of style. Most people wear clothes. You, I don’t know, don them or some shit.”
Dario laughs. “That’s all Gabriele’s doing.”
“Is Gabriele the one putting the clothes on and parading around in them?” Charlie asks, raking his eyes down Dario’s body, which sprawls across the bed.
“No,” he says, fiddling with the top button on his shirt.
“My point made,” Charlie says, allowing lust to turn his voice smoky. “You won’t be wearing them for much longer either if I’m lucky.”
Dario seems to still with unspoken emotion under his touch.
“I would like to keep my clothes on,” Dario says, eyes falling to the foot of the bed.
Charlie moves back in confusion. “Uh, okay? Do you not want to do this?”
Dario sighs. “I do want to do this, but first, please let me explain.”
DARIO
A confession bubbles up and out. “These clothes that Gabriele makes for me are what I feel most confident in. When I’m naked, I worry about the position I’m in or the way the lighting makes me look, whether my skin is clear of blemishes, or I missed a spot while trimming.”
“I don’t care about any of that stuff,” Charlie says, deep sincerity sprinkled over his words.
Dario pushes up onto his forearms. “It is my anxiety. I get stuck in my head and cannot enjoy myself. Clothed, I know I am representing myself. Maybe I am not making any sense. I know it is not what everyone wants.”
Charlie shakes his head, pauses for a moment.
“I want what you want, Dario. I think I get it. It’s like me with my tattoos.
I like being naked because my tattoos represent me.
They make me feel confident, so showing them all off heightens that confidence.
Your fashion sense represents you. Sex is about showing up as your authentic self.
This—” Charlie gestures at his covered body “—represents you. Very well, I might add.”