69. Epilogue
Epilogue
Vinnie
Unfortunately, weddings make me stupid. The ceremony part is bad enough. When Dash’s voice cracks a little at the “I do” part, I almost lose it, fighting the urge to honk tears into my boutonnière.
And then there’s the champagne after, the soft golden-hour light, the hazy atmosphere of love, the particular robust and satisfying joy of watching two people claw their way through literal fire to end up slow-dancing in each other’s arms.
Evenings like this should come with a warning label.
I’m on my fourth—maybe fifth?—drink when I find myself at the edge of the dance floor, and some part of my brain knows that I’m standing too close to Charlie and I should definitely not open my mouth.
He doesn’t want to hear it, Vincenzo, I tell myself. He doesn’t want to hear it, and you’ll ruin everything if you tell him how you feel.
So I stand there with my mouth screwed comfortably shut.
He, of course, notices my silence. “You good?” he asks, looking over at me with raised eyebrows. The evening light has turned his skin to bronze and his eyes to liquid amber. God, I could swim in those eyes.
Being in love with your straight best friend isn’t easy.
It’s even harder at a wedding.
Instead of saying that yes, I’m fine, the champagne answers for me, and I find myself saying, “You look nice.”
Charlie breaks into a somewhat perplexed smile. “Thanks, man. So do you.”
Oh, fuck it. The champagne isn’t done talking.
“I need to tell you something,” the champagne says through me.
Charlie looks a bit surprised, but he nods. “Okay, shoot.”
This is a terrible idea, I think.
No, it’s a great idea, the champagne says.
The champagne wins. It all comes out in a rush, like a popped cork and foamed wine.
“I have feelings for you, Charlie. Like, actual feelings. Not work-buddy feelings. I’ve had them for, fuck, I don’t know how long.
I’m sorry I’m just telling you now. I guess seeing Dash and Lorenzo like that just blew a fucking lid off it or something, plus there’s all the champagne I drank, and I just felt like I had to tell you—please don’t hate me. ”
Charlie’s mouth falls open. “Vinnie.”
Apparently, the champagne has more to say.
“You don’t have to say anything back right now.
I know you’re straight and all that, and that you don’t feel the same way, but it’s just been weird keeping this a secret and I couldn’t feel like I could keep being an honest friend without telling you, and—”
“Vinnie,” he says, firmer this time, and then surprises me by pulling me in for a tight embrace. “You’re my best friend, you know that, right?”
A sigh shudders through me. “You’re my best friend, too.”
Still hugging me, he continues. “That took some guts, telling me that.”
“Or five glasses of champagne.”
“That too.” He pulls away, smiles softly. “You know I don’t feel that way about you, and I’m sorry if it hurts.”
It does hurt, but I know it’s not his fault. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for ambushing you like this.”
“Don’t you be sorry, either.” He bumps my shoulder with casual affection. “As far as I’m concerned, this doesn’t change anything about our friendship.”
Something in me deflates in relief. “Okay. Good.”
Across the dance floor, Dash catches my eye over Lorenzo’s shoulder and grins, completely unaware of the small melodrama going down on the other side of his reception. I raise my glass, and he blows me a kiss.
“They do make a beautiful couple, don’t they?” Charlie says, watching them dance.
“They do.”
He drapes an arm across my shoulders. “You’ll find someone. I know you will.”
“Eh. Maybe someday.”
Suddenly, his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Hey, you know what? Maybe I could introduce you to my brother.”
“Your brother?”
His grin widens, and he looks pleased with himself, like he’s just solved a particularly tricky puzzle. “Yeah. Haven’t I told you about him? He’s gay.”
The End
Thank you for reading Dashiell and Lorenzo’s story!