Page 104 of Operation Sunshine
Franco’s gaze swept over him, down to the suitcase gripped in his hand, then back up. His expression shifted from shock to something softer, rawer. His lips parted as though he might speak, but no sound came.
“I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away,” Ben blurted. The words tumbled out, shaky and unpolished. “I tried. God knows I tried. But everything felt wrong without you. The restaurant, Adelaide… me. It was all wrong.” He shook his head, blinking hard against the burn in his eyes. “So I came. I had to. Even if it’s too late. Even if you don’t—”
Franco moved so quickly it robbed Ben of his breath. One moment he was standing there in the doorway, and the next he was pulling Ben inside, the door slamming shut behind them.
The words tumbled from Ben’s lips before he could stop them, spilling out ragged and raw.
“Why did you write to me like that?”
Franco blinked and froze. “Like what?”
“Like I was… anyone. Just another name in your inbox.” Ben’s throat worked, his voice tightening. “Updates about Florence, the food, your bloody apartment. All neat little reports, but nothing that wasyou. No jokes. No late-night confessions. No…” He broke off, his chest in a vice. “No sign you missed me at all.”
For a moment Franco stared at him, stricken. Then he dragged a hand through his hair and swore softly in Italian.
“I was scared,” he admitted, swallowing. “Ben, I didn’t know how much to say. I thought if I told you everything: how much I missed you, how it feels going to bed without you, how seeing couples holding hands on the Ponte Vecchio makes me want to scream because I want it to be us… I was scared I’d fall apart. And I couldn’t afford to do that, not here, not when I’m supposed to be proving myself.”
He looked away, his face and chest tingling, and stared at the tiled floor. “So I kept it safe. Polite. Impersonal. Because if I let myself say what Ireallywanted to—if I let myself writeI miss you every single night, orI love you and I’m terrified you’ll forget me—I thought you’d see me for what I am. Weak. Needy. And then you’d change your mind about me.”
The admission left his throat raw. “So I tried to pretend I was fine. That I was strong enough to handle the distance.” Franco gulped. “But I wasn’t. Every time I hit send, I felt as though I was cutting out the part of the email that mattered.” Finally, he met Ben’s gaze. “The part that was for you.”
Ben’s chest ached, sharp and unrelenting, as he watched Franco fumble for words. For weeks he’d carried the silence like a wound, those too-bright, too-tidy emails that had felt like a wall between them. And now he saw what they really were: armour, Franco’s clumsy, desperate attempt to hold himself together.
Ben stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “You think writing to me as if I mattered less would make me change my mind? Franco, it was theopposite. Every line I read that sounded as though you were keeping me at arm’s length? Thathurt. Because I wantedyou, not the postcard version. The messy, unfiltered, sarcastic, infuriating, brilliant you.”
Franco’s eyes widened, glistening.
Ben lifted his hand but let it hover, waiting for Franco to lean into it. “You don’t have to protect me from how much you care. You don’t have to protect yourself either. Like I said to you once before… I’m not going anywhere.”
Something in his chest cracked open at Ben’s words, like a dam about to give way. He’d braced himself for anger, for cool dismissal, for Ben confirming all the fears he’d clutched like talismans.
Instead, there was this impossible, unbearable tenderness.
His throat worked. All he could do was whisper, hoarse and shaking, “I missed you. So much it hurt. Every night, every morning, every minute in between… I missed you.”
Ben’s hand finally closed the distance, cupping his jaw, his touch warm, steady, grounding. Franco’s breath stuttered, his eyes fluttering shut against the connection.
Ben felt the confession like a punch, but it wasn’t pain—it was relief, jagged and overwhelming. For weeks he’d imagined Franco slipping away, Florence taking him piece by piece until nothing remained for Ben to hold onto. But here he was, trembling and raw, offering the truth like a gift he didn’t think he deserved.
“I missed you too,” Ben said simply. His voice broke on the words, but he didn’t care. “Not the idea of you, not the dream of you, butyou. The man who drives me mad and makes me laugh and somehow makes me want to stay.”
Franco’s eyes flew open, wide and bright with something fierce.
Hope.
And then, without thinking, not even remotely the way he’d planned to say it, Ben laid his heart bare.
“I love you.”
It came out rough, cracked, as though the words had been dragged straight from his chest. For a heartbeat they hung there, terrifying in their nakedness.
Ben braced for impact.
Franco’s hands tightened on him, his nails digging into Ben’s shoulders. His breath caught, then spilled out in a shuddering laugh that was halfway to a sob. “Fuck… Ben. I love you too.”
The dam burst.
Ben lifted his head, searching Franco’s face. He didn’t see doubt or hesitation, only fire, only truth. Franco pulled him into a tear-streaked kiss that tasted of salt and relief. Ben clung to him as though those words might dissolve if he let go.
