Chapter Twenty-Two Alex
W E TOURED R OME ’ S hometown, but not in the way he had wanted. Just as daybreak hit, I stood at the foot of the bed and unceremoniously dropped a pair of sneakers, shorts, and a t-shirt atop his legs. He stirred sleepily, grumbled something, then propped himself up on his elbows.
“Get dressed. We’re going for a run.”
As it turned out, Rome didn’t grow up in the splendor of the neighborhood in which they currently lived.
His childhood home sat about three miles inland.
I let my body slide into the rote routine of a morning run (my favorite time) while Rome dutifully stuck by my side.
Oh, sure, he did cardio aplenty, but there was something categorically different in long-distance running than say sprinting, rowing, or drills at practice.
The beautiful man didn’t complain once, though.
Rome and his two older sisters grew up in a white Cape Cod house with blue shutters.
He pointed to one of the dormers and indicated that was his room and then boasted that he didn’t have to share it, unlike his sisters.
Breathlessly, he prattled on about choice memories of the home as we continued to run by.
The town had woken up by then as people emptied from their houses to go about their day.
We came to a complete stop when we ran by the community baseball diamond, a plot of land just big enough to be the proper size with two-tiered-bleacher seating behind the fenced backstop.
Rome stuck his hands on his hips. His chest rose and fell in great heaves. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face. “This is where it happened,” Rome said between breaths.
“Where what happened?”
“It was late spring, and we were playing a quick pickup game since the high school never let us use the diamond off-hours. My parents showed up and at first I was worried. Then this big black SUV pulled in behind them and three guys in suits got out.” His vision went to a thousand yards.
I wished I could see the memory that he played for himself.
“Right there on the field is where I signed my contract to join the Wolverines. Outta high school and right into the minors. The start of it all.” He pointed toward home plate.
“Right there. My buddies were screaming .”
My hand went to press against his lower back but I stopped myself. We stood beside a busy avenue. Rome would surely be recognized. He did a double take of my hesitation, then put his hand directly on my face. Wiped a lick of sweat from my upper lip.
“I’m really starting not to care anymore,” he said gently.
“Hey, it’s Romo!” a pipsqueak of a voice shouted. We both turned to see a child with an oversized backpack kick it into high gear and sprint his little legs toward us. His mother called after him but laughed when the child had zero interest in paying attention to her.
One quick high-five and a selfie later, the two were on their way and we were pushing through the final leg of our run.
Back at the house, we showered separately so we could prep the kitchen.
Rome had made plans for his parents to come over for breakfast. In the early afternoon, we’d head over to their place for the family barbecue.
Rome insisted I meet his parents privately first. I wore a pair of navy-blue chinos that fit just right and a white v-neck t-shirt.
I must have fixed my hair a hundred times before they arrived.
Rome came up behind me during my last quick check of myself.
“You look great. Trust me, you’ll be fine,” he said as he wrapped his hands around my waist and pressed a kiss into the crook of my neck.
I squirmed a little, which made him hold on tighter.
He rubbed the stubble of his chin against my skin and I tried to fidget out of his arms but he refused to let me go.
He squeezed my side and I leaped in place, screamed out a shrill of laughter.
And then we were kissing. Getting lost in each other. Enjoying the moment until the doorbell cut through the silence.
Rome stood back and cleared his throat. We both adjusted ourselves. “Ready?” he asked as he walked to the front door.
I stood a few steps from it and let out a long puff of air. “Ready.”
Donatella Moretti—Rome said to call her “Donna”—was the first to walk through the door.
Tall, fit, long dark hair brushed to fullness with a set of purple reading glasses pushing back her bangs.
Her skin was as dark as her son’s and her lips were painted the color of good wine.
She kissed Rome’s cheeks hastily, then took two quick strides and did the same to me.
She held me by the shoulders as a warm smile spread across her face, then she looked over her shoulder at Rome.
“ Hai ragione. Lui è molto bello, ” she said. Her voice was a rich alto.
I hadn’t grown my vocabulary much since meeting Rome, but I did pick out the word “bello,” and I could only assume she called me handsome.
“ Si, si. Inglese, ma. Inglese, ” Rome said tersely.
