by Julia Talbot
The green room was deserted. Jacob poured himself a stiff drink, scotch he thought, from a side table and sat heavily in on of the club chairs strewn about the room. The twins took a sofa, presenting a picture of togetherness, no matter what the outcome. For at least a half hour they waited there without talking, the only sound in the room the ticking of the ormolu clock on the mantel. Laughter bubbled up in Jacob at his original thought about how much he wanted to enjoy the party. He certainly had done that.
When Cecilia slipped into the room some time later, Jacob was surprised to see she was alone. The twins were too, he thought, and knew he was right when Damien asked, “Where is Marco?”
Her expression was grave as she looked at them, on to another. “I did not tell him,” she replied. “He is not one of us.”
Relief spread across their faces, but Jacob was more confused than before. He cleared his throat. “I don't understand.”
“I did not wish for anyone else to know, at least until we had talked. And Marco may be my husband, but he is not a Rossi. He will not know if I am not forced to tell him.”
“Bene,” Gianni said decisively. “Then what else is there to say?” Damien nodded too, and the twins crossed their arms over their chests and tried to stare their sister down.
“A great deal, I would think.” Cecilia crossed the room to pour herself a drink, and took a long swig before continuing. “First, I want to make sure Jacob isn't going to try to run away again. It's very important to me that he finish and publish his research on Venetti.”
Shaking his head, Jacob practically croaked his words. “I can't. I can't stay here now. Don't you see? I need to go back to the Church. To do penance and reaffirm my vows. I have to confess. The Church has a right to punish me. To excommunicate me. I can't just ... stay.”
“But who has to know?” That was Damien, and the casual dismissal sat hard in Jacob's chest.
“I would. God does. How can I stay here and not do penance?” He was demanding, without even knowing it he was standing, and he was pointing at Damien accusingly. Damien looked crushed, and Jacob knew he had mistaken Damien's meaning.
“I'm sorry, Jacob. I was not dismissing your belief. What I meant is you can stay here, confess to our priest, work through the penance with him.”
“I can't.”
Setting her glass down with a thump, Cecilia came to stand in front of him. She took one of his hands in hers and went down on her knees to better meet his eye level. “Jacob, you must stay. Please. We need you. For the Venetti project. For many other reasons. Please. Give us a chance to make it right.”
Another one of those blurring, blinding moments of disorientation passed through him, and Jacob was in a paint-smudged studio, with half finished paintings all around him. There was a woman, on her knees in front of him, holding one of his hands in both of hers and pressing it against her bosom. “Matteo, you mustn't go back to the country. It would be like banishment. Stay here. Give us a chance to make it right.”
The two scenes blurred, the scent of night flowers and musk mixing with Damien and Gianni's stronger odor, the heat of Cecilia's hand on his like touching a live wire, the look in her eyes so perfectly matched to the one of his mystery lady staring at someone who was not him.
With a desperate noise, Jacob tore away from Cecilia and ran out of the room. Later, much later when he had calmed somewhat, he would find it very telling that he had run upstairs to his suite instead of out of the house this time. He prayed. Jacob prayed for guidance as he never had before. He knelt for hours, until his knees and back ached, and recited any prayer he could think of. Saints’ prayers and Rosaries and stations of the cross. He fell asleep kneeling next to his bed and woke with back and neck that felt permanently bent.
When he looked in the mirror that morning to shave, he was amazed at his own reflection, mainly because aside from looking tired, he was unchanged. There should be some sort of mark on him, shouldn't there? Or maybe a great, big arrow over his head that pointed down at him and rang bells and whistles. He went to breakfast; he really didn't know what else to do. And when Jacob didn't know what to do he fell back on the familiar. Do the next thing. The next thing was breakfast. Absently filling his plate with English style eggs and sausages, Joseph noted that none of the family was up yet. He imagined they were hung over. Or, to be more fair, exhausted. It had been a long night.
He ate mechanically, and focused on his visions rather than his predicament. He knew he was seeing images of Matteo Venetti. Had known it for some time. What he wanted to know was if they were real, or if they were figments of an overactive imagination. What if the visions were simply an excuse, a way to make his own actions seem less by equating them with a four hundred year old mystery. The only problem with that idea is that the Venetti portrait had begun to have an extraordinary effect on him even before he met the Rossi and Miggliozzi family. He had some connection to it that he didn't understand, and it was bleeding over into everything else and eroding his common sense.
Running things through his mind over and over was really no help, but it passed the time. And distracted him so much that he didn't hear anyone come in. The hand on his shoulder was his first clue that he wasn't alone, and he screeched loud enough to wake the rest of the house.
