Page 46 of Duke for the Summer

“Don’t be. He wasn’t a real dad, anyway.” Nate turned to him, his expression stark and earnest. “And yours isn’t, either. Dads should be there for their kids no matter what, not make fun of them or call them useless. You’re anything but, Jacopo. You’re so smart, and sweet, and hot as hell, and I–” he bit his lip. Sparks from the bonfire danced in his pupils. “I’m really glad I met you.”

Nausea shifted in Jacopo’s stomach, his mouth tasting sour. His heart thudded in his chest like a stone, like an anchor, weighing him down.

Dads should be there for their kids.

He couldn’t tell him, after all. He could never say anything.

*

September was there before Nate could even blink, the end of summer barreling up at him like a brick wall. His body was fizzy and numb as they boarded the ferry, and even thoughthe deck was solid beneath his feet and the guardrail was cold under his palms, Nate felt adrift, like he himself was the boat, a boat without anyone manning it, floating aimlessly into a future he couldn’t see. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, had pushed Jacopo down into the sheets and ridden him with a kind of desperate futility, and even after they had both come, Nate had felt itchy, and incomplete, lying there with his heart pounding as Jacopo pretended to sleep beside him.

He watched now as Jacopo flicked the butt of his cigarette into the water. His back was to Nate, his posture a locked door. Nate had had beautiful dreams of their last few weeks together, picturing golden days and longing looks and lying tangled in each other’s arms, exchanging kisses full of unspoken promises. He’d even let himself imagine for a second that Jacopo would decide to stay, that he’d come out to his family–again–with Nate by his side this time. A grand gesture, a soaring soundtrack, fireworks and kissing under the full moon.

But none of that had happened. The silence in the castle had turned stale, almost clinical, and although Jacopo had been nothing but kind to Nate, it was a kindness without depth. Something had changed since Ferragosto. Nate had said too much, maybe, or Jacopo had been embarrassed. Or maybe he was just done with Nate, having already written him into the past. It was a stupid thing, anyway, vain and self-important and delusional, to expect that he would take up real estate in Jacopo’s head. To think that he was somehow special enough to change his mind.

They didn’t talk much on the ferry, or once they got to the mainland, and Nate was reminded too much of the trip here, the first time he’d seen Carmosino rising from the Mediterranean. Three months of sunshine bracketed by this chilly awkwardness, by Jacopo’s closed mouth and his endless cigarettes.

The city was golden in the morning light, the sunbleaching all of night’s shadows away and making everything look clean and brand-new. The scent of espresso rose as shops opened up, people sitting outside sipping their coffee. Nate wondered what they were thinking and where they were going, all these separate lives that he was only seeing a snapshot of. He didn’t feel quite real. He was an illustration, a doodle of a dumb little guy just doing dumb little guy shit, his head empty and his feet falling forward. Nonna Stella had given him a Tarot card with cups on it, but Nate had learned enough from watching Barb do readings to know that if any card applied to him, it was the Fool, blithely about to fall off a cliff.

They stopped at some kind of government building, where Nate signed paper after paper under the eye of a lawyer or notary or something, his signature unraveling more and more as his hand got tired, a childish scrawl that didn’t belong on any of these official documents. Then they went to a bank, where Nate sat for an interminable time in the waiting room, watching a fever dream of Italian infomercials, until Jacopo finally emerged with a bank card and checkbook that had Nate’s name on them.

There was a ringing in his ears as he stared at the account balance, tongue feeling glued to the roof of his mouth. It was absurd, really, and terrifying, how quickly everything had happened.

“Well,” he said, handling the checkbook as gingerly as he would a gun, “can I buy you lunch, at least?”

They went to the fanciest restaurant Nate could find, and sat in silence on a rooftop patio with the city laid out before them, terracotta roof tiles and wrought-iron balconies and the windows winking in the sun. The food, when it came, was almost artificially pretty, the colors vibrant, the portions small, things cut up into whimsical shapes and disguised as other things. Nate stuffed down four courses and half a loaf of bread before realizing he hadn’t tasted anything.

His head hurt. Everything was too bright, the light reflecting off the sea, the perfect blue of the sky, even the half-moon that shimmered, low on the horizon, between chimneys and cathedral spires and minarets. The sun was scalding his eyes and his shirt was sticking to his back and Jacopo wouldn’t stop fucking smoking, the stink of it invading his sinuses and making the heavy meal sit uneasily in his stomach.

He forced himself to take a sip of water. “How is it?” he asked.

Jacopo had been gazing off into the distance, his eyes unfocused. He looked at Nate. A smile crossed his face, not reaching his eyes. “Good.”

“You’ve barely tried anything.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not very hungry.”

“Maybe if you’d actually put your cigarettes away for once–” he stopped, gritting his teeth, not understanding why he was suddenly so angry. A hot wind blew up from the street, smelling of exhaust.

Jacopo frowned. “I didn’t know it bothered you.”

“Of course it bothers me. It’s terrible for you. And there’s already heart issues in your family. So it’s–it’s pretty fucking dumb to keep doing it, Jacopo.” Nate looked out over the balcony, his heart pounding. Somewhere out there in that maze of streets, Jacopo had pressed him up against a wall, and kissed him like the stars were falling.

“I’m sorry,” Jacopo said again. “But you really shouldn’t worry about me.”

“No, of course not.” Nate folded his napkin up into tiny squares. Jacopo would find someone else to kiss. Someone taller, who actually knew what a verb was. Someone who could support him, stand up for him against his parents, instead of just smiling like an idiot and making stupid jokes. “I bet London is beautiful in the fall,” he said.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Jacopo put out his cigarette in the ashtray. He didn’t light another. His hands lingered uncertainly on the surface of the table, fingers long and tan. He had such beautiful hands, and Nate felt a rush of desire before forcing himself to look away.

“Well anyway, it’ll be nice for you. To get away from all this heat.”

“I could stay a little longer.”

“No, I know. You want to see the baby. You’ll have to–” he forced airiness into his voice, forced himself to believe he was like Thea, untouchable, floating along and never getting weighed down. “You’ll have to say congratulations for me. If I’m not here.”

“If you’re not here? Nate–”

“Yeah.” Nate shrugged. “Why would I be? I’ve got a shitton of money now. And like you said, there’s so much to see in Europe. I’ll probably–I’ll probably head out soon. Go on vacation. Less awkward that way, right?”

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