Page 12 of Duke for the Summer

He shouldn’t be outside, not in this heat. His face had already been bright red this morning, and even the locals stayed in on afternoons like this, leaving their houses only once the sun had set. Nate didn’t know any of that, though, because Jacopo hadn’t bothered to tell him.

Jacopo groaned. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered. One of the cats, sunning itself nearby, slitted its eyes at him in apparent agreement.

Heart sinking, he stuffed the cigarettes back into his pocket and started walking toward the castle.

“Oh, heyyyyy, man.” Nate raised an arm lazily as Jacopo came out onto the ramparts, his face bright red, his cheeks shiny apples. He was very drunk, and very sunburnt, seated against the crumbling stone of the castle wall. “Welcome to the duke party. Not a very fun one, but we do what we can.”

Jacopo cursed. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“And you shouldn’t be out here. The sun–”

“I know, I know. My mom would say the same thing. But I’m a duke, I do what I want.” He gestured to his phone as if the song currently playing backed up his sentiment. Maybe it did; Jacopo couldn’t make out the words amongst all the yelling.

“You need to stayalivefor three months in order to get the inheritance,” Jacopo said, crossing his arms. He took in theempty bottle of prosecco, Nate’s rumpled hair, his shirt, half-unbuttoned. What had possessed him to come up here and drink alone, out in the sun? The burn had spread down his chest, his tattoos dark in a sea of red. It was a forest, Jacopo saw, pine trees scrawled across his collarbone.

He was hesitant to touch him, but he’d have to, to get him back inside. “Come on,” he said, looping an arm under Nate’s. “You need to lie down.”

“Don’t want to,” Nate said, throwing his head back. “Punk rock! Fuck authority!” But he allowed Jacopo to maneuver him onto his feet and down the stairwell, stumbling foolishly, his feet unsteady on the steps. His little body was a furnace, and his hair smelled of salt and sweat and something sweeter. Jacopo released him as soon as he could, letting Nate fall into the bed in the ducal chambers.

He stood there, looking down at him, thinking about just letting him sleep it off. But Nate’s mother had said he got sick in the heat, and Jacopo had felt how hot he was to the touch.

“I’m going to–” he gestured helplessly. “Help you cool off.”

“M’okay,” Nate said, trying unsuccessfully to fight his way out of his shirt. “Is there more prosecco?”

“Just a moment.” There was a washcloth in the bathroom, and Jacopo ran cold water over it. He ought to bring Nate water to drink, too, but he’d have to go down to the kitchen for that, and who knew what Nate would get up to while he was gone.

“Here.” He really didn’t want to touch him more than was necessary, but Nate needed his help and like Jacopo had said on the ramparts, the new duke of Carmosino needed to stay alive for the next three months, so Jacopo would have to divorce his mind from it, he would have to keep his hands from shaking and his mouth from watering as he helped Nate out of his shirt, keep his eyes from tracing the excess water from the washclothas it trailed down between Nate’s pectoral muscles and circled around one of his nipples. Keep his stomach from lurching and his cock from twitching at the little sound of pleasure Nate made when Jacopo applied the cloth to the nape of his neck.

“That feels nice,” Nate said. “Thank you.”

Looking resolutely at the ceiling, the bedspread, anywhere but Nate’s flushed chest and his hooded eyes, Jacopo grumbled, “You’re lucky I found you. Why would you go out there in the first place? Everyone knows that it’s crazy to go out during this time of day.”

“I don’t know, dude.” Nate sighed. His hand, on the bedspread, was dangerously close to brushing Jacopo’s thigh. “I like–I guess I–” He groaned, throwing himself back onto the pillows and slinging an arm across his face. “I wanted to feel special or something. It’s not–it didn’tfixanything, you know? I have a castle and an inheritance and all this shit and I thought–I thought I’d magically be someone else. But I–I’m not. And I keep thinking it’s a dream, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and my alarm will be going off and I’ll have to put on my work clothes and go back to thatfuckingwarehouse and–”

Jacopo looked down at him, thinking about his own dreams.

“It will take time,” he said slowly. “But you will be different. Everythinghaschanged.”

“Your family is nice,” Nate said after a moment.

Again, Jacopo pictured a scene from the night before, Nate at Gracie’s elbow, the two of them talking as if they’d known each other for years.

“They like you,” he said.

“Do you–do you know anything aboutmyfamily? Or, I guess, my ancestors?” Nate took his hand, so suddenly that Jacopo had no time to pull away. “You said I could learn about them while I’m here. But I don’t know where to start.”

Jacopo could speak volumes, entire banks of encyclopedias, about the famiglia di Carmosino. In his time cataloging the library, he’d learned about generations upon generations of fascinating scandals. But he wasn’t sure Nate would want to hear any of that. He cleared his throat.

“This is the original story of your family,” he said at last. Nate’s fingers were threaded through his, his eyes heavy. He looked near sleep, but his chest was rising and falling sharply. Jacopo tried not to admire it. Licking his lips, Jacopo steeled himself, trying to summon some of the liveliness his mother had always had when she’d told this story. “There was a Roman general, centuries ago. Caius Calvinus, the last remaining survivor of a battle at sea. He floated for days, clinging to a board from his ship. No food, no water, nothing but the hot sun beating down upon him.” Nate’s eyes were bright and focused now, tracking Jacopo’s face, his lips. Jacopo wondered momentarily if Nate’s ancient ancestor had been as sensitive to the sun as he was. “At last, he saw land. It was this island, nameless at the time, its red cliffs rising from the sea. He rejoiced. But then, once he had finally found dry land, there was still no water, nothing but the salt sea around him and the empty beaches. Calvinus despaired, sure he would die there of thirst, with no one to remember his name.

“The night came. Feeble with thirst, his skin covered in a rind of dried salt–”

Jacopo was getting a little dramatic; he couldn’t help it. He’d always loved stories. And he loved the rapt look on Nate’s face at that moment, the gentle parting of his lips.

“–Calvinus lay on the beach. Then he heard something, far off. The low hoot of an owl. It seemed to him that he should follow it, and so he did, climbing up the hills despite his weakened state. There, at the highest point of the island, was the owl he had heard, drinking from a natural spring. And soCalvinus was saved. And so he made his home here, and the owl became the symbol of the family of Carmosino, because he was forever grateful to the bird for saving his life.”

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