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Forgotten paths wind
Down to a truncated beach,
Craving the ocean’s kiss
-#83, In Blue Solitudes, S. Wilson-Osaki
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The purr of the motorbike reverberated through Seb’s body from ten feet away, revving up all of his senses and... other urges. Andrea straddled the testy beast with the cool of a bull rider, the sparkle off the chrome detailing glinting in his mirror sunglasses. He petted the up-slope of leather seat behind him, and Seb’s cock gave a restless twitch. He took a mental pic of Andrea astride that all-day foreplay machine, then swung on behind him.
Andrea’s citrusy pomade elevated the ride down the lemon tree-lined hill to a scratch-and-sniff experience. Arms laced around Andrea’s middle and helmet free, Seb closed his eyes to better feel the rush of air flapping the sides of his baggy T-shirt. He quickly learned to lean into Andrea and the curve as they navigated the twisty, crowded side streets. The hum of the engine, a lulling constant that reminded Seb he hadn’t had enough sleep, distracted him from the view until they zipped out of Capri Town.
Nothing in the world could dim the magnificence of this jewel isle. Lush flora and shrubby trees sprouted from the mountainous landscape. Aquamarine waters tantalized from the base of every dead-drop cliff. Seb whooped and hollered as they climbed toward Anacapri, his fingers itching to scrawl his every thought, impression, idea about this rapturous place onto the pages of his journal. Instead he hugged tight to Andrea and focused on living it.
After a quick zip around the town, they parked by the chairlift to the summit of Mount Solaro, the highest point on Capri. Seb eyed the single-person chairlift skeptically, wondering how many people died each year by accidentally tipping out of the flimsy contraption. Two flirty Italian broncos helped people onto the chairs as quick and casual as short-order cooks flipping burgers, giving pert-bunned girls an extra pat or two. Seb had to remind himself three times to do what Henry would do before heeding Andrea’s whistle from the ticket booth.
“Single or return, Sebastiano?”
“Is there a way down?”
“Si, by foot.”
“Return.” He caught Andrea’s subtle shake of his head. “You know how I feel about stairs. Besides, I want to see as much of the island as I can.”
“We shouldn’t rush. You can come back another day to see the rest.”
“But I won’t be with you.” He brushed up against Andrea’s backside as he slunk off to get them granite al limone at a local café, glancing back in time to catch Andrea’s shocked but pleased expression.
Several slurps of tart, tingly goodness later, Seb felt better equipped to brave the chairlift. As they moved toward the front of the line and he noticed just how far above the adjacent valley the lift soared, he began to wish his granita were spiked. With a bucket of gin.
“Scared of heights?” Andrea queried with a slight frown. “We can do something else.”
“I’ll be fine once I get up there. I don’t mind the looking. It’s the hanging from a few bars of rusted steel and a barely there wicker seat that... well.” Gin and vodka and rum, for good measure.
Before Andrea could reply, the woman in front of them moved into position. Andrea stroked a calming touch down his back, nudged him forward. Seb stepped into the next chair’s path, squinting against the glare of the midday sun. His heart pounded in his ears. Time slowed with every twinge of trepidation. It felt like an eternity before two strong arms braced him for impact, guided him onto the seat, and pinched him on the ass before he flew into the ether.
Seb spun around to give one of the broncos the stink eye, met Andrea’s laughing face. Made a crude come-on gesture once they were in the air. Andrea grabbed his crotch as if to say, You want this? Seb smirked, winked.
Who was he kidding? He did.
Fifteen minutes later Seb peered over the edge of the rail at the sprinkling of white boats anchored in the azure waters of the Gulf of Naples. Bushels of buttercup-yellow flowers garlanded the observation area while a few threadbare, almost coniferous trees provided a little shade. A corroded statue of Emperor Augustus proudly waved them toward his dominion, specifically the Faraglioni at the far end of the island, three stacked rock formations that jutted out of the sea like crocodile’s teeth.
“I come all the way to Italy, only to be reminded of Quebec.” Seb laughed as he fiddled with his smartphone. He pulled up a photo of Percé Rock off the Gaspé Peninsula to show Andrea. “This is a big tourist attraction off our southeastern shore.”
