Although I made no real connections with the people we met, I had no time to feel lonely with the pace of Morgan's life. I wondered how he kept track of all the people who knew. I certainly could not.
Morgan fell into a routine at the vineyards by the third week. It was perfect to be honest. I spent days with one of the drivers sometimes exploring the little outdoor markets on occasion. Sometimes, I simply read or enjoyed the silence of the countryside. In the evening, Morgan would return to me and we would picnic or go out to dinner. I tried picking up the language to keep myself busy but despite some of the farm or vineyard workers helping, I made very little progress.
One day Morgan came in and grabbed me by the hand. "Close your eyes," he said mysteriously and I hesitantly did as he requested. We walked out into the cool air sweeping off the flatlands, and he whispered, "Open your eyes."
I peeked and then opened my eyes wide. "What on earth?" I asked in surprise as I looked at Morgan and then back around to look at the car in the driveway. "What is this?" I asked to verify.
"It's freedom," he said with showmanship as he ushered me toward the vehicle with a hand behind my back. "We are going to ride out to Paris for the weekend," He said with a smile.
I relaxed and gave the man an indulgent smile. "Don't you have to work on that recipe that you have been rambling about for weeks?"
"It'll keep, but there's only one week for me to show you the boat festival. It only happens once a year and it is a beautiful thing to experience," He said coaxingly.
I relented at his smile and asked, "So when do we leave?"
He gave me a bright smile, "Right now."
The ride through the countryside was beautiful and I enjoyed the scenery as well as Morgan's lively commentary about the places we passed through. True, most of the stories had to do with a party or some other epic adventure, but I did not mind. I felt pampered having Morgan's undivided attention for such a length of time.
The boat festival was in full swing as we arrived. I marveled at the beautiful sails and displays that I could see in the distance. There were streamers in the air and a hum of activity everywhere I looked. The harbors were filled with colorful displays on the masts of ships that were participating.
We went out sailing on one of the ships. I had never had much experience sailing, but I found I did not have much to do as the ship's crew did all the work. Morgan, myself, and a few other guests enjoyed the trip from the bough of the ship. The people on the shores ran along beside us and waved. I waved back and smiled at the excitement in the air. This is something that I would have never experienced back home.
The night brought Morgan into his element and he was quickly leading me off to clubs and indulging in the night life of Paris. I barely understood the locals through their thick accents, but Morgan had no such difficulty. I wondered how the man managed to always find friends and good-naturedly allowed myself to be dragged along on his adventure through the Boat Festival.
When we returned to the vineyard, we fell into a relaxed routine again and Morgan seemed to be trying to at least keep up the appearance of working. He was busy testing out new aging processes and recipes. All in all, life was good and I could see this being my life. I allowed myself to dream and found myself falling in love with Morgan more and more as the man appeared to be trying to settle down. We could make our own life right here and I embraced the idea of that.
Morgan came into the room and gave me a smile. "What are you thinking about?" He asked mischievously.
I looked up at him from the couch. "You and life," I said simply. "How was work?"
"Same old same," Morgan said before he sank onto the couch beside me. I had my legs stretched out but moved them so I could place them over Morgan's lap when he settled into position. "What about me and life?"
The smile on my face was one of embarrassment. I had not really talked much to Morgan of my feelings toward the man. We rarely talked of anything that was not related to attraction or sex. I was hesitant to admit to the man that I was falling for him. "Just pondering over what life would be like if I lived here and such," I said with a shrug.
"Are you asking me to marry you?" Morgan said with a raised eyebrow.
We both laughed and I assured him, "No. I'm not. It was just idle thoughts. What have you been so busy with at work?"
"Work. Who wants to talk of work? There are so many more things to talk about," Morgan said and I gave the man an indulgent smile as he leaned over to give me a kiss. I guess there really were better things to talk about.
Chapter 4
Toward the end of my third month in Italy, Morgan came in and slammed the door. "Are you okay?" I asked in concern as I rose to greet him.
His bright blue eyes flashed over to me and he sneered, "I'm fine. What did you do today?" His tone had a hard, resentful edge to it that I was not used to.
I shrugged off his aggravation. He could have a bad day, after all. "Nothing really. I helped make some flatbread. I had no idea so much went into that," I said as I followed him into the bedroom. "Did something happen at work?" I was concerned as the man hardly ever seemed to be in a bad mood.
"Nothing happened," Morgan snapped and I recoiled a bit. "I just want to relax. Can I do that?"
I nodded quickly, "Of course, you can. Do you want me to leave you alone?"
Morgan shook his head and rubbed his face. "I'm sorry. I--I am just stressed out. I'm going to take a week off and we'll go to the Rivera. Would you like that?"
