“Your information section said you liked watching TV. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it,” Michelle says. “On the most recent episode, Juliette—the one in the middle with the big hoop earrings—was filmed outside my new apartment! I nearly dropped dead when I watched the episode. When had they filmed it? Had I been home and missed it? I rushed outside and took this.” She shoves a side-by-side comparison photo in his face. On the left is Juliette taking a phone call, looking stern yet glamorous. On the right is Michelle in a similar yet less expensive version of Juliette’s outfit, holding the same pose. “Myfriend took it. Do we not look alike?”
Dario doesn’t see the resemblance. “Of course. Uncanny!”
Michelle beams. “You must watch at least one season while I’m here. You’ll be hooked. It’ll be our thing!”
He is confused why someone would want to travel all this way just to stay inside and watch a TV show, but she’s beautiful and he’ll need to be amenable if he plans to find a spouse among these strangers.
“Your wish is my command. I look forward to it. It is a pleasure to have you with us,” he says as she accepts a champagne flute and flits into the yard.
A lumbering, square-faced, white man emerges next. He dons a blue polo shirt and slacks. On his wrist is the largest, gaudiest watch Dario has ever seen, and he is very rich, so that’s saying something. The man’s golden hair is parted to the left and shellacked into place with a ton of product.
“Guten tag!” he greets.
His handshake is firm and a tad abrasive. Dario’s fingers cramp. “Ansel Voight, thank you for making thetimeto be here with me.”
The cheesy joke sails right over the head of the German watch salesman.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Ansel says. “What is that you’ve got on there? Is that a Panerai?” He points his nose down at the watch Dario wears.
“Good eye,” Dario says, twisting his wrist in the light. Every day, he straps on one of his late father’s watches. He possessed an impressive collection of Florentine watches with Italian leather bands and titanium bezels with vintage-inspired dials. The brand has ties to the Italian Navy, and as an avid sailor, Cosimo Cotogna Jr. loved the waterproofing and practical design as a status symbol without all the flash. It keeps Dario connected to him in the same way the hankie keeps himconnected to his nonno, and it serves as a reminder that time is never guaranteed, so he needs to make the most of it.
“’99?” Ansel asks, grabbing Dario’s wrist and bending down quite a way to get a closer look. As a short king, Dario has always been taken by tall people. He likes his bed partners climbable.
“I believe so. Si,” says Dario. Ansel’s large hand is warm and inviting. He glances up with an impish smile and arrestingly clear pale blue eyes. Dario’s heart patters. Maybe this won’t be all bad.
“Finely crafted and well-minted, but nein. It doesn’t suit you. Let’s talk more about this. A lovely wrist like yours deserves a statement piece,” Ansel says before planting a charming kiss on the back of Dario’s hand. A heat rushes to his cheeks. Does he say this to all his customers?
Selina Velasco bounds onto the scene next. She is a skyscraper of a woman made to look even taller by her high-waisted slacks and sand-colored platform heels. A tailored crop top with a low neckline hugs her slender frame. Her deep-set, dark eyes have smoky makeup around them. She wears huge, dangly earrings in the shape of the quince fruit.
“Cotognas,” Dario says with a smile, pointing to her jewelry.
“You noticed,” she says, eyelashes fluttering. She turns her head and extends her neck to give him a better look. He contemplates what it might be like to trail kisses up and down that soft-looking skin.
“What a sweet touch. Did you make those?” he asks.
“Sí. Te gustan ellos?” she asks.
Since he knows a little bit of a lot of languages given his line of business, he replies in Spanish to try to impress her. “Ellos son muy hermosos.”They are very beautiful.
“Eresmuy hermoso,” she says with the radiant smile Dario mooned over in her modeling portfolio. She’s even more beautiful in person. Her nails are long and painted white andhe’d like to feel them tracing down his cheeks. “Before the sun goes down, I have to take a picture of my outfit to post. I promised the designer. Where is the best spot to take it?”
“Just around the house. You can get the hills and the lake in the background,” he says.
She leans in and air-kisses both of his cheeks.
Not wanting to miss Selina posing for those pictures in his own backyard, Dario starts to follow her before someone clears their throat behind him.
When he turns back, he is shocked at the sight of his fifth guest, Charlie Moore, whom he’d forgotten all about for a moment.
Charlie is the first man Dario has ever seen with blue hair. It was blond in his photos, no? Currently, it is buzzed short and dyed bright. He stands at a sensible five-foot-ten in a pair of orange, lace-up sneakers, green shorts, and a white tank top with a wrinkly, button-up linen shirt thrown over it. A small nose ring on his right nostril blinks in the sunlight.
While Charlie’s head is pitched back, mouth agape, taking in the grandiosity of Villa Meraviglia, Dario plays connect the dots with the plethora of tattoos going up his arms, across his collarbone and down his legs. He loses count of them by the time Charlie speaks.
“You really live here?” Charlie asks without so much as a hello. There is a gentle scrape to Charlie’s voice. It’s a bit nasal and reminds Dario of a bouncy ball, rising and falling in random arcs.
“For my whole life, I have,” Dario says.
“How old is this place?” Charlie asks, not moving an inch from his spot on the gravel driveway.