Andrea compared the photo of a long slab of rock with an archway pierced into its right flank to the toothsome stacks in the distance.
“Perhaps the Faraglioni were cut out of Percé when the continents divided. Italy and Quebec are like... twins separated at birth.”
“That’s a romantic notion,” Seb teased.
Which earned him a shrug, this time a bit sheepish. “I have been accused of worse.”
Seb leaned over to swipe at his phone, bringing up a 1980s-era photo of his family posing in front of Percé Rock. Three-year-old him sported a bowl cut with matching sailor-style shirt and shorts. He always got a kick out of his mom’s big sunglasses, bigger hair, and enormous pregnant belly. His dad had actually cracked a smile, so it must have been a really good day.
“One of our first family trips.” He felt Andrea shudder against his side as he fought not to laugh. “My father was still pretty new to Canada, and poor, back then, so most holidays were spent showing him around the province and hitting the usual French-Canadian haunts, like Old Orchard and Fort Lauderdale.”
“Those are where?”
“Maine and Florida. Near Miami.”
“Ah, Miami! I’ve always wanted to go.”
Seb nodded. “It’s a fun place, but I prefer the Keys.”
Andrea indulged in a soft chuckle. “You look so...”
“Stereotypical?”
“Cute.”
“Very diplomatic.”
“They are a beautiful couple.” He handed the phone back but kept hold of Seb by hooking an arm around his waist. “Are you... close?”
“Their relationship didn’t last much longer than that picture.” Seb tucked his phone in his pocket, glanced around to see if anyone might take a snap of the two of them. This was the first memory in a long time he wanted to keep. “My dad isn’t the most... forthcoming person. His work involves a lot of secrecy, and that bleeds into his life. My mom says that in the beginning, when he first came to Canada as a student, he was excited for the opportunity and for the adventure. I don’t think he was expecting to settle down so quickly. But he met my mom, and, well... boom.”
Andrea grinned. “You mom is very boom.”
“Right? So he did the man thing where he thought with his dick for, I guess, seven years. Or he eventually lost his love goggles. I mean, it’s not like we’ve ever talked about it. But my dad’s always been about responsibility, and once he started working and they had a bit of money... My mom is more boho, classic French laissez-faire. I guess the excitement of being somewhere new and with someone so different just wore off. He took us back to Japan when I was five and, yeah... I don’t think he realized how homesick he was. I don’t know what went down, just that, after the month was up, we went home and he stayed.”
Andrea hissed in a breath. “Ohimè.”
“The official reason was work, but not even five-year-old me believed that. He continued to support us and stayed in contact, but he didn’t come back to Canada for a few years. And they divorced, obviously. He eventually moved out to Vancouver, as always for ‘work,’ with his new wife and my half-brother. I went through a rough patch with my mom at the end of high school, so I moved out there for university. Kind of wanted to reconnect with him. But he was so conservative. Any sense of adventure he had died that day we landed in Tokyo.”
“How does he feel about...” Andrea made a vague gesture at their twined forms.
Seb let out a bitter laugh. “Well, I met Henry while I was in Vancouver. Not that he was my first boyfriend... To be honest, my dad and I don’t speak much, but I feel like that has more to do with my job. Being an editor/translator isn’t an important enough career for his firstborn son. The irony being that I minored in Japanese to feel closer to him and that side of myself. He’s never said anything about my sexuality, but then we don’t exactly have heart-to-hearts. The last time I saw him smile was when I invited him to my wedding. Until he found out it was to a man. He didn’t come, but he did buy me a present: a single plane ticket to Japan.”
Andrea grunted. “He wanted you to go to Tokyo and what?”
“Find myself a wife. Probably still does. So here I am. In Amalfi.” They snickered. “Or, well, Capri. My mom and I are good. She lives near Quebec City with her boyfriend now, so I don’t see her much. Makes sense that she prefers to be close to her grandkids.”
That earlier solemnity seemed to infect Andrea anew.