I nodded warily. "Sure," I said hesitantly. "Did you and that Antonio have words again?" Antonio was the main steward at the vineyards and he seemed to have nothing but conflicts with anything Morgan wanted to do. I supposed the man was just set in his ways after decades of running the vineyards with free rein.
"That pompous ass," Morgan sneered. "Didn't I tell you that he quit?"
I shook my head. "No, you didn't. Is that why you are so stressed? Is there anything I can do to help?" I put my hand on Morgan's shoulder but he turned away. "With him gone, can you really afford to take the time off?" The moment I asked the question I regretted it. Morgan spun around and eyed me furiously.
"You sound like my father," Morgan spat. "You can't talk to me about responsibility. All you have done is prance and spend my money."
Anger flooded through me. "You knew I would have no income when I came here. What is your problem?"
"I don't have a problem," Morgan growled as the man stormed out of the room. He called back, "I'm going out so I can relax. Don't wait up."
I cringed as I heard the front door slam. What had just happened evaded me. I collapsed down on the sofa and tried to just shrug it off as a mood. Morgan was a volatile person and he took things strongly. He would calm down once he had burned off some steam.
***
The next morning, I awoke to roses and Morgan saying he was sorry for the way he had acted. I readily accepted his apology. It took a lot of compromise to make a relationship work and Morgan had at least apologized for his part. I tried to look at things from his perspective and I could see how the stress was probably wearing him down. For my part, I tried to just let the man relax when he came home instead of asking him questions, even if I really did want to know if everything was okay.
That was not the end of Morgan's mood swings, however. Running the vineyard without Antonio was proving harsh. Morgan was in a foul mood most days and he refused to talk about work telling me that it had nothing to do with me. I knew that I was not family but if Morgan and I were going to make a go of this relationship then we needed to talk. Every time I tried to instigate an actual conversation, Morgan would merely deflect. The only time he was cordial most days was when he was trying to get me in bed.
Morgan often came in from work and immediately began undressing me. We would go days without having conversations beyond lustful whispers in bed. There never was time for talk or questions. We just fell into bed.
I let it go for a time, but then one day while w
e were on a weekend trip, I cornered him in the kitchen of the townhouse where we were staying. "Morgan, we have to talk." I followed the man as he tried to ignore me. "Look, you cannot keep avoiding me. What is going on?"
The man stopped and turned to face me. His blue eyes sparkling with something that I could not understand. "You do not want to have this conversation," Morgan said with conviction.
"Yes, I do. We can't have a relationship if we never talk. Clearly something is bothering you," I said stubbornly as I eyed the man back steadily.
Morgan laughed a harsh cold laugh and shook his head. "We don't have a relationship, Gabriel," Morgan assured me. "Let me be blunter, I brought you along because I thought it would be fun, but it's not."
"What?" I stared at him dumbfounded. Of all the things, I had imagined he would say those words had not crossed my mind.
He sighed, "It's over, Gabriel. Get out."
"Where am I supposed to go?" I asked indignantly. "You asked me to come with you. You told me to relax and enjoy my time in Italy. How am I supposed to get home?"
Morgan flipped his hand and said, "Don't care. You've mooched enough money off me."
I felt sick. He really meant to just kick me out in a foreign country where I did not understand the language and had no money to get home. "Are you insane?" I asked him as I truly feared for his mental health.
"No. I'm just sick of everyone using me for a free ride. You are nice to look at Gabriel, but I'm not in love with you." Morgan said and then he gave me a smile. "Perhaps you should call your parents?" He said the last in an overly helpful tone of voice.
My heart sank and I shook. I could scarcely breathe as Morgan physically ushered me toward the door. "No, you can't do this. I love you, Morgan." I babbled desperately. The days of being careful had long since passed. The man had dragged me over the edge to where I could do nothing but fall in love with him. Now he was shoving me out the door and I could not understand. "Please, don't do this." I begged him even as he slammed the door in my face. I stood there staring at the door for a long time before I turned numbly and walked out in the street. What was I going to do now?
Chapter 5
I looked around at Naples as I walked. I had thought it beautiful when we arrived but now I thought it overwhelming. Some of the signs did have English translation which I was thankful for. I tried to call my parents but either I did it wrong or they were not answering the phone. It had taken all of my pride to even try to make that call the first time. I could not bring myself to try again right away. The night was cool and I sat miserably on a bench trying to understand somehow what had happened.
A woman walking by inquired something of me but I could not understand her and told her so. She gave me a smile and said in halting English, "Okay?"
I realized that I must look horrible. My cheeks were still damp from shedding tears of confusion and fear but I squared my shoulders and nodded. I could not bring myself to speak lest my voice break.
"Come," she said coaxingly. "Food. Bed." I simply nodded and went with her. She was an older woman. The shawl she tugged around her shoulders was a bit worn. She led me to a house nearby and ushered me inside as she tutted to herself. Before long I had a bowl of soup and a crust of bread before me. She sat with me while I ate and I tried to tell her what had happened as best as I could.
