Page 117 of The Pairing

“Why not?”

“Because I put all this time into it,” I say. “It’s what I worked for.” It’s what I lost Theo for.

Paloma laughs over the line, a short, sarcastic grunt.

“Crois-moi,” she says, “ça ne veut rien dire, si cela ne te rend pas heureux.”That doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t make you happy.

I find myself without an answer to that.

The door of the restaurant opens, and people filter outside in knots of laughter and tipsy conversation, each flushed with the intoxicating joy of a good, simple meal prepared by someone who loves what they’re cooking. I can hear Fabrizio’s parents inside, making jokes with the cooks and foisting boxes of leftovers on the last guests. It seems like a good life. A messy and abundant life, possible because they share it with each other.

“Think about it,” Paloma says.

Theo finds me as they exit, all curious eyebrows and Aglianico lips, and I rush out a goodbye to Paloma and hang up.

“Who was that?” Theo asks.

“Just Cora.” I shove my phone into my pocket. “Where’s everyone going now?”

“Different places,” Theo says, “but wait until you hear where I got us invited.”

“Where?” I ask. At first they just raise their eyebrows and lower their eyelids in that way of theirs that suggests something either very good or mildly illegal, which is usually also good. “Where,Theo?”

“Fabrizio wants to know,” they say, “if we’d like to see his apartment.”

I wait for the punch line, but it seems there isn’t one.

“Are you teasing me?”

“Dead serious,” they say. “He lives a ten-minute walk from here. Said he’s looking forward to sleeping in his own bed tonightand asked if we wanted to share a bottle of wine.”

“We?”

“We.”

I stare. For all our flirting and big talk about making sensual tantric love to Fabrizio, I never actually thought our tour guide would proposition us. But I think of his warm touch on the side of my face, how he chose us specially to ride with him in Rome, how he watched us work on the engine of the bus.

“Is. . .is this it?” I ask. “Do you think he wants to—?”

“There was a strong vibe, yes. At least one of us. Maybe both. It seems like he considers us a package deal.”

“Oh my God, because we let him think we’re together?”

“I don’t think it’snotbecause of that.”

“Well.” I put my knuckles to my mouth. “Do we—do we want to?”

“I mean,” Theo says. “It’s Fabrizio.”

“It’s Fabrizio.”

“How can we not? Unless. . .you can think of a reason we shouldn’t.”

“No, it—it would be hot, if it’s both of us.”

“And if it’s just one of us?”

The image flashes into my mind. Theo as seen from the foot of the bed, broad hands on their hips as they pant into a pillow. Or Theo reclined on a chair, learning that I’ve trained away my gag reflex. Heat coils in my gut.

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