Page 40 of Duke for the Summer

“Good.” Jacopo bent down to kiss the crown of his head. “Go pick out a bottle of wine. And get me some rosemary from the garden.”

That night, they made a fire in the sitting room, though it wasn’t cold enough for one yet, and kissed in front of the flames for what felt like hours, until Nate was dizzy and drunk off ofJacopo’s lips. His shirt had come off at some point, and Jacopo’s hands were strong and confident against his bare skin as he eased Nate off his lap and onto the carpet.

“What are you–”

“The yoga,” said Jacopo. “It gave me an idea. Turn over for me.”

Nate’s cheeks were bright red, fingers clenching in the rough fibers of the carpet as Jacopo undressed him fully and knelt behind him. He couldn’t see his expression, but he could hear him breathing rapidly. Jacopo ran a hand over Nate’s ass, murmuring something. Then he was bending over him, kissing Nate’s shoulder, the nape of his neck, and working his way down Nate’s spine, and Nate’s skin felt molten and his palms were tingling, the soles of his feet on fire, the muscles in his thighs beginning to tremble, and he pressed his heated face against the rug, swallowing an embarrassed little cry as Jacopo started to open him up, with his fingers and his tongue.

He had said he wanted to get railed in front of a roaring fire, and Jacopo did all that and more, nails digging into Nate’s hips, breath fast and choppy against Nate’s neck, and Nate knew his knees were getting rugburned to shit, but he couldn’t care, couldn’t even remember to breathe half the time. The taste of his own sweat was on his lips and Jacopo’s hips were slapping against his ass, the room full of the obscene noise of their movements, and he came as Jacopo’s teeth grazed the shell of his ear, came into his hand and probably all over the centuries-old carpet, his whole body trembling and a breathless moan on his lips.

Jacopo pressed kisses to his shoulder after he had pulled out, hand still cupping him, their bodies glued together. “It’s so good with you, Nate,” he whispered. “It’s always so good.”

“Yeah.” Nate cuddled back into his embrace. His heart was hammering, and he felt a little giddy. “Thanks to the dick.”

He felt Jacopo’s abdomen begin to quiver. Jacopo let out a snort, and then he had rolled over onto his back and was laughing out loud, full, uncontrollable laughs that shook his entire frame. Nate had never seen him like this, and he couldn’t help but laugh too, giggles tearing their way up out of his throat, his diaphragm tight and his abs hurting, clinging to Jacopo as they both shook, even though somewhere in the back of his head, he kind of wanted to cry.

*

They had gone to Nonna Rosina’s to help process tomatoes for sauce, plucking the last of the summer from the vine and putting it into jars. She lived just down the road from Jacopo’s parents, with her unmarried daughter, Jacopo’s aunt Grazia. It was a bigger production than Nate had expected, but at this point he shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything on the island seemed to revolve around food and getting together to gossip, and sauce-making involved both.

There was a fire going in the pit in the backyard, a giant metal pot–probably at least chest-high on Nate and wider around than he could reach–balanced over the flames. Tables had been set up nearby, and there were already baskets and baskets of roma tomatoes spilling onto them, their glossy red skin glowing in the sun. Jacopo’s sisters, mom, and aunt stood side-by-side, chatting, little paring knives flashing in their hands as they trimmed stems and imperfections off the tomatoes with lightning speed. Nonna Rosina was stirring the pot over the fire with some kind of big, wooden dowel, a shower cap covering her hair and a red-splattered apron protecting her clothes. Nate watched, in awe of her shoulder muscles. The pot was taller than she was.

“Wow,” he said to Jacopo, nodding toward the firepit. “Nonna Rosina is jacked.”

“I guess so. She’s been doing this since before I was born.” He smiled grimly. “I bet my father still has nightmares about that big stick she’s using.”

“Oh, did she used to whack him with it?” It wasn’t funny; honestly it was a little sad, but Nate squeezed Jacopo’s arm and said, “He probably deserved it.”

Jacopo’s dad wasn’t there, so Nate didn’t have to feel bad for shit-talking him. In fact, the only other man who had shown up was Zio Beppe, a vaguely piratical character who Nate only knew of as the mushroom guy. He was friendly, greeting them with a big smile and kissing Jacopo on either cheek, a glass of some clear liquid sloshing around in his hand. Nate could smell it from here, even though the air was thick with the scent of tomatoes and smoke. Anise, and something like gasoline.

“He needs help unloading his truck,” Jacopo explained. “Is it okay if I go?” His hand was on Nate’s shoulder, and Nate looked up at him, thinking how easy, how natural it would be to kiss him goodbye. He stammered, words getting stuck in his throat.

“Sure. What should I do?”

Jacopo looked around. “I think you can help Gracie crush the cooked tomatoes.” She was at a table by herself, hip cocked as she snuck glances at her phone, some kind of food mill sitting in front of her. Another huge pot was on the ground nearby, steam still coming off of it.

“You think so?” Nate tried to smile. “You trust me not to mess it up?”

“I believe in you.” Jacopo’s eyes lingered on his face, and he squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”

“So how do we do this?” Nate asked Gracie, approaching her at the table. She startled, looking up guiltily from her phone, then smiled as she realized it was him.

“Nate! Oh my God, it’s so inefficient. We only have one ofthese–” she gestured to the food mill, “and gallons and gallons of tomatoes.” She rolled her shoulders, letting out a groan. “I don’t even want to be here, but Mamma made me come. I’m missing Prince Thibault’s big fat Bollywood wedding.” Gracie swept a thumb across her phone. “Thea and I were going to stream it together, and she keeps texting me. See?”

She held up the phone. Thea had sent,LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOO,and then a series of gifs: Prince Thibault of Archimbault salsa dancing, Prince Thibault winking at the camera, with heart and sparkle animations added. Prince Thibault and his assistant-turned-boyfriend sunbathing on a yacht somewhere, #couplegoals flashing across the bottom of the picture.

“Oh,” Nate said. “I didn’t realize that was today.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Prince Thibault had never really done it for him, but he and his new husbandwerecute together, and he was the only openly gay royal that Nate knew of. And this was the first gay royal wedding in–ever. He should probably be watching it, too, if only out of solidarity.

But the thought of watching a big, sparkly, over-the-top celebration of gay love made his stomach clench a little, and a dark thorn of envy lodged itself in his chest. He flicked the crank on the food mill, looking away from Gracie’s phone.

“I’m sure it’ll be posted on YouTube,” Nate said. “Come on, show me how this thing works.”

But Gracie wasn’t done, giving him live updates on the outfits and the food and the guest list as her phone buzzed with more and more texts from Thea. Nate cranked the food mill, grinding cooked tomatoes into a pulp and kind of wishing he could grind up his thoughts and feelings along with them. Gracie obviously wouldn’t mind that her brother was gay. She probably wouldn’t even mind that he and Nate were together, although it might be a little weird for her at first.

But they weren’t together, not really. And Jacopo didn’t seem like he ever wanted to come out. Nate wondered what his plan was. They hadn’t talked about it. Was he just going to disappear, to go live his authentic life in London, or wherever? To find someone else there who could be his actual boyfriend?

Nate felt sick, the sweet, ketchupy smell of cooked tomatoes lingering in his sinuses. His pulse was thudding behind his eyes, and his hand had started to hurt. An ugly metallic sound came from the food mill as the gears ground together.

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