Page 90 of Operation Sunshine
They were his family.
But when the noise swelled, his gaze found Ben’s across the room. Ben raised his glass, his smile warm and true. That was when Franco knew that whatever Florence brought, wherever this path led, he’d come back.
As long as Ben was here, he’d always come back.
The party had dwindled to its last embers, until all that remained were half-empty glasses, crumbs of boxed cake, and the quiet shuffle of chairs being pushed under the table. Franco helped Mina gather confetti into a dustpan, although most of it clung stubbornly to the floor. Willow pressed a box of leftover cake into his hands, insisting he’d want it at midnight.
Lexie hugged him quickly, muttering “Don’t make me cry” into his shoulder before retreating downstairs in a hurry.
Franco’s heart ached. They believed in him.
What struck him hardest, however, wasn’t the cheers or the champagne or the smiles. It was the way Ben had stood, a glass in hishand, his gaze never straying too far from Franco, as though taking his eyes off him would somehow make him vanish.
Franco went downstairs, carrying the cake box. The kitchen was already empty.
It was just him and Ben.
Franco deposited the box on the prep table. “We can eat this tomorrow.”
“You want to walk back with me?” Ben asked.
Franco froze for a second, his breath catching. Then he managed to stammer out “Of course.”
He wanted nothing more than to end this night—this day, this bittersweet countdown—with Ben, in Ben’s space, in Ben’s arms.
The night air was cold, sharp with the faint tang of salt carried up from the coast. Ben kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets as they walked side by side. Franco’s shoulder brushed his now and then, a casual connection, but every time it did, Ben’s chest tightened.
He knew what he wanted to say.
Don’t go.
I’m in love with you, and I don’t know what I’ll do without you here.
The words lodged in his throat. Saying them now, on the eve of Franco’s departure, felt cruel.
Instead, he went with practicalities. “This apartment they’ve provided. Where did you say it is? Close to the restaurant?”
Franco shoved his hands into his coat. “It’s in Santa Croce, a couple of blocks from Gallo’s restaurant. It’s on the second floor. I’ve seen pictures. It looks amazing: high ceilings, a balcony, a view of the church…” He grinned. “The one from that movie,A Room With A View.” He fanned himself. “Julian Sands wassohot.”
Ben laughed. “I see.” He fought to keep his tone level. “That sounds perfect. You’ll love being able to walk everywhere.”
“Yeah.” Franco’s smile faltered. “It all feels a bit unreal.”
Ben hummed in quiet agreement, his throat too tight. He kept going, because silence meant danger. Words might escape. “What do you want to see, while you’ve got the chance? Besides kitchens, I mean.”
Franco chuckled, the sound warm enough to chase some of the chill from the air. “The Uffizi. The Duomo. Maybe take a train to Bologna, so I can eat my body weight in ragù.” His eyes glinted sideways at Ben. “You’d like it there, I think.”
Ben’s lips curved into the smallest smile.
If I went, it’d be to see you, not the ragù.
“Take it all in. Enjoy every minute.”
They fell into silence after that, their footsteps echoing against the pavement. Ben knew he was memorising every word, every glance, every sound of Franco walking beside him, because soon it would be gone. He couldn’t bring himself to ask the only question that mattered.
Will you promise you’ll come back to me?
His flat came into view, and he forced a lighter tone. “You’ll dazzle them, Franco.”