“So when you go back, you’ll really be alone.”
Seb gave him a playful shove, hoping to knock the seriousness out.
“I have friends, you know. And...” He paused for dramatic effect, shifting around so he could see Andrea’s reaction. “... a cat.”
“You have a cat?! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I got the feeling you were more of a dog person, and I didn’t want to ruin your image of me.”
The return of Andrea’s smile relieved Seb.
“I am an animal person. Tell me about this fortunate creature.”
“Her name is Nagiko. She’s... Here.” He proffered a picture of his little feline snowball. Andrea’s resulting “Ay!” went straight to his heart. “She’s a little hunter. Loves to be outside, even in winter. Flipside of that is we don’t have any mice. She’s with the neighbor right now. Her kids love her so much I suspect I might not get her back. But we have adjoining properties, so she’s always over there, anyway.”
“Perfect for sharing custody.”
“Exactly.”
“She reminds me of you.”
“Probably why she always liked Henry best.” Seb frowned. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk about him so much.”
“I would be worried if you didn’t. He was your life.”
Seb steeled against the bite of those words, found the fangs of heartache didn’t cut as deep as they normally would. He still missed Henry, still wished he were there, but with the pair of them. Henry would have loved Andrea—had opened up to him once upon a time, steering him down a path that, unbeknownst to him, led straight to Seb. The symmetry took Seb’s breath away.
“He is. And will always be. But it’s time to make new memories.”
He snatched back his phone and flicked on the camera, tugging Andrea over to the rail so they could pose together, the ancient crags of the Faraglioni completing their postcard-ready pic.
They caught a very late-afternoon ferry by the skin of their teeth after hopping the line for the funicular just as the doors to the last car closed. The attendant, an old friend—and by his envious look, a former flame of Andrea’s—clicked his tongue but didn’t detain them. Seb outpaced Andrea as they raced down the docks. Stairs he struggled with, but he excelled at all-out sprints. They hit the upstairs bar seconds after the ship launched, downing two waters each before buying out their meager stock of gin and tonic. Never too early to start the party, as Seb had learned from the ladies, who were probably slurping down their predinner cocktails at that very moment.
Commandeering the last two seats by the port-side rail, Andrea propped up his feet as Seb played bartender. A day of fun and relaxation had smoothed the creases from Andrea’s brow. Though they had packed a lot into only a few hours, Seb never felt rushed. Whether strolling through the picturesque gardens of Villa San Michele, picnicking in the Giardini di Augusto, or touring the library and exhibitions at the Certosa di San Giacomo, showing off the island had helped to resurrect Andrea’s spirit.
This time together also transformed Seb’s holiday fling into a genuine friendship. From their banter and teasing to more heartfelt conversations, Seb went from seeing a detailed sketch of a man to a full, complex portrait—filled in with colors vibrant and somber. Seb admired them all. As he sipped his G&T and stretched out beside Andrea to watch the sun set, Seb realized this had been his first 100 percent happy day since a drunk driver ended his world three years ago. The first of many more, he promised himself.
Andrea’s phone buzzed, ruining the moment.
“Don’t answer that.”
Andrea glanced at the screen, tensed. “It’s Renia.”
Seb tried to pick out as many French-similar words in the ensuing conversation as he could, worried about the health of Federica’s twins slightly more than their plans for the evening. He doubted a truckload of pigeons hitchhiked to the symphony, so he shifted his concentration to reading Andrea’s expression. The results were... odd. Not yet an expert in the nuances of even that handsome face, Seb thought he saw bewilderment with a side order of shock. By the time Andrea slid his phone in his back pocket, the suspense was killing him.
And continued to torment him. Andrea tucked in beside him, poured another G&T, and stared out at the coastline with an air of befuddlement.
“So? Are the foals okay? Is something wrong with Federica?” Seb waited exactly thirty seconds before making his demands.
“What? Oh, yes, everyone is fine.”
“Then what’s that look on your face?”
“My...” Andrea blinked rapidly, self-conscious. “It seems that word of the twins has spread to the neighbors.”
“No surprise there.”
