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“Were you mad as well?”
“Sure, yeah.” I let my mind wander back to those days when I was a gangly teen caught in the world’s expectations of me. “To be fair, I was younger when I came out. I knew I was gay forever, it felt like. I’m not like you all buff and macho.”
“You are a bright bird,” he supplied with so much admiration in his gaze I nearly melted into a puddle and slipped through the dock boards into the Arno. “I feel like a dull, frightened tit.”
“I’m a bird all right. My father and aunt would say that I’m a shit bird.” That made him snicker. “Others would say a finely plumed rainbow dreamer.”
“A dreamer is not such a bad thing to be. I dream of making the Olympic team, you dream of steamer trunks. Not so bad dreams.”
“No, not so bad at all.” I inhaled softly, then let it out through my nose. “Still, back when I was younger, I was always mad, for a hundred thousand things, but being forced into a certain box by society, my family, and the church always angered me. I rebelled big time, splashing my queerness all over everything like a modern artist tossing paint at a canvas. Oh, what’s that, Father Stickler, you think gays are deviants? Well, let me show you just how gay this boy can be!”
“So brave. You were just a young boy taking on the world. I’m a man grown and still hiding.”
I patted his bicep. It was so large and firm. “Do not play that comparison game. Whenever you come out—or if you never do—it’s done on your timeframe. I’d assume that my being a rainbow dreamer flitting about California was less difficult than being a buff, beautiful tit in rural Italy. And hey, no, do not shake your head, you are gorgeous. I do not kiss men who are not alluring.”
“You’re being gracious,” he replied dully, his eyes locked on the other side of the river where tall purple, white, and yellow irises had blossomed.
“No, I’m being honest. You are a lovely man, inside and out, and when the time is right, you’ll tell your family your truth. I am so touched that you confided in me. Please know that I will keep your secret.” I pretended to lock my lips and toss the key into the slow-moving waterway.
“I’m happy for that, thank you. It’s nice to have you know. Bianca said I should tell you that I think you are cute. She said that you look at me as if I am cookie.”
I played up the coy, batting my lashes and tittering like a teen girl. That made him smile widely. I couldn’t resist. I skittered over him like a chipmunk, sitting on his thighs and draping my arms over his burly shoulders. All that rowing did wonders for a man’s body.
“I love that you think I’m cute.” I rubbed his nose with mine, then kissed him softly on the mouth. He deepened the kiss as his hands ran up and down my sides. We made out languidly for a moment or two, then, sadly, reality reared its ugly head in the form of a pair of joggers with a dog appearing on the other side of the river. The dog barked at us. Donvino removed me from his lap as the joggers looked our way. I waved. Donvino lowered his sight. The duo of runners waved back and continued their run. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have sat on your lap. You’re just so damn irresistible I can’t seem to control myself.”
“Ah flatter.” He lifted his face to the sky. “I like you’re not controlling yourself quite much.”
My heart did this funny little flutter as if it had skipped a beat. “Let’s go eat. Kissing makes me hungry,” I said, rising to my feet and offering him a hand. He slapped his massive paw into mine and I tugged. We got nowhere fast. Then he pushed up and hugged me to him. He was sweaty, yes, and kind of fragrant, but I cuddled in close just the same.
Nothing was said. I wasn’t sure there was anything we could add to the morning, so we stepped apart, grinned goofily at each other, and made our way to the villa. My aunt was seated outside under the pergola, her sight darting to me from the folded newspaper she had been reading. Donvino nodded at her, then moved inside. I stalled on the stone pathway.
“Arlo, come sit, please. We have much to discuss this morning,” Ginerva called, watching me closely over the top of her glasses. She was dressed and coiffed. The morning meal spread out on the table around a fat vase of yellow and pink blooms.
“I’m going to eat with Donvino this morning,” I announced before strolling into the villa. The sound of my aunt’s gasp followed me into the shady interior of her home. Smiling to myself, I made my way to the kitchen, stepping in unannounced to find Donvino seated at a small table with a massive bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Giada was at the stove frying eggs, and Alessio sat beside his grandson with a cup of hot tea. Everyone looked up when I cleared my throat.
“Signor Arlo, did I forget something for your breakfast?” Giada asked as she spun from the frying pan on the bright silver stove.
“No, I thought I’d eat in here this morning. Donvino and I were having a nice talk before we had to separate in the back garden.” I pulled out a chair and sat down, smiling widely at Donvino as he gaped at me. Alessio looked at his wife. His wife looked at him.
“But signora is outside,” Alessio reminded me. I nodded, folded my hands in front of me on the table, and eyeballed the oatmeal Donvino had been scarfing down.
“She is yes, I just passed her. That oatmeal looks marvelous. Is there any left?” I asked. Donvino stared at me as if I had sprouted a second head. Giada rushed to spoon me some oatmeal from a pot on a back burner. “Grazie,” I said when the bowl was placed before me. “So, Donvino, I need to find a bus. Did you say you knew of a place?”
His jaw worked for a moment. He swallowed the oatmeal in his mouth and nodded, finally catching on to the ruse. My aunt was going to be so mad. Which kind of made me giddy inside. It was bullshit relegating some people to sit in a warm kitchen to dine while others were fed in a lush garden.
“Oh, a bus,” he said, then dove into the platter of eggs Giada laid on the table. She rushed to make me some coffee and brought me some honey and yogurt. I thanked her profusely. Alessio sat in his seat, eyes wide, clearly unsure of what to do or say. “I think maybe Uncle Dario might have one or know of one.”
“Brilliant. I have two thousand euros to spend.”
Donvino grimaced. “That is not much. I’m not sure what kind of bus we get, but we will go and talk to him, yes?”
“Yes. We’ll find something,” I stated with all kinds of enthusiasm. Today was shaping up to be a great day! I’d been kissed by this gorgeous man and been able to stick it to my aunt all in the same morning. Would I get an earful later? For sure. Did I care? Nope. “Can you pass the honey, please? Oh, it’s peach again. Yay!”
And I chattered on gaily as the morning sun shone through a window with pure white lace toppers on it. A slim vase with a single small sunflower soaking up the warm rays sat on the sill.
All was wonderful in the world.
Until I was summoned to the back garden by my aunt forty minutes later. Ginerva Dominica Bonetti was not impressed with her great-nephew in the least. I got thoroughly dressed down and dismissed in both English and Italian.
