“Ginni, where did you go?”
There are fingers against my cheek, warm and gentle and completely unexpected. Carlo is leaning forward as much as his restraints allow, his hand cupping my face with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
“Nowhere,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds strange even to my own ears. “I’m right here.”
“You looked like you were somewhere else entirely,” he says softly, his thumb stroking across my cheekbone in a gesture so caring it makes tears prick at my eyes. “Somewhere not very nice.”
I lean into his touch without thinking, starved for this kind of gentle contact. No one has ever touched me just to comfort me. No one has ever cared enough to notice when I was struggling.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, though we both know it’s not entirely true. “Just thinking too much.”
“About what?”
How can I explain the war going on in my head? The constant battle between hope and despair, between the fantasy I’ve constructed and the harsh reality that keeps trying to intrude? How do I tell him that sometimes I can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what I desperately want to be real?
“Nothing important,” I lie, because the truth is too complicated, too frightening to put into words.
Carlo studies my face for a long moment, those dark eyes seeing far more than I’m comfortable with. But then he smiles, a genuine expression that transforms his entire face.
“I’m glad you’re back, Menace,” he says, with such casual affection that my heart nearly stops beating entirely.
Menace. He called me Menace. Not Ginni, not Giovanni, but something that is clearly an endearment. Something that acknowledges all that I am while somehow making it sound fond rather than accusatory. He’s referred to me as a little menace before, but this is different. This is Carlo bestowing a pet name on me of his own free will.
I melt. Actually, physically melt into a puddle of pure happiness, my earlier anxiety evaporating like mist in sunlight. This is real. This moment, this man, this impossible tenderness in his voice when he looks at me.
“Menace?” I breathe, unable to keep the wonder out of my voice.
“That’s what you are,” he says with another one of those devastating grins. “An absolute menace.”
Carlo releases my face and returns to his meal, acting like he hasn’t just turned my entire world upside down with a single word. But I can see the satisfaction in his expression, the way his mouth curves slightly at the corners like he knows exactly what effect he’s having on me.
I finish my own pasta in a haze of contentment, barely tasting the food that I spent hours preparing. All my attention is focusedon Carlo, on the way the candlelight plays across his features, on the satisfied sounds he makes as he enjoys the meal, on the casual intimacy of sharing this space with him.
This is what happiness feels like, I realize. Not the manic energy that used to drive me, not the desperate planning and scheming and hoping. Just this quiet satisfaction, this sense of rightness, this feeling that everything in the world has finally aligned exactly as it should be.
When the last bite is gone and the wine glasses are empty, I practically bounce to my feet, energy and excitement coursing through me like electricity.
“Time to clean up!” I announce, already gathering plates and silverware with quick, efficient movements. “And then we’re having Netflix and chill.”
Carlo raises an eyebrow at my terminology, but there’s amusement in his expression rather than concern. “Netflix and chill?”
“Well, not Netflix exactly,” I admit, balancing the tray carefully as I prepare to take it to the kitchen. “But we have the projector and an extensive collection of romantic comedies. Same principle.”
I practically skip out of the room, my heart light and my spirits soaring. Everything feels possible now, everything feels right. Carlo called me his menace, and that single word has rewritten my entire understanding of what we could be together.
By the time I return, I’ve changed into a silk robe in the exact shade of blue as my eyes. It’s loose and flowing, designed to hint rather than reveal, elegant rather than obvious. The kind of thing that says I’m confident in my own skin without being desperate for attention.
I redirect the projector toward the wall facing the bed, scrolling through my carefully curated collection until I find the perfect film. Something light and romantic, with justenough humor to keep things from getting too intense. The kind of movie that’s designed to be background noise for more interesting activities.
“What are we watching?” Carlo asks, settling back against the pillows with obvious contentment.
“You’ll see,” I say mysteriously, pressing play before moving toward the bed with deliberate grace.
The opening credits begin to roll as I settle myself between Carlo’s spread legs, my back against his chest, his body warm and solid behind me. He lets out a soft grunt of surprise at being used as a backrest, but he doesn’t object or try to push me away. He simply accepts it.
I let out a sigh of deep satisfaction, feeling more relaxed and happy than I have in years. It seems as if a miracle is happening and for the first time ever, reality is catching up with my dreams. Soon, there will be no difference between the two.
And I’ll be the happiest boy in the world.
