The projector above me is displaying a perfect autumn morning in Central Park, all golden leaves and soft sunlight filtering through bare branches. But there’s still no natural light down here, no real sense of time beyond what Ginni programs for us. Fuck know’s what time it really is.
I lie still, listening to the one-sided conversation drifting from the next room. Phone call, clearly, though I can’t make out individual words. Just the musical cadence of Ginni’s voice, punctuated by long pauses where whoever he’s talking to responds.
When he returns to the bedroom ten minutes later, his face is bright with nervous energy. Not the manic excitement I’ve learned to associate with his planning sessions, but something more fragile. More uncertain.
“That was Mama,” he announces, settling cross-legged on the bed beside me. His hair is still mussed from sleep, and he’s wearing those silk pajama shorts in pale blue, the ones that make his skin look luminous. Along with a baby blue crop top that’s capturing nearly all of my attention.
“They’re coming home tomorrow night.”
The announcement hits me hard and throws me into disarray. Two weeks. He’d said two weeks when this all started, but somehow I have forgotten that time is actually passing outside this basement paradise. That his family would eventually return from their holiday in Italy. Has it really been two weeks already? Or are they coming home early? I really have no idea, and that’s deeply unsettling.
But despite that unease, there is a real fucking problem with what Ginni just said.
“Tomorrow night,” I repeat, testing the words.
“Or the day after, depending on their flight.” Ginni’s fingers twist in the silk of his pajama shorts, a nervous gesture I’ve never seen from him before. “Papa wants to inspect some property in Tuscany before they leave, and you know how he gets when business is involved.”
I do know. I’ve seen Guiseppe Torrini at work, the way he approaches every decision with methodical precision. The kind of man who would absolutely extend a holiday by a day if it meant closing a profitable deal.
“Are you worried?” I ask, though the answer is obvious from the tension radiating from every line of his body.
Ginni laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just a sharp, brittle sound that makes something cold settle in my stomach.
“Worried? Why would I be worried? It’s not like I’ve been keeping their business associate chained in my bedroom.”
The way he is trying to joke about it is somehow more unsettling than outright panic would be.
“What do you think will happen when they find out?” I ask carefully. I have no idea what reality Ginni is inhabiting right now, and I need to know.
“Oh, I know exactly what will happen.” Ginni’s smile is bright and terrible, the kind of expression that belongs on beautiful angels delivering terrible news. “Papa will be furious about the scandal. The embarrassment to the family name. The risk to business relationships.”
He stands up and begins pacing at the foot of the bed, his movements quick and agitated. The silk shorts cling to his legs as he moves, and despite everything, I find myself momentarily distracted by the elegant grace of his stride.
“Mama will cry,” he continues. “She’ll say she doesn’t understand how I could do this to them, to the family. She’ll wonder where they went wrong, what they could have done differently.”
“And Marco?”
“Marco will want to kill you.” The matter-of-fact way Ginni delivers this makes my blood run cold. “Not because he cares about me, but because you’ve compromised his little brother, and that reflects poorly on him.”
It seems Ginni’s reality is currently aligned with mine. And his bitter assessment confirms everything I’ve come to understand about Ginni’s relationship with his family. Not loved, not valued, only tolerated as long as he stays hidden and doesn’t cause problems.
“They’ll try to separate us,” Ginni says softly, stopping his pacing to look directly at me. “Send me away somewhere, probably. Another institution, somewhere more secure this time. Somewhere I can’t cause any more embarrassment.”
“Ginni...”
“But they won’t understand.” His voice grows stronger, more certain, that manic brightness creeping back into his expression.“They won’t see what we have, what we’ve built together. They’ll think it’s just madness, just another example of my fundamental wrongness.”
He settles back onto the bed, reaching for my hand with fingers that tremble slightly. “They won’t understand that this is love. Real love. The kind that transcends everything else.”
The fervor in his voice makes alarm bells start ringing in my head. This isn’t just dread about his parents returning. This is something deeper, something that speaks of decisions already made and consequences already accepted.
“What are you thinking, Ginni?”
“I’m thinking that some stories are too beautiful for this world.” His smile is radiant and absolutely terrifying. “I’m thinking that maybe they’re right about one thing. Maybe there’s no place in the world for someone like me.”
Cristo. My heart stops beating entirely for several long seconds.
“People like us,” he corrects gently. “Star-crossed lovers, kept apart by family prejudice and social conventions. It’s very romantic when you think about it.”
