Page 5 of Duke for the Summer

“Hi,” Nate said, holding the phone a little ways away from his ear.

“Seriously Nate, where’smymysterious European royalty ancestor? My dad worked at the fucking Shake Shack, do you think he was secretly like an Austrian noble or something?”

“Yeah, no. I’m sure he was. The Shake Shack empire stretches far across the land.”

“Aw, fuck you.”

“It’s a run-down castle that’s possibly haunted, Thea, it’s not even a big deal.” Nate drew his finger along the countertop,hoping Jacopo, out on the balcony, couldn’t overhear.

“Um, even better? You know I’m visiting.”

Nate sighed. “I know.” He cast a look at Jacopo through the window, his jutting profile and the nervous way he held his cigarette. It was weird having him in the apartment, hearing the floorboards creak as he paced around during the night, the door to the balcony squeak open as he went outside to smoke, knowing how long he took to shower (a long time), seeing his toothbrush and travel-sized pot of pomade on the edge of the sink.

“Ugh, I cannot wait to eat my literal body weight in pasta and just live on the beach. How many bikinis should I bring? Is five too many? There are hot guys there, right?”

“Nah,” Nate said, turning to look at the cabinets in his kitchenette. “Only Joe Guidices. Just, like, a bunch of them, playing bocce ball and eating veal parmesan and being raging misogynists all day.”

“Again, you’re just selling me more and more on this. And mom said that guy who came to get you is hot. So.”

Nate swallowed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Uh,” he said. “He’s whatever.”

“Uh huh,” Thea said dubiously. “Mom said he’s like the best, most amazing guy ever.”

“Mom has notoriously bad taste in men, though.” It was genetic; Nate’s most recent relationship had been a disaster, too. And the last thing he wanted was to get romance involved in this whole duke extravaganza, crazy as it was already.

“So? It’s not like you have to marry him or something. Anyway, I’m so excited for you, and for me to be honest, and I want you to call me the second you land and also get blacked out on prosecco at least once before I get there. In my honor, because I’m not stupid royalty like you apparently are. Okay?”

Nate made a dismissive noise. “Are you kidding? I couldblack out on prosecco in my sleep. Love you.”

“Love you!Ciao,fratelli! Or however you say it! Oh, shit, I’ve gotta learn Italian.”

When Jacopo came back in, Nate was staring at his phone on the coffee table, his stomach fizzling as if he actually had drunk a whole bottle of prosecco.

“Everything alright?” Jacopo asked.

It was alright, really. It was great; he was a duke, and everything was about to change, and Nate’s insides felt like they were full of puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together properly, just all rattling around in there, making him jittery. Suddenly it was too much, the way Jacopo was looking at him, the sterile intimacy of him being here with Nate in the apartment, so Nate stood up, dusting himself off. Trying to get his head straight.

“Yeah,” he said. “It was just my sister. She’s… excited.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was going to go for a walk. You want to get out of the house, see some of the town? I know it’s not New York City, but you said you’d never been to America before, so...” he gestured lamely at the door.

“I would like that,” Jacopo said.

And so they went for a walk along the river in the heat of late May, Nate coated in SPF 60 sunscreen, Jacopo’s olive skin just getting infuriatingly more burnished-looking. The water was low and lazy, the trees a nearly psychedelic green, and Jacopo marveled over all of the ducks and squirrels along the way.

“That’s the name of the football team, you know.”

“The squ–the–the small furry thing that I can’t pronounce? That’s the name of your football team?”

“No, no,” Nate said, laughing. “Not the squirrels, the Ducks. But I guess either one would make just as much sense. It’s, like, a really big deal here. Football.”

“Oh, yes. In Italy, as well. It’s the only thing my cousinstalk about.”

“American football, not soccer. Have you ever seen a game? Hoo-rah, and all that. Tossing the, uh, pigskin. Getting touchdowns.” Nate had exhausted his knowledge of football terms, and Jacopo was looking at him like he was insane. “Look, forget it.”

“No.” Jacopo waved a hand in the air. “I would like to see it. I believe it is an important part of the American culture.”

Great. He was a sports guy. Nate suppressed a sigh, resigning himself to a night of boredom. “Okay. Well, it’s not football season, but I guess we could watch some highlights.”

“Speaking of American culture, do you have hot dogs here?”

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