Page 19 of Duke for the Summer

Jacopo stared down at the diary he’d been working on, the last line he’d read circling the drain in his head, refusing to change into English. He was getting a headache. “I–there’s a shop in Palermo that has books in many languages. The owner is a friend of my uncle’s. He used to buy these for me when I was young. Though I’m not sure he knew what they were about.”

“How young?”

“I don’t know, maybe thirteen, fourteen?” Jacopo thought of the loneliness of his childhood bedroom at night, the immense dark outside the window and the little words on onionskin paper, making him feel like he was somewhere else, fully alive at last and part of something bigger.

“Is that how you learned English?”

“It’s how I learned all the bad words in English,” he admitted.

Nate laughed. “Really? You rebel.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s cool though. Knowing more than one language, especially that young. I barely made it through high school Spanish. And I don’t think I’ll learn much Italian while I’m here. I want to, but it’s not sinking in. You know?”

“I could–” Jacopo started to say, but cut himself off, shaking his head. It didn’t matter. “It’s alright. You will be finewithout it.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me how to swear in Italian, at least. Then we’ll be even.”

The thought of Nate’s mouth shaping the filthiest words of his mother tongue did something violent and unexpected to Jacopo, and his hand twitched, the pen piercing through the paper.

“I really have to work,” he muttered, pulse pounding in his temples.

“Sure, sure. I’ll stop bothering you.”

Nate was quiet for some time. Or as quiet as he seemed capable of being. Every time he sighed, or rustled around in the sheets, or readjusted the pillow under his leg, it made Jacopo’s shoulders tighten with anxiety. Even the turning of pages was unnecessarily loud. At last, the room grew still, and Jacopo thought that maybe he had fallen asleep.

Then Nate said, “Sorry. I’m super curious. What are you working on?”

He didn’t need to tell him. It was none of Nate’s business, and it wouldn’t even matter in another month and a half, anyway. And it was pathetic, really, his big project, his life’s work that probably no one would see. He allowed himself to wonder, for a moment, what would happen to the library after he was gone. All the books he’d cataloged and reorganized, all the notes he’d taken, back to collecting dust.

“It’s a diary. Giulia di Carmosino, a duchess from the sixteenth century. One of your ancestors. I’m translating it into English.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve translated other documents, too. Some from Latin into Italian, as well. Just to keep myself occupied.”

“That’s incredible.”

Jacopo chewed his lip, not daring to look up from the papers in front of him. “Not really. When I became the caretakerof the castle, the library was very disorganized, and I had a lot of time. I started to make a catalog of the documents. I discovered that there were many personal items, diaries and letters, and I thought it would be good to make copies of them. The translation–it’s only a hobby.”

“But you’re not going to finish, right? If you leave.”

“It doesn’t matter. It was just a way to pass the time.”

“Well, I think it’s cool, what you’ve been doing,” Nate said. He was sitting up in the bed, his book forgotten, twin spots of color on his cheekbones. “And I want to read them. I could even help you type them up, if you want. If you don’t already have digital copies.”

“It really isn’t that important.” Jacopo could feel a knot of tension developing between his shoulder blades, and he resisted the urge to stretch. To get up and walk out of the room altogether.

“It is,” Nate insisted. “And it’s my castle, so it’s my library, too. And I want to make sure all your work doesn’t go to waste. Besides, I’m not supposed to move, and I have a laptop.”

“I know.” The laptop had been in Nate’s suitcase when he’d brought it down from the ducal chambers. Along with a sketchbook, which he hadn’t opened, and a large squeeze-bottle of personal lubricant, which–Jesus Christ–his face was heating up at the thought of. Jacopo suppressed a groan.

“C’mon, man. Let me help. I need to be busy. And I can type sitting down, so you won’t even need to tie me to the bed.”

Jacopo sighed.

*

“So, this lady is definitely being poisoned by her servants, right?” Nate said a few hours later, fingers poised over the laptop. “Like, she gets sick all the time, and this Augusto guy seems super sketchy with his sleeping draughts.”

Jacopo sat up with a start, rubbing his eyes. The sound of the keyboard was soothing, and he had been on the edge of sleep, the pen wilting in his hand and the papers blurry before him. “Lady Giulia?” he asked, yawning. “Yes. In fact, I believe it’s her son who is paying them.”

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