Page 108 of Operation Sunshine
“Doesn’t it make you feel small?” Franco murmured.
Ben slid his arm around Franco’s waist. “It makes me feel I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Franco’s hand covered his, warm and steady. “Me too.”
They kissed under the spill of stars, the city glittering beneath them, and Ben did his best not to think about what would come next, but simply let himself have this: Franco, Florence, the miracle of now.
Later in the week, Franco surprised him by sneaking out of the kitchen early. They ducked into a wine bar off Piazza della Signoria,all dark wood and flickering candlelight, where Franco translated the wine list for him—badly, Ben suspected, since every description ended with“and this one is sexy.”They ended up drunk on Chianti and laughter, stumbling back through the narrow streets until Franco pulled Ben into a shadowed doorway and kissed him as if they hadn’t spent half the week tangled together already.
By Friday, Ben had lost track of time. Every evening folded into the next: their laughter echoing off stone walls, their fingers twined as they navigated crowds of tourists, quiet moments on Franco’s balcony with nothing but the sound of their breathing in sync.
He wanted to cram Florence into his veins, but more than that, he wanted to etch every second with Franco into his memory: the way Franco’s voice softened when he explained a dish he was learning, the way candlelight caught in his eyes, the way he reached for Ben as if he’d been doing it all his life.
Two more months.
They sat at a café in Piazza Santo Spirito, Franco’s ankle hooked around his under the table. Two months until Franco came home to Adelaide.
Until he comes home to me.
But tonight they were together. And if Florence had taught him anything in a handful of days, it was that beauty wasn’t meant to be hoarded or feared. It was meant to be lived in, fully, until the last drop was gone.
He leaned across the table, cupped Franco’s jaw, and kissed him. The bells of Santo Spirito chimed overhead, and Franco smiled against his lips.
“You’re getting good at this Italian thing,” Franco whispered.
“Only the important parts,” Ben murmured back.
And in that moment, the ache of leaving, the distance waiting for them, all of it receded. What remained was simple, clear, undeniable: love, in the heart of Florence, burning bright.
The shutters were cracked open, letting in a sliver of moonlight that painted pale silver across Franco’s bare shoulder. They lay between sheets that smelled faintly of soap, Ben’s fingers idly tracing circles over Franco’s chest. The city was quiet now, the hum of scooters and chatter fading into the night.
Ben should have been asleep. His body was heavy with it, his mind lulled by warmth and Franco’s steady heartbeat beneath his ear. But the secret he’d been carrying—the one he’d promised himself he would never mention—burned in his chest until he could no longer ignore it.
My last night here.
He had to say something while he still had time.
“Franco,” he murmured.
Franco’s hand drifted lazily down his back. “Mm?”
Ben swallowed. His throat was dry, the words too sharp to force out easily. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something Ishouldhave told you sooner.”
Franco shifted onto his side, his dark eyes catching the moonlight, suddenly more alert. “What is it?”
Ben hesitated for a second. “You’d been gone about three weeks. And one day I overheard Lexie and Willow talking. About… Operation Sunshine.” The name tasted bitter. “Or Distracto, whatever they called it at first.” He paused. “That’s how it started, wasn’t it? You were supposed to distract me. To… seduce me.”
Franco went very still. His mouth opened, then closed again.
“I didn’t want to bring it up,” Ben continued, his voice quiet but firm. “You’ve got so much on your plate here, and I didn’t want to… derail you. But I couldn’t keep it from you forever. Not now. Not when…” He drew a shaky breath. “Not when I know how I feel about you… how you feel about me.”
Franco sat up against the pillows, reached over to click on thebedside lamp, then scraped a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I should have told you myself. I thought—no, Ihoped—you’d never find out.” He buried his face in his hands for a moment, then raised his chin and looked at Ben, his face flushed. “It was a joke, okay? A stupid, thoughtless joke the staff cooked up. And yeah, I played along at first. But it wasn’t real.” He swallowed. “Not that part. Not with you.”
Ben’s chest tightened. “I know,” he said in a low voice. “I knew it the moment we… well, the moment we became real. But hearing them talk about it… I can’t deny it hurt. Not because of you, but because they treated me like a project. Like I was some pathetic man who needed saving from himself.”
“Ben…” Franco’s hands were on Ben’s shoulders. “I swear to you, however this started, it stopped the second I realised what was happening between us. When I realised you weren’t just some grumpy bastard I had to charm. You were… youarethe man I love.” His voice cracked. “I never used you, not for a second.”
Ben searched his face, seeing every line and flicker of emotion. Franco’s guilt was real, his anguish raw.
