Page 15 of Duke for the Summer

“I was at dinner with your family. I ran into Gracie and Mirabella and they invited me. They showed me the beach, too.”

How nice for him. Jacopo wondered what they had talked about. A sour taste rose in the back of his throat. “You should have said something. I was–” He shook his head, looking away. “I would just like you to be careful.”

Nate frowned. “Look, don’t feel obligated to watch out for me. I can take care of myself, and I–I know you didn’t sign up to babysit some dumb American.”

“Nate.” Jacopo’s stomach went cold. “I don’t think you’re dumb.”

“Sure.” Nate fidgeted with a loose thread on his shirt, not meeting Jacopo’s eyes. “But you obviously don’t want to be friends. You’re trying to get out of here, right? Gracie told me.”

Jacopo cursed under his breath. “Gracie talks too much.”

“So you are going to leave, then. When the three months are over.”

“Yes.” Why not admit it? He hadn’t told anyone yet, but since Gracie had decided to speculate about his business, he might as well make it official. God knew, everyone was already disappointed in him enough already. They’d hardly be surprised.

“I get it. I was just hoping–” Nate stuffed his hands in his pockets, trailing off. “Never mind.”

Jacopo swallowed. His jaw felt tight as he said, “You should go to bed.” Nate was right: hewasjust a way off the island, and Jacopo didn’t owe him anything. And Nate already had Gracie, and Mirabella, and even Jacopo’s own mother, apparently. So he wouldn’t be lonely.

“You’re right, it’s late. I’ll, um–I’ll see you around.” Nate pushed past him, into the castle, and Jacopo was left standingalone, with his arm burning where Nate had brushed against it, and his chest feeling oddly hollow.

6.

He didn’t see him around. Nate went out during the day, to the market with its stalls of vibrant fruits and vegetables, to the beach, to the ruins of the amphitheater at the southern tip of the island, which filled him with awe but which Gracie dismissed, saying it was nothing compared to the one in Rome. He texted pictures to Thea and helped her plan her vacation wardrobe. He had espresso and spritzes with Gracie, ate endless lunches with the aunts and uncles, took thousands of selfies with the villagers, and helped Antonio unpack and assemble furniture for the baby’s room while Mirabella looked on. He even went to church with the Brunettis and, shockingly, didn’t burst into flame. Although maybe he should have, after all the thoughts he was stillhaving about their son.

Sometimes Nate watched him out the window at night, though he knew it was a creepy thing to do. The red tip of Jacopo’s cigarette, the little square of light from his phone. He had a set routine, going out at dusk to feed the cats and then staying there, drinking a glass of wine as the night deepened. Once he went in, Nate would go out, stopping in the courtyard to tighten his laces and stretch before setting off on his nightly run.

Gracie and Mirabella had been right about exercising during the day. It was so much nicer without the syrupy weight of the summer heat bearing down on him, and he didn’t have to douse himself in sunscreen, either. The island was quiet at night. The only lights were the stars and the far-off gleam of Sicily on the horizon, and the breeze coming in off the ocean was cool and almost sweet. Even better, Nate didn’t get tired as easily incooler temperatures, so he could go further, challenge himself. Tonight he was going to do ten miles, and he was hoping to hit a half-marathon before Thea got here–not that he wanted to think about her being here, really, or how her arrival would signify the six-week mark, the halfway point, and how he had no idea what he’d do with himself when this was all over.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but putting one foot in front of the other. Running was just falling forward and catching yourself. Easy. Just falling forward and catching yourself and the moon was high overhead and his head was full of music, nothing else, no thoughts, no brakes, and–

And his foot came down weirdly on the dark road, hitting a rock or a root or something that he couldn’t see, and Nate really was falling forward, but he couldn’t catch himself this time as he careened forward and the ground rushed up to meet him, pain exploding in his palms and his left knee.

“Fuck,” he cursed, the sound echoing out harshly over the cliffside. He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the way his body was shaking. Nate couldn’t see well enough to tell if his hands were bleeding, but they stung like hell, and his knee was a heavy knot, throbbing in time with his pulse.

Tentatively, he flexed it, and winced. It was already beginning to swell.

Nate felt the familiar fear scratching at the back of his head, the fear that had been there when he’d worked in the warehouse. The fear that this was it, this was the time he’d seriously fucked himself up and he had no health insurance and–

No. It would be fine. He’d just tapped it on a rock and it was no big deal. He had a half-marathon to train for and this wasn’t going to stop him. He’d run it off.

He turned up his music and started to run again–or tried to. His knee was growing stiffer by the second, and he wasn’table to put much weight on the left leg. Nate gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain radiating red-hot down his calf, the way his kneecap felt like something about to burst.Just fall forward and catch yourself. Do it until it stops hurting. Do it–

His left foot skidded out, his balance off, and he was falling again. Nate at least had the wherewithal to land on his ass this time, but he didn’t stop moving. The loose dirt of the shoulder was liquid beneath him, crumbling away, and he was sliding, sliding out toward the abrupt dropoff at the edge of the cliff. His stomach dropped and his heart seemed to freeze in his chest as he cast a hand out, fingers combing helplessly through the gravel. There was nothing to hold onto and he was still sliding and his foot swung out over nothing, a scream drying up in his throat–

His hand snagged in a clump of dried grass and he lurched to a stop, heart pounding.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Nate licked his lips, not sure if he had spoken aloud. He tasted dust and salt. Gingerly, he scrambled back onto the road, crab-walking as best he could, afraid to stand until he had gotten far enough away that the abyss no longer pulled at him. Nate’s mouth was dry, his hands trembling. His left leg no longer felt like it was a part of him. He couldn’t bend it to walk, could barely hobble.

God, he needed to call someone. Nate looked up at the terraced hills he’d come down, all the switchbacks, the last isolated lights in the few houses where people were still awake. There was no way he could make it back up there, not without hurting himself worse or actually falling off the cliff for real, no take-backs this time. He was shivering, though it wasn’t cold, his fingers almost too numb to pull up his contacts list, but as soon as he had, he let out a resigned sort of laugh.

Who would he call? He hadn’t bothered to get anyone’s number, hadn’t needed to in a town where everyone saw eachother every day. In fact, the only Italian number he had was–

Jacopo’s. Because they’d exchanged numbers in Eugene, just in case they got separated.

Nate looked up the hill again. He could just barely make out the castle, a distant silhouette against the stars. Sighing, he pressed a thumb to Jacopo’s name on the screen.

It could only have been about twenty minutes before Nate heard the familiar whine of the vespa, though it had seemed like hours. The night was a lot spookier without music in his ears, with the knowledge of the dropoff pulling at him. Then Jacopo was braking, in a spray of gravel, and running to Nate where he sat illuminated in the vespa’s front headlight.

---