“True.” Andrea seemed to be playing the conversation back in his mind. “Someone close by has a sister who is a journalist, and she wants to interview me tomorrow.”
“About the twins?”
“Si.”
“That’s amazing!”
“Well, it’s... something.”
His muted response baffled Seb. “Are you camera shy? You look more spooked than a horse.”
“No, no. I’ve been interviewed for the news before. When my father died.” Andrea appeared to search the sunset sky for answers. “But this will draw attention.”
“To the fact that you don’t have a practice? Is what you did illegal?”
Andrea shook his head. “I have a license. I mean, the local guys won’t be happy about it, but if their paycheck means more than the animals they care for, well...”
“You reap what you sow.” Seb considered the broader implications. “But this could be good for business. What better advertisement for your services than to have accomplished something only a handful of vets in the world have done.”
He laughed, which Seb took as a good sign. “I think Federica might object to that. She did almost all of the work.”
“You should say that tomorrow. Humility is a good look.”
Andrea sank further into himself.
“Come on,” Seb rallied. “This is a good thing. You need to take advantage and ride this publicity wave. Maybe into a part-time position at one of the local clinics. They might change their tune about hiring an extra hand when there’s a minor celebrity in town.”
It took Andrea a long time to reply. “That is what I...” He let out a long, tortured breath. “What Vina and I were fighting about. She wants me to sell the business to Bruno.”
“Wait. Whoa. What? To Mr. Punch First, Wallow Drunkenly in the Supply Closet Second?”
“That’s what I said!” Andrea finally came to life. “Si, he’s our cousin. He’s family, he needs our help. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sell him our father’s legacy! When he has shown no respect, no discipline, no ambition... He pisses on every chance I give him.”
“The gay bashing, also not a good look.” Seb suddenly wanted to punch something. Or, rather, someone. “You’ve told her about that, right?”
Andrea vigorously rubbed the back of his neck, which only seemed to further stoke his tension. “It’s happened before. He doesn’t exactly keep his feelings a secret. From anyone.”
“I don’t understand. Bruno insults you to the family, loses you clients, hazes you in public, and she thinks you should just surrender your business to that...” Seb held back the word he really wanted to use.
Andrea sighed. “Vina has always felt sorry for him. I mean... I know what he’s been through. Fabiana wasn’t always the most attentive mother. You saw last night.” Seb nodded. “That’s why I keep taking him back. He has no one else. But sell him the whole company? Manco muorto!”
“Does she think if he has something of his own to take care of, it will make him clean up his act?”
“Precisamente.”
“She knows that never works, right?”
Andrea shrugged. “Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. I just don’t understand why it has to be the thing our father worked for his whole life. The thing I’ve been killing myself over for the past five years. I know they would rather I be a veterinarian. I would rather be one too. But I don’t have the money for a clinic, and I would rather do the airport run for the next thirty years than see that testa di cazzo run my business into the ground.”
Seb caught his hand. Andrea exhaled slowly, trying and failing to vent the buildup of frustration within him.
“Is there a way that you could, I don’t know, cut it in half?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s something Henry taught me. Believe it or not, I used to be even more uptight about... well, everything. I’m not really the type of personality that should run their own business, and when I first started bidding for clients and making a name for myself, I had a tendency to overreact. I was miserable at negotiating contract terms. He would always say, ‘See if you can cut your demands in half.’ Or into thirds, if that doesn’t work. Or quarters. Or tenths. Give a little and see what you get back.
“So let’s think about Bruno, aka the worst investment imaginable. What does he have that you want? The obvious answer is ‘Nothing.’ But the real answer is ‘Peace.’ Or at least peace of mind. That’s something you’d be willing to invest in. Minimally. So how do we get you what you want with minimal cost to you? What’s his situation? Could he even buy you out, if he wanted to?”
“Not unless he’s fucked his way into a bank loan.”
