Beau steps into the light, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He wears pajama bottoms and no shirt. Charlie must become freshly aware of his own nakedness, because he cups his hands in front of his cock.
“My bad, guys. I came out to smoke before bed and wanted to give y’all some privacy, so I went over there. I promise I didn’t see anything!” he says.
“Va bene,” Dario reassures him. “We got…a little carried away.” He is embarrassed now. Nowhere in his grandfather’s letters did he set parameters for what sort of physicalconnections he should be exploring with his houseguests. Has he crossed an unjust line?
“You do you. I’m off to hit the hay.” Beau stubs out his cigarette on the arm of a nearby chair before slouching inside.
Dario turns back to Charlie to discover the moment they were sharing has fractured.
“I should get to bed, too.” Charlie is already halfway out of the pool. The pale, fuzz-dusted orbs of Charlie’s cheeks are round and bitable in the moonlight as he ascends the ladder. Dario’s teeth aren’t the only thing he could sink into that gorgeous ass.
“Don’t want to go for best two out of three?” Dario asks, half joking. Half wishing they could go back to before when they were making out and a chorus of angels was harmonizing in his head.
Charlie chuckles. “Another night, Candy Man.”
Candy Man.Dario has never had a pet name before. It sends shivers down his spine and he’s not even the one that’s naked against the night air.
“Va bene,” Dario says. “Buona notte.”
“Buo-no…uh, what you said.” Charlie leaves him with a smile and a still-stirring erection.
TWELVE
CHARLIE
Last night, Charlie had not been prepared for how hot Dario looked in that low-cut, old-timey, one-piece swimsuit. Today, he’s even less prepared for how hot Dario looks in a sailor’s cap.
Shiver me timbers, Captain! Charlie would get down on his hands and knees and swab the deck if Dario Cotogna asked him to.
Dario’s hair naturally curls at the ends from the Lake Trasimeno mist spraying up against his sailboat. His outfit consists of a smart, navy blue, double-breasted suit with brass buttons over a striped collared shirt and huge aviator sunglasses. They are mirrored, so Charlie has no idea if Dario sees how often he’s checking him out and swooning, which is probably for the best.
Charlie already thought Dario competent and accomplished yesterday during the chocolate-making workshop. Before the room, Dario discussed the growth patterns of Theobroma cacao—a type of evergreen tree—with conviction and authority. He did not even shy away from dour topics such as the effects of climatechange on places like Ghana and Ivory Coast, where much of the world’s cocoa is harvested.
Presently, Dario steers the sailboat, which was once his father’s, toward a pop of land on the south side of the lake called Isola Polvese. Charlie lounges, snug in his orange life vest, on the seat of the boat between Michelle and Beau. Beau wears a wide-brimmed hat that smacks Charlie in the head each time he looks around to check out the view—or more accurately, to check out Selina, who drapes herself in a sarong on the deck of the boat, relaxed and growing tanner by the millisecond.
Michelle clutches the nearby handrail, clearly scared of falling overboard.
A charcuterie plate gets passed from Dario to Charlie. He throws a fresh grape into his mouth and savors the juicy burst of flavor.
The main sail catches the wind as if Dario set an expert trap for it and ensnared it to his will. For the most part, their ride is smooth, but that doesn’t stop Michelle from dashing below deck to puke up breakfast.
“At least it wasn’t me this time,” Beau jokes.
Everyone is too sun-drunk to let out more than a brief chuckle.
Charlie checks the time on his phone. They’ve been sailing for forty minutes already.
The lock screen on his phone is a photo of his family on Thanksgiving. Charlie stacked up a pile of books on the table and propped his phone against it with the timer on. He rushed to kneel in front of his grandparents; his parents stood behind their wheelchairs. “Say ‘giblets’!” he cried before the smiley moment got captured.
Last night—that heated moment in the heated pool that spurred a hot solo session up in his Ansel-less room after—makes this whole marriage plot seem possible. Pheromoneswere practically floating on the surface of the water, drawing them into each other with the kind of chemistry that can’t be faked or ignored. The other thing that couldn’t be ignored was Dario’s hard, enormous dick pressed to the inside of his leg as they’d kissed.
Short kings always pack the biggest surprises, and Charlie can’t wait to get Dario alone again.
The clouds overhead are thin white wisps slashing across a cornflower blue sky. A bit of mist hangs on the horizon, giving the rich brown hills a sense of movement, like they are a litter of overgrown, sleeping cats curled up together in a basket; their backs rise and fall with each slow, passing breath.
Eventually, they come to a stop on a sandy beach dotted with permanent umbrellas made of straw. People lounge in their shade, smiling and watching boats come in for anchor.
Beau passes out bottles of water from the cooler to everyone before they disembark.
