“One of us is not grown,” Dario says under his breath.
“One of us is hardly a man,” Emilio says, then shoulder-checks Dario. Hard enough that he stumbles back into a table displaying a clay vase that has been in the family for centuries.
Unable to stop himself and unwilling to let Emilio waltz in here and do whatever he pleases, Dario shoves back. That shove turns into a push and the push escalates into a frenzied tangle of arms and legs. Before he knows it, Dario is red-faced and reaching for his brother, slapping at empty air.
“You are such a prick,” Dario says, heat making his skin itchy beneath his many layers.
“Boys! Both of you. Take a walk and cool off,” April demands, stepping between her sons with hands outstretched.
Dario lets out a loud, bullish exhale before straightening his suit and tie.
Emilio, seemingly sensing a weak spot, lunges in, but April is too fast for him to outsmart her. “Walk it out. Cool off. Now!”
Mama’s boys through and through, Dario and Emilio splinter off in separate directions. Craig never stops rolling, even for a second.
EIGHTEEN
CHARLIE
After exiting the train in Perugia, which is the capital city of the province with the same name, Charlie boards a mini metro. It is a single, silver, futuristic-looking car. As he glides along a high track, the city tunnels past him at an exciting speed, with its yellow, orange and rust-colored roofs.
Used to being alone, Charlie is unbothered by the prospect of exploring the city by himself. What does bother him is the thought of Michelle cozying up to Dario on the couch all day while they watch a show and craft inside jokes.
The green monster of jealousy must be conducting this mini metro, because the higher the car climbs, the harder Charlie finds it to shake the image of Michelle and Dario making out.
Charlie has slept with his fair share of men and never has he spent the whole next morning obsessing over their possible feelings for him. Granted, he has never been in a five-way competition for the hand of the heir to a chocolate empire before either—who has?—so he supposes he should not be so surprised to find himself in uncharted territory.
He is in Italy, for God’s sake. An unfamiliar country where the customs delight him and the language evades him and the world feels both beautiful and scary.
Scary because maybe, despite telling himself not to, he has developed a genuine liking for the cloistered chocolate maker with a tender heart and knack for business.
Now not only might he lose his family home should Dario choose Michelle or neither of them, but he might win a broken heart to boot.
Taking a moment, he searches for a positive spin.
This solo trip to Perugia might be super well-timed, at least. Several years ago, his parents went through a rough patch. His father lost his job, and his mother felt the strain. One day, she came home from work and set her bonus check down in front of his father and said, “Take a fishing trip to the cabin.”
His father looked up from the online job application he was filling out, disbelief running all through his features. “No way. Not with your hard-earned bonus.”
“I’ve thought about it. I want you to go to the cabin,” she said.
When his father left—duffel bag and fishing rod in hand—Charlie squared with his mother. “Why’d you do that?”
His mother smiled. “Because, Charlie, sometimes you need to give the people you love a chance to miss you.”
He scoffed. “If you wanted him to miss you, wouldn’t you be the one going on a trip?”
“No, Charlie. That would be a punishment. I love your father. This is a treat that will go much farther,” she said, pulling the car keys off the hook by the door. “My treat is taking you to the movies, so go on and grab your shoes.”
A day with Michelle is a weekend at the cabin for Dario.
The trickling sounds of Fontana Maggiore lure Charlie into the main piazza. Life throws itself all around him. Fashionable people sit at café tables nursing midday coffees and cigarettes. Tour groups traverse into the looming, Gothic palazzo with cameras around their necks. Sea green statues of a lion and a Pegasus guard the door with open mouths. Birds waddle and squawk at his feet, searching for food scraps to feast on.
Sweat starts in the small of his back as he weaves through cobbled alleys and summits the city’s many medieval steps. Flowers burst from hanging boxes out second-story windows. Their fragrance floats down around him. He snaps a million pictures he will show to his family.
Stopping for lunch, Charlie devours a buffalo mozzarella pizza while people-watching. In two days’ time, he will be on a plane back to Pennsylvania. He needs to soak up as much culture as possible before then. Who knows if he’ll ever leave Slatington again after this?
To walk off the pizza, Charlie ventures into the National Gallery and gets lost in the art and frescos. He stops before statues and sketches them in his notebook with pithy speech bubbles hanging over their heads. He imagines what these models might think about modern times. Some of them end up being good enough to consider getting tattooed, even if he is slowly running out of pages in his sketchbook and prime real estate on his body.