“Thanks for that mental image.” Seb’s full-body shudder earned him a smile. “Vina, kindhearted though she is, hasn’t thought her plan through. After all the work you’ve done, you don’t deserve to play debt collector to someone who’s already mad at you, with no guarantee that you’ll see your investment repaid. But you also need Bruno out of your hair and to keep the women in your family happy. They want to give him a chance to succeed or fail on his terms? Fine. You’ll do your part. So the question is, what’s the smallest thing you could stand to lose to make them happy and be rid of Bruno for good?”
Andrea had turned his entire body toward him, eyes warm. “You’re a prince, you know that?”
“Incorrect. I’m an—”
“Don’t say it.” He held up a hand, buying some time to think. “If I sold one of my cars at a family discount to Fabiana...”
“That’s good. And she owes you.”
“But Bruno finds his own clients. No association with me.”
“Exactly. Give him just enough rope to hang himself.”
But Andrea didn’t even crack a smile. “No. Even after everything, I would be happy for his success. For him to finally do some work and stop annoying everyone. Dio mio, it would be a blessing. But he doesn’t get my father’s company. When I sell, if I sell, I sell to someone I know will respect everything my father has done.”
Seb squeezed his hand. “See? You cut it in half and found a solution.”
“Into fifths, actually. And I’ll use the money to buy another car. Or—” A lightning-strike idea suddenly illuminated Andrea’s face. “—a van.”
“For house-calls? Like a mobile clinic?”
“Si, si! If Zia Fabi can help Bruno...”
“... she can invest in someone worthwhile for a change. Now you’re thinking smart.” Seb beamed in approval. “And get a deal on that van, while you’re at it, since you’re a minor celebrity now.”
Andrea smacked him lightly on the cheek, then leaned in to thank him with a kiss.
An odd sense of homecoming overwhelmed Seb as they disembarked, hand in hand. He paused a moment to take in the electric beauty of Amalfi at twilight. The dark surrounding peaks little intimidated the still cobalt-blue sky beyond. Lit archways and porticoes imbued the city’s every tier with a lantern glow, from the entrance to the Via Lorenzo d’Amalfi to the converted fort at the far edge of the winding coastal road. Strings of fairy lights decorated the roofs and terraces of most seaside restaurants.
And everywhere, everywhere, the buzz of conversation. People lounged at cafés and strolled along the boardwalk. Jaywalked between the never-ending stream of cars in the Piazza Flavio Gioia. Poured off boats and into tourist buses. Amalfi, the hub of transportation, the most humble of all the coastal towns, the beating heart of the region.
As they meandered off the docks, a chorus of wolf whistles led them to the ladies, perched on the hood of Andrea’s SUV while Enzo hid behind the wheel.
“Now don’t you two look cozy,” Kath coyly remarked before launching herself at them. Seb hadn’t been crushed against so many bosoms since his nursing days, but he relished the welcome-home hugs all the same. “How was Capri?”
“Pretty magical.” He caught Andrea’s eye over the hedge of hair, seeking his confirmation. The smile he received made Seb wish they were alone. But he couldn’t resist adding, “Especially the part where I got punched in the stomach.”
The cacophony of concern that followed lost him any goodwill with Andrea, who rolled his eyes so far back in their sockets they went zombie white. Seb displayed his bruises with the pride of a war hero; the ladies cooed and hissed on his behalf.
“Don’t worry. I kissed it all better,” Andrea reassured them as he herded them into the SUV.
“Played doctor, did you?” Maya asked with a pointed wink in Seb’s direction.
“Mmm-hmm,” Seb confirmed. “You should see his bedside manner.”
That earned him a few well-deserved groans. Enzo handed over the keys to Andrea until they discovered there weren’t enough seats for everyone. Seb patted his leg suggestively. To his surprise, Andrea gave his brother-in-law the wheel and hopped onto Seb’s lap, giving his hips a few extra wriggles to get back at Seb for his double entendres. He shifted to recline against the inner side door so he could hook an arm around Seb’s shoulders and face the ladies. Everyone spent most of the short ride giggling about something. Even Enzo cracked a smile at one of Ceri’s deadpan pronouncements.