“Sorry,” Damien said. “I did not mean to startle.” Damien's greenish eyes were clear and direct and honest, and Jacob relaxed.
“No problem.”
“I wanted to talk to you before the others got up. I hope you don't mind.”
“Of course not.” And he didn't. Not really. He wanted to duck his head and blush, but he managed to keep his head high. “What did you want to talk about?” Jacob only faltered a little bit at the end. He had a feeling he knew what Damien wanted to talk about. What else could it be? And yet it was still too raw. He still didn't know what he thought, let alone what to tell Damien.
“Where's Gianni?” He blurted it out, and Damien grinned at him.
“Still sleeping. He snores. It's cute.”
Jacob wondered if he was going crazy. “Why isn't he here? To talk?”
“I thought it would be better to do this without him. He gets angry very quickly. It's the way he hides being scared, or hurt. I did not want him to be mad at either of us. Are you going to stay?”
“Yes.” It popped out with no thought whatsoever, and Jacob was amazed at himself. Damien's expression was more along the lines of happy, and he leaned forward to plant a light kiss on Jacob's lips.
“Good.”
“No.” Jacob shook his head. “No.”
“What?” Damien tilted his head inquiringly. “No what?”
“If I stay, there can't be any more of that. I know I was as much to blame for last night as anyone, but I can't do it again. Promise me you won't try.”
“I can't.” Damien's smile melted into distress. “I wish I could, but I can't promise. I want you. So does Gianni. It never works that way for us. He and I, both with the same. Never. You're different. We don't want to hurt you Jacob, but if you stay we will have to try.”
His voice shook alarmingly when he replied, and he felt like a very lost little boy. “Then I can't stay.”
Like he was indeed a child, Damien pulled Jacob out of the chair and onto his lap, holding him firmly. “Yes, you can. You don't have to do anything you don't wish to Jacob. I said we will but try. If you say no, you say no.”
Resting his head on Damien's shoulder was easy, the easiest thing he'd done in a long while, and he sighed. He relaxed into Damien's warm body and just floated. He didn't come back down until Damien put him back in his own chair. He looked up, lost again, and Damien cupped his cheek with one hand. “Giovanni is coming.”
Damien got up and moved to the sideboard and sure enough, Vanni walked in. He looked awful, all stubble and glazed eyes, and if Jacob hadn't been so miserable himself he would have laughed his ass off. Instead he retreated behind his coffee cup and listened to Damien and Vanni insult each other. V
anni looked at him a few times with speculation in his eyes, but otherwise left Jacob alone, which he was grateful for. He didn't think he could handle any of Vanni's snide insinuations today. Jacob escaped the breakfast room just as the rest of the family trooped in, raising a few eyebrows, but not caring a bit.
The workroom did not draw him today. Neither did the library. The thought of Venetti's Hell was just too intimidating. Really he just wanted to sleep, and before he knew it, he had wandered into the study and collapsed on the deep leather couch. He had to laugh at himself. This was the same couch the twins had been on that first night. And if he wasn't careful, he'd end up acting like a lovesick fool. Which was silly, because while the twins inspired great affection, he wasn't likely to pine for them. There was no need to. If he asked, they'd give it to him. And didn't that scare the shit out of him?
When he woke up he was amazed that he had slept at all. He had, for several hours. His head felt too big and his mouth was disgusting. He got up and headed upstairs to take a shower and brush his teeth. Maybe that would clear his head a little. The hot water did help, and so did the comfort of big fluffy towels. For the first time since he was a very small child, Jacob left off his clothes and slipped back into bed. It was freeing rather than naughty, as if the weight of even pajamas would be too much. And it felt decadent but good to spend the day snoozing off and on. Like he'd earned it with his sleepless night of sin and prayer.
Jolting straight up in bed, Jacob listened to the sound of his heart in his ears and thought a little wildly that it was getting too familiar to wake up this way. Was there a time when he'd slept peacefully? There must have been. But it was like having a cold. You forgot what an unstuffed nose felt like after a while. Somehow it didn't surprise him at all to find Cecilia sitting in a chair next to his bed, watching him.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes. More or less.” He sat up and leaned back on the headboard, pulling the comforter up about his chest. “I think so anyway.”
“Good.” She paused, obviously putting her thoughts in order while she studied him. “Do you want me to send them away? I can.”
“What? Who?”
“The twins. I can send them to Milan, or Venice. Even farther if you like. New York, maybe. They have an office there.”
“What? No. They don't need to leave. If anyone does it will be me. But not yet. I'm not upset with them. Really.”
Another of those too knowing looks. “You are sure?”
