Page 58 of Duke for the Summer

God, he didn’t know what he was doing. He’d been in relationships before, but he’d never feltrightabout it, never felt like an equal, some voice in the back of his head always telling him he wasn’t good enough for this. That voice was oddly quiet now, but there were others to replace it. He worried that Jacopo would get tired of him. He worried that they were too different,that Nate wouldn’t be able to handle being with someone who had a kid, that–shit, maybe Jacopo’s daughter wouldn’t even like him. He worried that Barb and Dave’s relationship was the only stable, happy relationship in the world and that nothing he would find could ever live up to that, that he could never possibly be that lucky.

But mostly he worried that this damn plane wasn’t getting there fast enough, because in spite of everything, he ached to be in Jacopo’s arms again.

Nate remembered the first time he’d seen this place from above, the scattered confetti of the cities and the tan domes of the volcanoes, the arcs of white coastline and the sea a purer blue than anything that came in a pallet of paints. He thought of how his heart had leapt then, how he’d squeezed Jacopo’s arm inadvertently, hardly believing any of this was real. He felt the same way now, knowing that somewhere down there in that collection of buildings was someone who wanted him, whose breath was fast and whose legs were trembling and who was probably going just as fucking insane as Nate was with every agonizing extra second that the plane took to land, and taxi interminably, and finally pull up to the gate.

He barreled through security as quickly as he could, and then he was jogging out into the main concourse, unable to walk at a normal pace. Nate felt like a carbonated bottle that had been shaken up, and the creases in his pants were all fucked up and his hair was rumbled and he was sure he smelled like sour sweat, could taste salt on his upper lip, and his face was probably bright red and—

Thea had been right. None of it mattered, because there he was, taller than probably half the people waiting, his dark hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights and the handsome angles of his face so familiar and so arresting, even now, that Nate’s breath caught in his throat, and then the distance between themdisappeared and Jacopo was holding Nate, and kissing him, kissing him like it didn’t matter who saw, and Nate, his knees a little weak now, flung his arms around Jacopo’s neck and kissed him back.

Someone wolf-whistled from behind them. Nate broke away, face bright red, and looked over Jacopo’s shoulder to see Gracie, jumping up and down and waving excitedly. She wasn’t alone. To Nate’s surprise, there was a whole welcoming crew: Nonna Stella, Zio Beppe, and an exhausted-looking Mirabella and Antonio, their new baby in a carrier on Antonio’s chest, noise-canceling earphones on its dark-haired little head. Even Jacopo’s quiet older sister, Alessia, was there. Nate laughed, a little embarrassed and unsure what to do in front of all these people, and pressed his burning forehead against Jacopo’s shirt, inhaling the crisp, lemony smell of him. Jacopo was breathing just as fast as he was, his heart hammering against Nate’s ear.

“I missed you,” Nate murmured. “I missed the way you smell, and the way you feel. And, just, everything.” He clutched at his shoulders as if he could burrow into him, unwilling to get out of the embrace just yet. “Something’s different. Did you quit smoking?”

Jacopo’s lips skimmed Nate’s forehead, his thumb rubbing the nape of his neck. “I think so. I’m trying to. You look different, too.” He plucked at Nate’s waistband. “What are these trousers?”

“Oh, God. Don’t even fucking ask.”

“You look good.” Jacopo pulled back, studying him, and even though Nate knew that Jacopo was his, even though they would have hours, and days, and hopefully years ahead of them where they could stare into each other’s eyes, he felt a moment of vertigo, his body swaying and his heart giving a little squeeze, because Jacopo was just so beautiful. He hoped it never got old, being held like this in Jacopo’s dark, intense gaze.

As much as he wanted to linger there, he could see Gracie approaching, and so he squeezed Jacopo’s hands, and kissed him one more time, asking against his lips, “Are you ready for all this? With your family, I mean?”

Sadness passed across his face for a moment, and Nate could feel Jacopo take a deep breath. “No,” he said. “But yes. Are you?”

Nate stroked his cheek. “Not even a little bit.”

And then Gracie was upon them, the rest of the group not far behind, and there were hugs, and cheek-kisses, and laughter, and tears from all of the Brunetti siblings, and Gracie was shaking them both, admonishing them for not telling her sooner and insisting they pose for dozens of pictures together because Thea wanted official documentation of them as a couple, and Nonna Stella was telling Nate something very important in Italian, and Zio Beppe was ruffling Jacopo’s hair and smiling proudly, and once they finally made it out of the airport and into the open air, the sun was shining, the air thick with the heat of late summer and the sky bright blue and free of clouds. Jacopo’s hand was warm in his, and Nate had never seen a brighter day.