"Bad lover," she said and shook her head with disdain. I had to agree with her. It hurt a bit to realize that my father had been right all along. When I was done eating she steered me toward a bed with soft covers that I fell asleep in far quicker than I would have imagined.
The next morning, she tried to get me to come with her somewhere but I just waved her off trying to tell her that I would be fine. I thanked her for her hospitality and made my way out onto the street. I wanted to put some distance between myself and Morgan to be honest. Seeing him was something that I did not think I could deal with right now.
The air outside was crisp and cool. The woman was beside me still trying to get me to come with her. She was insistent and finally I agreed to calm her down. She took me down a side street and soon we were in one of the open-air markets. The woman quickly made her way over to a stall that had a bright sun burst with the words "St. Clair Organics" on a banner over the top of it. I resigned myself to following her. To my surprise she went behind the stall and disappeared into the back.
When the woman reemerged she was not alone. Behind her was a tall lean man with long blond hair that was pulled back in a braid. I eyed him dubiously and he did the same to me. The woman was talking animatedly as she gestured toward me. The man replied back to her in a baritone that sounded rusty from disuse. His harsh voice in Italian sounded nice but I had no idea what either of them were saying. I eyed them suspiciously. The woman pointed at me again and said with a grin, "English."
The man sighed and spoke in fluent and clear English, "Mora said you are homeless?" He eyed my clothes as if he did not think that was the case. I suppose my designer clothes did not speak of poverty.
"I guess I am. Look, I don't know why I am here," I said in confusion. "I'll just be going if that's alright?" I started to turn and walk away but his voice stopped me.
He said, "Just a moment." The man turned toward Mora and said something to her in Italian and then handed the woman some money. With her money in hand, Mora gave me a bright smile and went on about her business leaving me with the man. He looked back at me and said, "Mora finds people to work for me sometimes. It was just a finder's fee. You are under no obligation to work for me."
I nodded. I asked cautiously, "What sort of work are we talking?" Despite myself my thoughts ran into a dirty place as I glanced at him. I pushed the thoughts away and tried to listen to what the man was saying.
He waved at the produce around us. "I run a farm and it takes a good size workforce to keep it going smoothly. Most of the people who work for me volunteer in exchange for lodging while they are backpacking through the area and so on. However, I do pay some. What sort of wages would you be interested in?" The man eyed me with interest as he awaited my response.
It was not a bad deal. I did not need much money after all. I said quietly, "I just need enough for a plane ticket."
The man nodded slowly. "Mora said you got left here?" He seemed hesitant to ask too much but I understood the curiosity.
I nodded as I said, "Yeah. Bad break-up." It was a bit too fresh for me to want to go into it and I never had been much on throwing my personal business out in the open. Truthfully, if I had not been so dumbstruck when Mora had found me then I probably would not have opened up to her either.
The man accepted my statement without any comment. He said, "Well, I'm here for the next few hours. You can start right away and help out in the stand or you can just relax." I just did keep myself from cringing at the word relax. How many times had Morgan said that to me?
"I think I would rather have something to do, to be honest," I said with feeling. I had had enough of being useless when I was with Morgan. The man seemed to approve of my answer and he nodded toward an old dusty apron hanging over the stand. I picked it up and slipped it on. He motioned for me to follow him and soon I was helping to stack up crates of fruit out front. As we moved the crates, I eyed him. His hair even in the braid hung to his mid-back. His eyes were crisp gray. Finally, I worked up my nerve to ask him, "What's your name anyway?"
He looked around at me and laughed. "Sorry. I forget to introduce myself all the time." He extended his hand toward me and said, "Benjamin St.Clair. And yourself?"
I took his hand in a firm grip. I said, "Gabriel Jamison." We dropped hands and continued on working. As we worked, I asked, "Are you American? You have a bit of an accent but I can't place it." His voice did have a lilting accent when he spoke in English that sounded so familiar, but I just could not figure out where I had heard it from before.
He shook his head, "Nah, I'm not American. I'm Irish, actually. I gather you are American?"
That would b
e the accent. I nodded. "Yeah. I'm from New Jersey," I said as I grew more comfortable in the man's company. We sat the last crate down as a couple ladies walked up. I looked around at them and they give us warm smiles.
Benjamin nodded to them and spoke in such perfect Italian that it made me envious of the ease that he could swap between the languages. The tallest girl beamed at Benjamin and they all seemed to have an easy comradery that made me think they were probably regulars at the stall. Benjamin said the names of the fruits and amounts in English and I gathered up what they wanted. I found it fairly easy to recognize most everything except some of the more exotic fruits. When the girls walked off, Benjamin gave me a smile. "Good first job," he complimented.
"Thanks," I said with little enthusiasm. "How did you learn to speak Italian like that?"
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