Page 2 of Duke for the Summer

“So, like. Ok. I’m the last Duke of Carcassonne–”

“Carmosino.”

“Sorry. I’ll practice getting it right, I promise. What happens now?”

“You need to come back to Italy with me,” Jacopo said. “There are documents to be signed, and there’s the matter of your inheritance. And you’ll have to decide what you want to do with the property–provided you don’t want to live there permanently.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Nate felt his stomach sink. Of course, of all the castles in the world, he’d have the luck to inherit a shitty one. It was probably haunted to the gills.

“Il castellohas had no occupants in over twenty years.” Jacopo rubbed his temples. “Parts of it are not set up for modern living.” He reached for the coffee cup, then seemed to think better of it. “But the inheritanceissubstantial, as long as you arewilling to stay there for three months.”

“Oh. There’s a three-month clause.” Yeah ok, it was one hundred percent haunted. There was probably a cursed portrait or a room with a slowly-withering rose somewhere in there, too. Who knew? Anything was possible, after today.

“Yes. I apologize about the complication, but, well–” Jacopo steepled his fingers over his chin. “One of the dukes wrote into law centuries ago that no one could inherit the family fortune without living in the castle for at least three months. He wanted to prevent whoever married his daughter from automatically getting the money, I believe.”

“So I have to live in a castle in Italy for three months and then inherit a fortune?” Nate took a gulp of coffee. His head was buzzing, and when he looked down at his fingers, they didn’t seem quite real.

“Well, yes. But you won’t be alone. As I said, I’m the caretaker of the castle, so I’ll be there to help you.”

“Okay.”Cool. Cool cool cool. Don’t freak out, Nate, you’re just suddenly a rich duke who’s about to spend three months in a definitely-haunted castle with a hot Italian man. No big deal.“I think–I think I need to sit down. I think I need to call my mom.”

*

Jacopo looked even more out-of-place in Nate’s tired little Honda civic than he had in his living room. He’d been polite enough to ignore the empty cans of Red Bull rattling around on the baseboard and the pile of work clothes in the back, and he was resolutely staring out the window as they headed out of Eugene, seemingly fascinated by the hayfields and pastures of sheep. Nate’s mom, Barb, and his stepdad, Dave, lived out in the country. It was the kind of out in the countrywhere your mailbox had reflectors on it and your nights were punctuated by coyote song and the occasional rifle shot and the nearest town was a bunch of trailer homes clustered around a church and a liquor store.

Barb had seemed calm enough on the phone, in that dreamy way of hers that might be a result of the damage she’d done to her brain years ago or might just be the result of her determination not to get stressed out about anything. Dave had had a more realistic reaction, insisting that they meet Jacopo and pore over the documents to make sure everything was legitimate. How he intended to do that, Nate wasn’t sure, since everything but the DNA test was in Italian, but he guessed it was a good idea to get a second opinion before jetting off to–not Carcassonne. What was it called again?

“Sorry. What’s the name of the island?” he asked.

“Carmosino.”

“Car-mo-see-no.” Nate sounded it out. “And the town is called?”

“Collinarossa.”

Ooh.Yeah, he’d felt a little internal shiver at that one, at the way Jacopo’s tongue wrapped around the consonants. Nate kicked himself mentally. He really shouldn’t be objectifying this poor guy’s accent. Who even knew if Jacopo was into men, anyway? It could end up being a very awkward, platonic, uneventful three months.

“What’s it like?”

“Hm,” Jacopo said. “Small. Very hilly. Different from this.” He gestured out the window.

“Well, yeah, this is a valley.”

“It’s a nice place. Very little privacy, I’m afraid. Everyone will be–curious about you.” His eyes raked over Nate’s body then, quickly, but not so quickly that Nate didn’t notice how they lingered, on his forearms, on his chest, and though Nate hadnever really been able to getbigfrom working out, he knew he was strong, and worked hard at maintaining his body, and he let himself wonder for a moment if it wouldn’t be such a platonic three months after all.

Scratch that, it definitely would be, because now his mom was showing Jacopo pictures of him as an eleven-year-old.

“And here Natey is at the Veneta Renaissance Faire. I was one of the Queen’s handmaidens that year, and Natey wanted to be a knight, so we covered his bike helmet in tinfoil and made him a breastplate out of cardboard. Look, isn’t it adorable? He decorated it himself, such a creative kid. Anyway, that was the year he ended up throwing up from the heat–”

“Mom.”

“So you make sure he doesn’t get overheated in Italy, okay, Jacopo? He’s got sensitive skin.”

“Ma’am, it is my duty to serve the famiglia di Carmosino,” Jacopo said. “I’ll make sure nothing harms your son.”

“You’re a treasure.” Nate’s mom patted Jacopo’s arm, her chandelier earrings swinging wildly.

He kind of was, Nate had to admit. Jacopo was good with moms, that was for sure. He’d been nothing but polite through dinner, even managing to put away some of the bizarre mayonnaise, pea, and salami spaghetti that Barb had made “in his honor.” He’d nodded thoughtfully and shown no sign of offense when Barb had talked about how Nate had been conceived at a concert for a Grateful Dead cover band (a cover band! Nate had wanted to throw himself out the window). In fact, now that Jacopo was here, Barb seemed more than eager to talk about Nate’s dad, and by the end of the night, Nate had learned three entire things about him: he’d also been short, his name had been Nico, and he’d evidently been a casual fan of psychedelic instrumental jams.

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