They invaded Marilena’s house in high spirits, calling and cooing to their ebullient hostess. As soon as she spotted Seb, she opened her arms to him and crushed him to her chest, whispering another of her Italian enchantments in his ear. Andrea’s mother loved to entertain, and she found three enthusiastic guests in the ladies. Once they finished with the introductions, the party spilled onto a small but well-located terrace, the whole of Amalfi spread out beneath. Blue-and-white mosaic tiles dotted with orange flowers mirrored the ceramic plates and bowls on the long wooden table. A curtain of peachy bougainvillea cascaded down from the roof and around the two French doors. A few whimsical statues and overgrown plants added to the homey style. The small apartment revolved around an earth-toned kitchen, where everyone gathered as Enzo played bartender and Marilena put the finishing touches on their feast.
One by one Marilena launched each person off to the table, armed with more booty than a Spanish galleon. Heirloom tomatoes with homemade burrata and basil oil. Smoked mozzarella with lemon leaves and grilled vegetables. Focaccia with caramelized onions and prosciutto. Seafood salad with fat calamari, meaty mussels, and briny clams. A steaming bowl of pasta with zucchini, red peppers, and cream sauce. And for the coup de grace, Enzo and Andrea carried out a gigantic salt-roasted sea bass decorated with slices of lemon the size of Seb’s fist.
Marilena waved him over to the place of honor beside her, with Andrea beside him and Vina and Enzo opposite. Chatter reigned over the table as they shared plates and distributed portions. As soon as everyone had what they needed, a hush fell as they gave the incredible meal their due attention. Three resounding “Mmms” from the ladies hit like a conductor’s opening taps, and conversation resumed.
Seb learned more about the ladies from Marilena’s warm inquiries than he had over multiple nights playing poker with them. Kath and Maya were university roommates who’d lost touch over the years until they ended up working at the same library. Kath’s eldest son married one of Maya’s foster daughters, so they were both waiting on their first grandchild. Ceri was a marine engineer who’d worked for an oil company optimizing offshore rigs until Hurricane Katrina hit. Now she consulted with the city on levee maintenance and post-BP spill environmental planning. Marilena’s voracious curiosity didn’t spare Seb, who explained a little bit about his translation work and confirmed that, no, it did not snow year-round in Canada.
When talk turned to sports, specifically Andrea and Enzo’s fascination with American football, Seb refocused on his luscious fish. He glanced up to find Marilena’s black eyes shining at him. Seb couldn’t help but smile back. She squeezed the arm he rested on the table, nudged the white band of skin on his ring finger. Seb hastened to explain, to reassure her he wasn’t taken, but Vina cut him off—in perfectly accented French, no less.
“My mother wants to give you her condolences. She heard about your husband.”
“Oh!” Seb didn’t quite manage to stifle his sigh of relief. “Please give her mine. Andrea told me about your dad.”
As Vina translated, Seb glanced over at Andrea, so engrossed by the football talk that he wouldn’t have noticed if a bush fire broke out in the bougainvillea.
“She says she is glad to see you going out and enjoying life,” Vina continued. “That is the hardest part for her. But of course she is older.”
“Doesn’t matter how old you are.” Seb put a hand over Marilena’s. “But she’s right. This vacation has helped me more than anything in the past three years.”
“She hopes we will see more of you in Amalfi.” Vina flickered her gaze to her brother. “I hope so too.”
“Well, I’m hoping you guys will let me return some of this amazing hospitality. Have you ever been to Canada?”
Vina’s round face blossomed as if she’d turned toward the sun. She hastily related what he’d said to her mother, who crowed with approval.
Laughing, Vina explained, “She would love that.”
“Well, I would love to have you.” Seb gestured at her pregnant belly. “All of you, when you’re ready to travel.” He bit the edge of his tongue as he considered whether to make the subtext obvious. “So don’t worry about your brother. I’m going to keep in touch.”
As soon as he said it, Seb knew it was true. He couldn’t make Andrea any promises beyond friendship, but his life would definitely be poorer without him.
Vina scoffed. “If only it were that simple with him.”
“He’s lucky to have you both to worry so much.”
“Ha! He is.”