Donna swung back to me and squeezed my shoulders. “I was just telling Rome that you are very handsome. Very handsome! It is good to meet you, Alex.”
“Mrs. Moretti you are—”
“ Donna . Please. Just Donna.”
I smiled. “Donna. It’s great to meet you, as well. I have to say, you are beautiful.”
She slapped the air and stepped aside. To Rome, she said, “ Lui è intelligente .”
“English, ma!”
The towering form of Rome’s father stepped forward. The two were practically carbon copies, except his father had aged more. They shared the same height, same impossibly ocean blue eyes, tanned skin. Where Rome let the natural waves of his hair out, his father slicked it back with oil.
Arrigo Moretti went in for a hug before I could shake his hand. Just like his son, Arrigo crushed me, and I let out an involuntary “oof” as he squeezed.
“It’s good to meet you, Alex.” Rome shared his father’s deep, resonate voice. I noted, however, that his English was barely accented, unlike Donna’s.
“Good to meet you, too, Arrigo,” I said. “Rome has told me so much about both of you. I’ve been really looking forward to this.”
We filed into the kitchen where a spread of breakfast foods lay before us. Rome popped a bottle of champagne and filled four flutes, then splashed a bit of OJ into each.
The Morettis each said, “ Saluti! ” at the same time and I followed up with my attempt at repeating the word.
It didn’t take long for Donna to jump at her next opportunity to grill me.
The moment Arrigo mentioned something about the Riders to Rome, Donna grabbed my attention by lightly patting me on the hand.
She asked about my photography and revealed she had perused my website and marveled at the pictures; the nighttime Zakim Bridge shot in particular.
In return, I was able to learn a little bit more about her.
She and Arrigo had grown up in the same village in Sicily and, before they married, knew they would immigrate to America.
They had their sights set on Connecticut, but the allure of all the bays and oceanfront of Rhode Island had them changing their mind.
And oh, the stories of Rome’s childhood.
While she entertained me with hotheaded little Rome and his enormous ego, the man in question continued to side-eye me worryingly, as though he kept up the conversation with his father while eavesdropping on mine.
I learned that it took him years to keep his ego in check.
What finally did the trick was when Arrigo sent him away to an expensive baseball camp where Rome faced repeated defeat by better players.
“Okay, okay, enough, enough,” Rome eventually said when Donna started into a story about when he came home crying after his time at that camp.
I held up my hands. “No way. This is really getting good,” I said. “So was it, like, a soft sobbing? Or are we talking full-on blubbering mess?”
Donna’s brow pinched together. “Oh, yes, we are talking blubbering,” she said, over-enunciating the last word.
“What is the word? Inconsolable.” She reached over and rubbed Rome’s arm.
“My bambino was not well for awhile. But look at him now!” Donna’s face beamed.
“He is finally settling with someone and we could not be happier. Do you see marriage in your future?”
It felt like someone had sucked the air out of the room. Rome’s eyes went wide. My face flashed red as I looked away. Arrigo shook his head and sighed. Donna looked at each of us with confusion.
“It is a perfectly reasonable question, no?”
“Donna,” Arrigo said as he walked across the kitchen and stood behind her. “Let’s not pry too much.”
We poured a second glass of mimosas, then it was Arrigo’s turn to target me.
He corroborated Donna’s history with him and then revealed he had actually met my brother once during pregame warmups.
He said Devin was a nice man and he could see the family resemblance.
Arrigo carried himself in a similar fashion to Rome, a sort of masculine presence without trying.
Almost as if he had expectations of the person across from him.
They left after about two hours when they said they needed to get everything ready for the party later.
Donna planted double kisses on my cheeks and gave me a puzzling smile as she held my face in her hands.
Pride? I couldn’t decipher it. She seemed almost…
triumphant? Arrigo squeezed the life out of me before leaving.
As I closed the door to Rome’s house, I turned to do a download of everything that just happened. To my surprise, he stood with another bottle of champagne. The cork popped and bounced off the ceiling before scuttling away under a table.
“We need to celebrate how well that went,” Rome said. His cheeks were already colored. “Also, I need you even more liquored up before the party, so let’s keep this thing going.”
I couldn’t say no. “Well okay, bambino . Let’s keep this thing going.”
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