Page 57 of Duke for the Summer

“I know.” She hugged herself even tighter. “And I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. About how that went.”

“Which part are you sorry about?” he asked. “Not saying anything then? Or not saying anything for all those years afterwards, and letting Papà hold it over my head?”

“Jacopo–”

“Don’t.” Jacopo ran his tongue across his teeth, a sour pit in his stomach. “I’m still the same person, you know. I’m still the little boy you taught to cook, who you danced and sang songs with. Do you remember how we used to watch your afternoon shows, while the bread was rising for dinner? How we’d makeup the dialogue when the English was too hard to understand, and dream about going to New York together? You were my best friend, Mamma. For many years.”

She looked away, hand over her mouth. Jacopo heard her suppress a sob.

“And Nate’s still the same, as well,” he continued, knowing he was hurting her and knowing that staying quiet would hurt him more. “You’ve adored Nate since he set foot on this island. Do you feel differently about him now, too?”

“I don’t know.” She still wouldn’t look at him.

Jacopo let out a long sigh. “He’s coming here tomorrow. Are you just going to pretend we don’t exist?”

“I don’t want that,” Mamma said quickly. “I don’t know. Your sisters are angry at me, and your father wants nothing to do with you, and I–I just need time, Jacopo. I don’t want to lose you. And I want to meet my granddaughter. But–”

“Time,” he said, surprised at the harshness in his voice. He felt sick, and he was shivering so hard that he had to lock his teeth together to keep them from chattering. “It’s already been so many years, Mamma. I don’t know how much more time I can give.” He turned away, heart pounding, and went back into the caretaker’s hut. He thought maybe she would call after him, or knock on the door, but she didn’t, and Jacopo buried his head in his hands and sat there at the table, dry-eyed and shuddering, until eventually his tense muscles wore themselves out and he slipped into a thin, uneasy sleep.

A knock on the door woke him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to hope that she had come back. It was early morning, birds chirping, a slanted ray of sunlight seeping across the tabletop. When Jacopo opened the door, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, it wasn’t his mother who stood there, but Nonna Stella and Zio Beppe. Nonna Stella had switched out her regular stained overalls for a smock dress, and Zio Beppe wore a velvetsmoking jacket straight out of the 1970s.

“Hello?” Jacopo said cautiously.

“Hurry up, kid, it’s time to go to the airport.” Zio Beppe clapped him on the shoulder, beaming.

“Your sisters are already waiting,” Nonna Stella added.

Jacopo had the bleary sensation that he was still dreaming. “The airport?”

“Of course.” Nonna Stella took his arm. The little ATV was sitting at the end of the drive. “We couldn’t let you go pick up Nate on your own. Oh, I’m so happy you finally found someone! And what a handsome couple, too.”

“You know, I knew a couple of guys like you and Nate in Rome,” Zio Beppe said conspiratorially, taking Jacopo’s other arm. “Great people. Always had the best drugs.”

“Beppe. Jacopo is a good boy. Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he does drugs.”

“I–” Jacopo could feel his face getting hot. He blinked, the morning sunlight shockingly bright. “You’re both–okay with this?”

Nonna Stella shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we be? Come on, Jacopo. Wash your face and put on a nice shirt and let’s go get your duke.”

*

“Dude, I hate chinos. I’ve never worn chinos in my life.” Nate had already gone through three potential outfits on FaceTime with Thea, and he’d actually tried to put gel in his hair, not that it was noticeable now, since he’d long since sweated it back into a wavy mess that fell into his eyes. He plucked in frustration at the pants in question. Everything was fine, everything was amazing; he was going to see the man he was in love with, but he was so fed up with waiting and so worried abouteverything that he kind of felt like he might cry. “I can’t get the fucking creases right on these things and I feel stupid.”

“You’re a rich person now,” Thea said from the phone screen. “Rich people wear chinos.”

“I don’t want to be rich people. I just want to look good for Jacopo, and I’ve already pit-stained the shit out of this shirt–”

“I told you to wear linen.”

“I don’t know what linen looks like!” Nate wailed.

“Oh my God, Nate, breathe.” Thea leaned into the camera. “It doesn’t matter how you look, okay? Jacopo said he loves you. Oh, and Nonna Stella, like, foretold it in the Tarot, too, so you’re good. You’re going to get off that plane, and he’s going to see you, and it’s going to be fireworks and rainbows and, like, a supernova explosion of gay love, and everything will be alright. When does your bus leave?”

“Oh, shit,” Nate said, noticing the time. “Like, now.”

“Ok, then chinos it is. No time for more wardrobe changes. Go out there and get your man.”

Her words tumbled around in his head as sat on the humid bus to the airport, his shirt sticking to his back, the glittering waters of the city giving way to fields and freeways and suburbia, and again as he sat in the air-conditioned plane, the window jamb rattling and music blaring in his earbuds and the Italian countryside spooling out below. To be able to call Jacopohisseemed like a treasure he hadn’t earned, and his heart was fluttering like a moth in a jar as the familiar sight of Sicily swung into view.

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