Dario clutches the letter to his chest as if the words might melt off the page and soak into his skin like tattoo ink. If only he could embody these sentiments. Time and experience have warped him.
Preston was deceitful, Ansel was opportunistic, Beau was adventuresome, and Selina was self-assured. Dario was…
Dario is…
He has no clue.
Dario lost his sense of self, and if he has to marry, he needs a partner that will roll out the map, retrace his steps and help him find it again.
There is a knock at the barn house entrance that stirs him out of his stupor.
Leaving the letter on the bed, he rises with little enthusiasm until he is met with Charlie’s smiling face on the other side of the door, looking a lot like an explorer willing to excavate Dario again.
SIXTEEN
CHARLIE
“Ihope I’m not bothering you,” Charlie says.
“You could never,” Dario says, looking at him in such a funny sort of way.
“I came to check and see how you were doing.” Anxious energy shoots down to his feet, causing him to rock back and forth.
As soon as he heard the commotion down in the kitchen when he stepped out of the shower earlier, he raced to see what was wrong. His gut sank at the uncomfortable scene he stumbled upon.
The way Selina spoke to Dario lit a fire beneath Charlie’s skin. The urge to protect Dario flamed up, fierce and immediate. While he commended Selina for her directness, he wishes she’d been gentler about it.
“Va bene,” Dario says, one hand still clutching the wood of the door. He looks one wind gust away from toppling over.
“Didn’t seem va bene back there,” says Charlie. “Selina’s left, if that matters to you.” Selfishly, he is glad of this. One lessperson in the villa means one less person to compete with for Dario’s hand.
“Va—” Dario clears his throat. “Thank you for letting me know.”
They stumble through a long silence. “I can go,” Charlie says, afraid he has made a wrong move by coming out here. Maybe Dario is someone who prefers to sit with his feelings in silence.
“I would rather you didn’t,” Dario says, opening the door wider. An offering.
Charlie steps inside.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Dario says.
The chair he sat on to video-chat with his family a few days ago is piled high with work papers, so he takes a hesitant seat on the edge of the bed. He swipes his hands along the silken quilt that is both homey and high-quality.
“Can I get you anything?” Dario moves to the mini fridge that buzzes beneath the window.
“I’m okay,” Charlie says. Tries for more: “Are you? Okay, I mean.”
A can of San Pellegrino hisses as Dario opens it. It sweats in his palm, the way Charlie sweats with nerves on the bed. “I am. I think I am.”
“You think?” Charlie’s hands bunch up in the quilt as Dario leans his backside against the reclaimed wood counter behind him. For such a short man, he has a big presence and, it seems, even bigger emotions.
“I’ve faced worse. I’m more upset that this is the cap to our lovely day together,” he says. A refreshingahhfollows his first sip. The sound makes Charlie’s toes wiggle.
“It doesn’t have to be the cap. The night is still young,” Charlie says. The clock on the wall is in plain sight. It is slightly after 8:00 p.m. “Plenty of time to turn this night around.”
He waits patiently for Dario’s eyes to light up with recognition. Is he being too coy? He is slightly out of practice in the subtle art of seduction. Half his sexual encounters back in Pennsylvania involve endless app conversations and quickies in the back seats of cars. There’s not much conversation or eye contact before the zippers rake down in search of frantic release.
This is a different kind of encounter. Far more about showing Dario that he’s here, that he cares, that he’s attracted to him. Who needs Selina when they could make a life together? A beautiful life if it remained anything like today.
