“You need to share these feelings with your Master. He needs to know the depth of your emotions for your Sir. Knowing that will help him formulate a plan.”
“What if Master leaves me because of it?” I don’t think Master would do that to me, but one can never be completely sure.
“Consider all of the ways you serve your Master, all the ways in which you are devoted to him, and all of the sacrifices you make, large and small, every day to make him happy. Knowing that, do you really think he would leave you for being honest about your feelings?
“Probably not,” I say, somewhat reluctantly. This is also why I really hate talking to Rebekah. Because she’s almost always right. I tell her this too and she chuckles.
“I know talking about your feelings is uncomfortable and sometimes scary, but I believe you can do it. I believe in you, Giovanni,” she says.
“All right, Rebekah, this slave knows when he’s being flattered into doing something he doesn’t want to do.”
“That’s because this slave is one smart cookie.”
Sir is goingto visit his mother in Naples for a couple of weeks. Master informs me of this one morning over breakfast. I ask if he will come back.
“Of course, he’ll come back, Giovanni. This is his home.”
Master watches me with his calculating stare, waiting for me to say something else or accidentally reveal myself, but I don’t. It’s true that I’m scared of what he might do, but not in the way you might think. Master won’t hurt me non-consensually, but he might reject me or love me less, and either of those would be far worse.
We go for a swim in the ocean and then take a stroll into town for some fresh bread and produce for tonight’s dinner. We pass by thegelateriaand I tell Master about thestracciatellaice cream Sir made me try. Master asks if I’d like to get some now, and I do.
While I’m eating my cone under the shade of the awning where Sir and I used to sit, I think about the rituals and routines we established during our time together. While Master was gone, Sir was in my presence nearly all the time, even if we were both just sharing space. He was a great source of comfort as well as entertainment, and though he has a lot to learn about the lifestyle, I’d like to think he has the capacity to understand.
And then I think about his early morning cuddles and the kissy noises he makes and all his teasing remarks and stupid catch phrases, and while I know he’ll come back and this is indeed his home, I just can’t help but miss him.
“Giovanni, what’s wrong?” Master asks. My ice cream is melting, and my eyes are wet with tears.
“This slave is not demonstrating gratitude.”
“In what way,tesoro?”
In all ways, I think.
“I’m grateful that you’ve come back to me, and I cherish our rituals and routines. I feel better just knowing you’re nearby and that you’ll enforce our rules, but I miss Silvio, and I feel bad that he’s hurting, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me because I’ve never felt this… this torn before.”
Master takes my hand, offers me a soft, knowing smile, and says, “There’snothingwrong with you, Giovanni. You have simply fallen in love.”
16
The ancient Greeks have eight different words for love and each one means something slightly different:Eros, sexual passion;Philia, deep friendship;Ludus, playful love;Mania, obsessive love;Agape, charitable love;Pragma, longstanding love;Storge, familial love; andPhilautia, love of thy self
I scour Master’s study to find all of the books that I can relating to these loves, and I interrogate my own feelings for Master and for Sir. I examine how my love for Master has changed over time, from a kind of familial love to an obsessive love that sometimes borders on mania. I think about Sir and his playful love that blooms into sexual passion when he touches me.
I read journal studies that reduce love to a simple exchange of endorphins meant to foster reproduction, and I read the Romantic poets’ take on the subject. I talk to Master about my findings and recite for him some of my favorite poems. Master listens to my musings with that same soft, knowing smile until I demand that he too, explain himself.
“It’s a beautiful thing to see, Giovanni,” he says.
“What’s that, Master?”
“You’re mooning,tesoro.”
This frustrates me because it seems a strange reaction from Master to slave, and what does it mean that Master isn’t more upset? Doesn’t he love me, desire me, want to keep me all to himself?
“Why aren’t you jealous, Master? Why aren’t you feeling possessive of this slave, who is your property?”
He puts a steadying hand on my arm, and my anxiety immediately starts to dissipate. “If it were anyone else, I would, but my brother and I share a father. We share property and a business. I love my brother, I trust my brother, and I know that your heart is big enough to hold us both.”
Master is sometimes romantic, in his own way.
