Page 17 of Duke for the Summer

“Ciao, Nonna Stella.”

“I could make you something for the cravings. A poultice to chew, with St. John’s wort and valerian.”

Jacopo didn’t really care about the state of his lungs. In particularly melodramatic moments of self-pity, he’d liked the fact that his lungs were probably as black as his soul. “I’m not here for me,” he said.

“Well I had a feeling you’d be coming to see me. Come in, I have something for you.” She led him up the front walkway, ducks scattering in her wake. Their excited squawks sounded like laughter, and Jacopo was sure it was directed at him.

Inside, Nonna Stella’s hut was hopelessly cluttered, green and amber glass bottles crammed haphazardly onto the shelves and overflowing onto tables and counters, knotted ropes of garlic and peppers hanging from the ceiling along with sprays of lavender, rosemary, and other things he didn’t recognize. A copper crucible of some kind was perched on an armchair, its belly black with soot. The fireplace had no logs in it, but there was a basket full of duck eggs sitting on the extinguished hearth. A mortar and pestle sat on one of the bookshelves, next to a stone bookend shaped like a rabbit and an old cup of espresso,brown sludge stuck to the rim. Jacopo’s fingers twitched, wanting a rag to wipe up the dust–or maybe a fire hose would be more appropriate. How she found anything or got anything done in here, he didn’t know.

“How’s your family?” Nonna Stella asked, rummaging through a stack of books. “Everyone healthy? And Mirabella? Is she eating plenty of oranges? And using the bath salts I gave her to soak her feet in?”

“She’s fine,” Jacopo said. He swallowed, and his heart lurched a little. He didn’t want to think of his littlest sister having a baby of her own. He didn’t want to think about babies, or children in general.

“What about your uncle? I need to get another bushel of mushrooms from him.”

Beppe wasn’t technically an uncle, more of a second cousin of some kind, but he’d always been close to the family. And close to Nonna Stella, if you believed the rumors. Apparently they’d had a torrid, foraging-based romance going on for years. He wondered if it was nice, being so eccentric that you didn’t care what other people thought. Doing whatever you wanted. “He’s the same.”

“And how’s your mother? Still putting up with your father somehow, I guess.”

“Somehow.” He scratched the back of his neck, glancing out the window. His parents had lived in different worlds for as long as he could remember. It was a mystery to him why his mother stayed. Out of obligation, maybe, or tradition. Or guilt. The same reason he’d stuck around for so long.

“Sit, sit,” Nonna Stella said. “I can make espresso. Would you like a biscotto?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m in a hurry.” He wasn’t sure there was even a surface to siton, and he shuddered to imagine what would be in her biscotti. Probably duck dander and valerianroot.

“Well, I was thinking of you and your trip to America,” Nonna Stella said, “and I did a reading–ah, here it is.La Ruota della Fortuna.” She pulled a Tarot card from between the pages of an almanac, showing it to him.

Jacopo took the card reluctantly. It was a little sticky.

“Big changes are coming for you,” Nonna Stella said, poking him in the chest with one finger.

No shit, as Nate would say. “I see,” he said. “Nonna Stella, I came here for Nate. The duke? He hurt his knee, and I was wondering if you had some kind of medicine that would help with the swelling.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” She threw up her hands. “Of course! Let me see, I have just the thing.” There was a clatter as she began to paw through the bottles and jars lining the shelves. Jacopo winced. “You know, I should do a reading for him, too. I don’t think he takes care of himself, that boy. I saw him out running during the day, can you believe it? He’ll get heatsick!”

“He doesn’t take care of himself,” Jacopo agreed darkly. He slid the Tarot card under a potted plant, not wanting to look at it any longer.

“Well, you’ll just have to do it for him,” Nonna Stella said, placing a little tub of ointment in his hand. “The Brunettis have always looked after the dukes of Carmosino. It’s your duty.”

She was right; it was his duty, and he’d already messed it up once. But he would be strong from here on out. He would make sure Nate was comfortable and healthy, and treat him with respect, and tamp down any stupid feelings that arose. September would be here soon enough, and Jacopo had everything under control.

Everything, that was, except Nate, who was very much out of bed when Jacopo got back home, doing sit-ups in the middle of the floor, his injured leg stretched out in front of himand his skin glistening with sweat.

7.

“Porco cane,” Jacopo hissed under his breath.

“Hey.” Nate’s voice was hoarse, and his shirt had ridden up to show a little sliver of his abdomen. Jacopo’s mouth watered involuntarily, and he forced himself to look away.

“You shouldn’t be up. The doctor said you must stay off the knee for at least two weeks.”

“Iamoff it. And I need to do something. I can’t lie around for that long. I’ll go crazy.”

Jacopo was going to go crazy sooner than that. He crossed his arms. “Nate. I mean it. Stop getting up, or I’ll–I’ll tie you to the bed.”

“You’ll what?” Nate’s cheeks were red, and Jacopo swallowed. Jesus. He couldn’t even trust himself to talk.

“You’re injured,” he persisted, ignoring the heat creeping up his neck. “You’re going to make it worse, doing exercises like this.”

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