Epilogue: Two Months Later

Jacopo squeezed Nate’s hand as the plane’s engines rumbled to life beneath them, gearing up for takeoff. He had to reach around the weird little partition between first-class seats, and even though Nate was grateful for the relative comfort and leg room, he almost wished that he hadn’t splurged and that they were flying economy, crammed together leg-to-leg so that Jacopo could soak up as much comfort from his nearness as possible.

He gave him a sympathetic look. “Nervous?”

Jacopo swallowed, his face pale under the olive tan of his skin. “Always.”

“You should be an expert at this by now,” Nate said, with a teasing smile. They had flown a lot in the last few months, to Ireland, to meet Noemi and her moms, and back to Venice, and to a variety of other European cities that had been on both of their bucket lists. Jacopo might be an anxious flier, but he was a delight to travel with once he got on the ground, full of curiosity about food and history, surprisingly talkative with the locals–much more than Nate, who was self-conscious about coming off as a stupid American–waxing poetic over art and architecture and filling his camera roll with the weirdest little pictures of things he found personally amusing. Different parts of him were coming alive now that he had more freedom from the island, and Nate was falling in love with all of them.

“I know,” Jacopo said sheepishly. “But I still hate the takeoff and the landing.” The pad of this thumb made little circles in Nate’s palm. “And this will be such a long flight. AndI’m worried about the cats while we’re gone. And my plants.”

“They’re in good hands with Mirabella and Antonio.” Mirabella had sent him a picture a few hours ago of baby Elio napping in his carrier, with Gnocchi investigating, sniffing his feet.

“I don’t really know what people are supposed to do at Thanksgiving.” Jacopo leaned back against the headrest, still holding Nate’s hand. “What if I embarrass myself?”

“There’s nothing to it. All you have to do is eat a lot of food and watch football.”

“Oh, no. Football, again?”

“You’ll be fine. Everyone’s excited to see you.” And they were; Nate could promise that, even if he couldn’t promise anything on Jacopo’s side. It hadn’t been all sun-soaked vacation days and cathedrals and museums and sex in various European cities. There had been a lot of weirdness, too. Jacopo’s parents were still distant, though Beatrice had come to dinner once or twice at the castle. Some of the older villagers still gave them a wide berth, or pretended–like Nonna–that Nate and Jacopo were just very good friends, despite a lot of evidence to the contrary.

There had been weirdness on Nate’s end, too. Meeting Noemi had sent him into a panicked tailspin about being a stepdad, through no fault of hers. She was bright and awkward and funny, and even liked Green Day, though she called it classic rock, which had made Nate feel like he was ready to shrivel up and die of old age right there. But Nate had had to hide in Lucia and Caitlin’s bathroom for a few minutes until he calmed down, and even now he didn’t know how he felt about it, except that he probably did want to marry Jacopo someday, so he’d have to get used to everything that came with that.

And getting used to it would be a pleasure, despite all the hiccups. Nate didn’t know everything, but he knew he would bethere, to kiss away the sad, faraway look Jacopo sometimes got, and to make stupid jokes and pop culture references that Jacopo was slowly starting to understand. And he knew that Jacopo would always be welcome at Barb and Dave’s house, no matter what. “Come on,” he said now, smiling at him. “You’ve got to be looking forward to it at least a little bit. You haven’t really lived until you’ve seen Dave dress the goats in green-and-yellow jerseys and gotten drunk on cheap beer while a grown man in a duck costume does pushups.”

“It does sound like an important cultural event.” Jacopo kissed his knuckles. He flinched as something clunked in the undercarriage of the plane. They were beginning to taxi down the runway, and Nate could feel Jacopo’s breath quicken against his skin.

“Music?” Nate held out an earbud.

“I’m not sure. The evils of American society aren’t very soothing.”

“I put Whitney Houston on there. That’s how much I love you.”

“Oh, Nate.” Jacopo smiled, and there were volumes in it. Taking the earbud, he settled back into his seat, and closed his eyes, and Nate gripped his hand back, just as tightly, as the engines roared and the plane sped up, detaching from the earth and gliding seamlessly up into the sky.

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