Seb noticed she didn’t translate that last bit for her mother. Appeased, Marilena gave his arm a satisfied squeeze. Seb took that as his cue to help with the dishes since his mother raised him right.
Despite their lively hostess’ protests, the men cleared the table. Vina, who Seb discovered was a pastry chef who’d studied with French and Belgian masters, snuck in to prepare a sumptuous chocolate almond cake. Enzo quickly shooed her back to the table, reminding her he could slice as well as anyone. Instead she cued up the stereo with some Sinatra-era classics, which raised a cheer from the balcony. By the time Seb brought out the dessert plates, Marilena had broken out the limoncello, and the ladies dragged her onto the impromptu dance floor.
Seb tried to hide, crouching in the far corner behind Enzo as he scarfed down his cake. But when Kath did her best Patrick Swayze in his direction, he downed a shot of limoncello and gave over to the music. Fortunately the ladies only needed a sturdy body to swing them around—and swing from him they did, passing him back and forth like a bottle of cheap wine. He barely had time to simper over Andrea dancing with his mom before Ceri swooped away, and Maya and Kath took her place.
“Ooh, a threesome.” Seb tucked each lady under an arm for a weird bit of halfhearted Greek dancing. “Insert obvious kink joke here.”
“Counters with crack about impressing your future in-laws.” Maya cackled, pleased with herself. Seb gave her the stink-eye. “Too soon?”
“No comment.”
The ladies shared a look.
“Gossip update.” Kath tried to play it cool but looked fit to burst with it. “Ceri is ditching us and extending her stay.”
“What?! For Lucia?”
“She wants to see where it goes,” Maya said, skeptical. “And there’s only one way to do that.”
“After two days? That’s...”
“Do I need to say it?”
Seb snorted. “No.”
“I will.” Kath sighed. “Lesbians. I swear, it’s been this way her whole life. She once parlayed flirting at a truck stop into a five-year relationship.”
“When you know, you know,” Seb quipped, mostly to deflect the heat off of him. He hadn’t been feeling any pressure until that very moment, even with all the ‘meet the family’ chaos. But hearing everyone else’s expectations for him and Andrea got him twitching.
Because he wasn’t ready for anything serious. Or any long-distance relationships, for that matter. Henry may have been dead three years, but Seb had only taken his first real breath since losing him in the past week. He was getting his groove back, not plunging into another decade or more of commitment.
“So this one.” Kath interrupted his thoughts.
“Oh, you just have to go there,” Maya grumbled.
“Are you ashamed?”
“Not for a second. But don’t act out because you’re jealous.”
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Seb begged.
“Gerardo and Maya, sitting in a—Well, more like knocking boots till dawn.” Kath giggled. “I was next door. Didn’t get a lick of sleep.”
“You had your chance when he said he loved strawberries.”
“Uh, I think she’s saving her freebie five for someone way better than him,” Seb remarked.
“Boom!” Kath gave him a high-five.
“So,” he turned to Maya, “what position does swarthy Gerardo play?”
She put her hand over her mouth to contain her laugher. “Striker. But he misses the goal at least half the time.”
“Ugh.” Seb shook his head so that mental image didn’t get stuck. “Dodged a bullet there, Kathy.”
“Wish I’d been quick enough to avoid it,” Maya concluded. “Damn limoncello.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Seb watched as Andrea passed his mom over to Enzo, then sauntered over to the stereo. After a quick search of her playlists, the music switched from up-tempo big band to the sultry slink of Nina Simone. “Wild is the Wind,” one of Seb’s all-time favorites. His heartbeat sped up as Andrea moved toward him. “It’s worked out pretty well for me thus far.”
Later he wouldn’t remember how the ladies disappeared, how everyone and everything around them misted into an impressionistic blur, how they came together. They started in the standard dance position as the last shimmers of sunlight hazed the edges of the horizon. A dark velvet blue cloaked the city, pinprick stars and fulsome flames their only illumination. Burnished as a bronze statue in the candlelight, Andrea’s hard-cut features echoed the faces of ancient statesmen—patrician, with a few florid accents. Such as his lips, which he brushed teasingly over Seb’s before he rested his head in the crook of his neck. Seb hugged him in so they swayed more than danced, giving over to the moment, to the moonlight, to the man who summoned him back from the underworld with the warmth and sweetness of Ceres.
