“That’s true. About needing a change.” His gaze sweeps mine before landing on his hands folded in his lap. “What’s Silvio like?”
Silvio is my only brother, twenty-five years my junior. My father married his mother after my own mother was killed, which puts me closer to her age than his. “He’s very funny. Somewhat brash. The life of the party in many ways. Says exactly what he’s thinking. He’s very open with his sexuality. You’d get along well with him.”
“Do you miss him?”
“I do. He’s visited me here in New York and I’ve gone back several times, but I’d like to see him more often. He’s really the only family I have and something like a son to me. I have a villa on a piece of property where he stores his boat. It’s on the island of Ischia, the most beautiful place in the world.” I plan to retire there when Giovanni is in a better position to take over the family business, but I don’t share that with him.
“What’s it like there?” he asks.
“There are beautiful sandy beaches and natural hot springs. The water is a perfect temperature year-round for swimming and absolutely stunning to look at. The town is quaint but relatively progressive and the seafood is caught fresh every day.”
“Sounds like paradise,” Giovanni says.
“Perhaps we’ll go there when my schedule allows. Now, as for today, you’re going to be polite, you’re going to check in with me regularly, and most importantly, you’re going to have fun.”
“Fun,” he says hollowly. “And what if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t, but please remember, sweetheart, I amalwayson your side.” I give his leg a comforting squeeze.
Even with the pep talk, he’s a bundle of nerves when we meet Johann, Rupert, and Simeon at the marina. I send my security ahead to sweep the yacht with Johann’s permission. Anders and Keller were otherwise obligated today, which might be better for Giovanni’s nerves if there are fewer Doms present.
We greet each other on the docks. Rupert opens introductions with, “Well aren’t you just gorgeous,” to Giovanni, then leans in for a hug right before Johann halts him with a gruff noise at the back of his throat. “Oh, that’s right, no touching. Well, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Giovanni says stiffly. “I like your necklace.”
“Thank you.” Rupert lays a protective hand over the discreet metal chain with an O-ring at its center, his collar for when he and Johann are in casual company. He has a much larger studded leather one for when they’re attending BDSM functions and an assortment of silicone butt plugs that mimic tails. I told Giovanni about their puppy play kink already, so he is likely looking for evidence.
Johann introduces himself next and Simeon nods curtly.
My security gives the all-clear and I inform him that I’ll call when we’re on our way back. Once we’ve boarded the yacht, Rupert sidles up to Giovanni and says, “I love this outfit. Very nautical. Where did you get it?”
Giovanni glances down at his clothing like he’s just now noticing. Today I dressed him in pleated navy shorts and a crisp white Polo with matching canvas shoes, all of which show off his golden tan. The Armani swim briefs underneath are scandalously small, a treat to myself for later.
“Sir picked it out. He buys all my clothes.” Giovanni looks to me for affirmation and I nod.
“Well, we all know Valentin has great taste. Would you like me to give you a tour?” Rupert motions towards the boat’s below-deck cabin, and Giovanni freezes at my side. I wrap my arm around him and hug his shoulders.
“Thank you for offering, Rupert, but Giovanni will stay here with me.”
“Oh, of course. Well, what can I get you to drink? I made a virgin cranberry basil Sangria if you’d like to try it.”
“That was very thoughtful of you. Sounds refreshing.”
Rupert takes our drink orders, and Johann settles behind the wheel, leaving Giovanni, myself, and Simeon to talk about the beautiful late spring we’re having and how the afternoon heat will make for a nice swim. Simeon mentions again that he’d love to have us at his home in the Hamptons for a long weekend this summer, and I tell him I’ll try to arrange my work schedule so we can get away. Rupert returns soon after, balancing a tray of drinks, and settles himself next to Giovanni, trying again to make conversation.
“I love your hair. Are you growing it out?”
Giovanni looks to me for an answer since I more or less dictate his grooming habits these days. “Yes, he is.”
“It’s so shiny too. I have to know what you’re using on it.”
“Shampoo and conditioner,” Giovanni says. “Sir’s brand. I’m not sure what kind.” He stalls as if trying to recall.
“Well, I love it.”
I gently remind Giovanni in Italian, “When someone compliments you, you typically say thank you.”
“Thank you,” he says.
