Giulio’s phone rang. He picked up, talked to someone briefly, then told me, “We’ve got to leave it for today.”
“No problem, I’ll see you again soon.”
I walked inside and hurried up the stairs. I pushed open the door, which we usually left cracked when we went outside, and noticed Lucas’s keys on the table as I went to my room for clean clothes before taking a quick shower.
“Cosa fai?”
I turned around, scared to death, to find Dante standing at my bedroom door.
“Dante! What…?”
“I asked che diavolo stai facendo?”
His face and posture were aggressive, his tone suspicious, his stare almost frightening. I barely recognized him, and he kept mixing his Spanish and Italian and talking so fast I didn’t understand him.
“Dante, slow down. I don’t know what you’re saying!”
“I asked you what the hell you’re up to. I see how you’ve been talking to him since you arrived. How you watch him all the time. The way your occhi, your eyes, shine when you’re with him. I see it all, tutto.”
“Are you talking about Lucas?” I asked. I was so confused. Why would he care about that?
“Don’t you make fun of me.”
An alarm went off in my head and all of a sudden, everything was clear. “Are you talking about Giulio?”
“Sì, il mio marito. You’re in love with him.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“You’re calling me crazy? No, you’re crazy, tu sei pazza. Stay away from him,” he shouted with venom in his voice.
“Dante, listen…”
“What do you think’s going to happen? You think you’re going to turn a pirouette and fall in his arms and he’s going to start loving you?”
“No!” I shouted, my throat stinging.
“You think he’s going to stop being gay for you?”
“Dante, please,” I begged him with tears in my eyes.
“This is patetico. Triste. And he has no idea…”
I shook my head, feeling powerless. I’d never really seen before what jealousy could do to a person. How irrational it could make you, how it could drive you insane. “None of what you’re saying is true.”
“I’m sick of this!” he shouted. “I’m sick of you.”
He wasn’t even listening. I could tell all he could think of was the next cruel word he would lash out with. He came into my bedroom, cursing at me, using words I didn’t understand, apart fromLascialo in pace—leave him alone. I felt cornered, shut up in a building in the middle of an earthquake with every exit sealed. It was like a bad dream that wouldn’t end.
“He’s not going to do it. Capisce?” he growled.
And then I broke down. Shattered. Exploded. “It’s not what you think. It’s disgusting, what you’re implying. I’m not in love with him, dammit. I think he’s my father! My father, get it?”
Sometimes the truth comes out like that, carelessly, an avalancheno one can stop. And once it’s out, there’s no way to catch it and hide it away again.
“What?”
I looked into my doorway and saw Giulio standing in our living room. His eyes were wide, his face was pale. Dante stepped back, looking at him and then at me.
