Page 3 of Duke for the Summer

Absolutely great, that she trusted a stranger with thatinformation.

“And he never mentioned that he was, you know, European royalty?” Nate asked, rubbing his temples.

“Oh, he might have, honey. But men always say things like that when they want to get into your pants.”

“Mom.” Nate cast a despairing look at Jacopo, who was digging into Barb’s marionberry cobbler, apparently oblivious.

“This is delicious,” he said. “What is the fruit?”

And now Barb was telling him about how they harvested the berries out in their backyard, and how he would justhaveto meet her daughter, Thea; she’d been to France, you know, she was very worldly.

“Natey, maybe Thea could visit while you’re in Italy!”

Sure. Yeah. Nate loved Thea, but the last thing he wanted was his adorable half-sister swanning around in front of Jacopo with her eyelashes and her big boobs and even bigger personality.

“Are you done? With the cobbler, I mean.” Nate held out a hand. “I can help Dave with the dishes.”

While Barb seemed sold on the entire idea of Jacopo, Dave was refreshingly skeptical. Of course, Dave was skeptical about everything; there wasn’t a conspiracy he didn’t love. Wiry-haired arms buried in a sink full of suds, he asked, “Nate, are you sure about this? I don’t want to hear that you’ve been a victim of human trafficking, or–or had your organs harvested in some backwards Italian lab. What if this Jacopo guy has a brother who needs a kidney, or something? What if that was the purpose of the DNA test, to see if you’d be a match?”

“Dave,” Nate said, rolling his eyes. “They have better healthcare in Italy than they do here. There’s no, like, underground kidney harvesting ring. We saw online that the island exists, and the name of the duke on the Wikipedia page matches the name of the guy I’m related to. So.” He wiped a dishand put it in the rack.

“Wikipedia can be modified by anyone,” Dave grunted. “Google maps can be hacked. What if it’s a mob thing? Or an underground prostitution ring, Nate? I’m no Liam Neeson.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “Why would anyone come all the way to the US to abduct me, specifically? It’s so crazy that it has to be true.”

“Ok, well, if he tries anything, remember–”

“I know, I know. Fight dirty, use elbows and teeth.”

They were silent for a moment, looking out the window over the sink. It was early summer, the high grass on Nate’s parents’ property dry and yellow. Nate watched as a goat tore relentlessly at a loop of marionberry brambles. He felt a sudden wash of homesickness, thinking of long warm nights and crickets chirping and the smell of dusk. He’d never quite belonged here, in this quiet life Barb and Dave had built for themselves. Would he belong any better in Carmosino?

“Have you given any thought to logistics?” Dave asked. “He said you need to stay there for three months?”

“Yeah. I figured I’d just sublet my apartment to some college students. Maybe travel a little bit when the three months are over. And then I guess I have to figure out what to do with my inheritance.”

“Are you sure you just have to live in the castle? What if they want you to govern the island, or something? Nate, what if they want you to produce an heir?”

An uncomfortable feeling squirmed through Nate’s stomach. He hadn’t thought of that. “That would… be a problem.” Nate heard the creak of the screen door, and saw Jacopo walk out onto the porch. He seemed agitated, his tall, narrow frame hunched against the railing. Nate swallowed. “I’ll, uh. I’ll be right back,” he said.

2.

Jacopo Brunetti was confused. More than confused, he was confounded, his head swimming. None of this was what he had expected. The America he’d imagined had been like New York in the shows his mother liked, the horizon filled with shiny skyscrapers, people bustling along the streets, flower and hot dog carts (he’d never had a hot dog; had wanted to try one), angry cab drivers. Oregon was nothing like that. It had trees, and fields full of sheep, and something called a–what was it?Cossaco?–and strange little coffee pockets with absolutely hideous flavors, and a bus system called the Greyhound, which he’d taken down from the Portland airport and which seemed to specifically be the main mode of transportation for insane people.

The new duca di Carmosino was nothing like he’d expected, either. When Jacopo had read the nameNate Schafer, he’d pictured someone powerful and fierce, maybe a lawyer or businessman. Someone who wore suits regularly and had steel countertops in his kitchen. But this Nate Schafer had some kindof bird tattooed on his shoulder (Jacopo had seen its talons, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt), and tree branches snaking down his arm, and something else on his chest, just visible enough for lines to tease above the collar of his shirt. He hadsensitive skin, skin so translucently pale that the tattoos seemed burned into it, and sandy blond hair, and he wore ragged basketball shorts and band t-shirts, and his parents had goats and chickens in their backyard, just like Jacopo’s.

Jacopo tapped a pack of cigarettes against the rail of the porch, watching the goats tear up mouthfuls of grass. The sky had gone a pale heather color over the treetops. It was a riot of greenery, this America, wild and strange, and Nate was wild and strange, too. Jacopo tried to imagine him in the castle, tried to imagine three months in close proximity with him, and felt a strange tingle between his shoulder blades.

He lit a cigarette, and had just brought it to his mouth when he heard the screen door creak behind him.

“Oh, shit,” Nate said. “Put that out.”

“What?” Jacopo turned to face him, and Nate pulled the cigarette from his hand, snuffing it out on the railing. Jacopo’s fingers twitched, feeling hot suddenly, not from the flame but from the brush of Nate’s against his own.

“This is a substance-free zone,” Nate said. “Mom’ll go crazy and sage the whole place if she finds out.”

“Sage?” Jacopo’s brain prodded at the word dimly, then gave up. He’d been speaking English exclusively for the last 24 hours, and he was finding it harder and harder to think.

“You okay out here?”

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