When his conscious mind woke a couple of hours later, Seb reclined against a mossy stone wall in a shadowy garden. The lights of Amalfi peeked through the slits in the cliffside gate. Andrea lay spread out beside him, Seb’s thigh pillowing his head and his fingers tangled in the black waves of his hair. They had slipped out of the party sometime earlier, ostensibly so Andrea could show Seb the lemon grove. He doubted that excuse fooled anyone but the willfully ignorant, especially given how they couldn’t seem to peel away from each other after their dance, errant limbs drawn back as if by magnetic force. Seb had pretended to be enchanted by the garden until they passed beyond shouting distance. Then Andrea started sucking on his neck, and Seb curved his hands around his taut ass, and they let themselves be engulfed by the fire that ever simmered between them.
Seb petted Andrea’s heavy head, wondering if the past two days of no sleep had finally caught up with him. He should have known better.
“So my mother tells me we are planning a trip to Canada?”
Seb let out a rueful groan. “Sorry. I didn’t know what to say. She wants so much for you. For us.”
“No, I think you were right the first time.” He shifted onto his back, stared up into the ceiling of interwoven branches. “I’m not sure my mamma and me have the same picture of my future in mind.”
“I don’t think any parent really understands what their adult child wants. They cling to things that symbolize stability, security, but... life isn’t always like that.”
Andrea grinned up at him. “More Henry wisdom?”
“I did teach him a few things, you know.” Seb bristled.
“I am certain you did.” Andrea ran a finger along the soft skin behind Seb’s knee, making him shiver.
“And you are welcome. I mean... I hope it’s not overstepping to invite you to come visit me. If you want to.”
“Overstepping?”
“This little arrangement of ours.”
“Ah.” Andrea took some time digesting this, his expressive eyes reflecting only the shade of the leaf cover.
More time than Seb would have liked. He sat there, pleading into the night, that nothing would change. That they would continue as they were till next Sunday, till Seb went home and got some perspective on his whirlwind holiday. Because he knew he was swept up in the sea and the sky, in the spell of Amalfi and Andrea, and this was all a temporary reality. A fever dream of a life that would eventually burn out, or burn him. And he had suffered enough.
“And it doesn’t have to be...” Seb couldn’t suppress the sudden urge to fill the air with words. All the words. A suit of armor’s worth of words. “We don’t have to be like we are now. I mean, if we’re there, and single, and we want to... Then that would be fun too. But I meant it when I said your family’s invited. I just don’t want to lose touch with you after this. Everything has been amazing—beyond amazing—the past week, and I’m really looking forward to the next few days. But if, when you come to Canada, you’re in a different place, then... I still want to see you. I would like it if we could be friends. I mean, we are friends. I feel like you’re a friend. You’ve helped me so much, and I—”
Andrea, now crouched in front of him, pressed a finger to his lips.
“Piano, piano, Sebastiano.” Andrea kissed him on the forehead, stroked through his long, loose hair. “Let us not make promises we might not be able to keep.”
He rose, straightened his rumpled clothes. Seb took a moment to yank back the reins on his racing emotions. Just what had he been about to say? With a shaking hand, he gripped Andrea’s offered arm and staggered to his feet.
“We should get back,” he suggested with a lightness he didn’t feel. “God knows what they’ve gotten up to.”
To no one’s surprise, as soon as the boys had disappeared, the cards came out. Marilena and her widows’ circle met for poker and gossip every Friday night, and she had the bags of seashells to prove it. By the time he and Andrea returned, they were thick as thieves, sipping limoncello and critiquing each other’s stakes in two languages. Vina and Enzo had texted their goodbyes to Andrea before rushing off to catch their friend’s boat back to Capri. Not wanting to interrupt his mother’s fun, Seb and Andrea instead cleared the last of the plates, grabbed themselves a pair of frilly aprons, and stuck into dish duty.