“Yes.” He nodded decisively. “I'm perfectly capable of taking responsibility for my own actions. They didn't coerce me.”
“Very well. You'll tell me if something else bothers you? Or if you feel like you need to go? You won't just run off.”
“I won't go without talking to you.”
“Bene.” She stood. “And if there is anything else, anything strange that bothers you, you'll tell me that too, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Dinner will be informal. I hope you will come. Alessandro wishes to hold forth on the family history you missed last time.”
“I'll be there.”
She smiled at him, and he remembered suddenly that he was naked under the covers. Somehow he thought Cecilia knew too, the way her eyebrow went up, and the gap between her teeth appeared in that wolfish grin. Her eyes ranged over the skin showing above his blankets before lowering unerringly to the spot below his waist where his cock hardened. The smile widened.
“Grazie, Jacob. I'll see you then.”
Staring at the ceiling, Jacob contemplated his circumstances. He'd had sex. With men. Two of them. And while he knew there were those among the clergy who did that all the time, he never had. He wanted to have sex with a woman. Not just sex. He wanted to throw her down, and for lack of a better word, ravish her. There went his mother's romance novels again, he thought. Add to all of it that he hadn't confessed yet, hadn't really asked forgiveness when he prayed, just guidance, and he was in a bad way.
So what did he do all day? Sleep. And reassure the people he'd had sex with and that he wanted to have sex with that he was fine. He must be certifiable. Rolling out of bed, Jacob got up and got dressed. The collar he put on felt stifling, but he didn't dare leave it off. It was his only armor. A glance at the clock told him he had enough time to note down his “visions” before he went down to dinner.
He was a little late. Which meant everyone else already there, drinks in hand, chatting amiably about the masquerade. According to the calculations Marco was going over when he walked in, it was a success, at least in terms of money. Jacob had been horrified during the planning stages to find out that they charged an exorbitant amount for tickets. At least until Terri had reminded him that the money went to local charities. That was one of the main reasons he had finally given in and helped. It was, after all, a good cause. Jacob stifled a laugh at the thought of what he'd sacrificed for a good cause.
Expecting awkwardness, Jacob was pleasantly surprised when Alessio latched onto him and dominated his attention for most of the meal. He learned a great deal about the Rossi family that night. None of it was anything he couldn't find out if he did some research, probably, but Alessio liked the subject, and he told it well. The Rossis were one of those families who could practically trace their line back to Caesar. Surprisingly enough, though, they had not always been wealthy. It was only in the Renaissance era that they began to truly prosper, through trade routes and shipping. “Piracy,” Alessio said with a smile. “Why sugar coat it?”
Why indeed. Jacob was sure it was not something they advertised, but if it came out in a tabloid someplace they'd probably embrace it. The idea that the Rossis had once been pirates pleased him inordinately, actually. It explained their take no prisoners attitude, their whole ability to snatch up what they wanted regardless of anyone else's feelings. Jacob knew that wasn't entirely fair, but it was still how he felt about them.
The Rossi family had finally made good, and become respectable, when one of their daughters married a nobleman. Alicia di Rossi had married a young count named Miggliozzi. Jacob boggled, and the whole family laughed. Yes, the two families had been intermarrying for some four hundred years. Nothing new there, and nothing that should shock him. Except that it did, because somewhere deep in his gut Jacob knew very well that he had found the subject of his Venetti portrait.
From the speculative looks he was getting from Cecilia and Marco, he wasn't the only one who knew. Jacob never said a word, but something in his expression must have changed drastically, because Alessio broke off to ask if he was okay. One little corner of his mind spared a thought for how sick he was of that question, but the rest was wholly occupied with something that felt like rage. Good, old-fashioned pissed off.
“You lied to me.” No one had to ask whom he was accusing. His narrowed gaze rested solely on Cecilia. She stared back at him, unruffled.
“I never said that I did not know who she was, Jacob.”
“You never told me you knew either. A lie by omission is still a lie. How did you think I could do my work if you didn't give me the information I needed?”
Marco cut in. “You didn't need that information to do your job. Which was, if I recall to compare and contrast Venetti's early paintings with his later ones.”
“Yes, but my original job, for the Church mind you, was to research the portrait.”
“Once they sold it to us, that part of your job ended,” Alessio said gently. “Your scholarly paper is what concerns you now.”
“Fine.” Even Jacob could hear the flat tone n his own voice. “But my paper does not just compare and contrast, as you put it. It asks what changed. What was the catalyst for the change in Venetti's style? And the portrait is from the period where his painting was evolving. This could be important. And you kept it from me!”
“Jacob, it wasn't important until you got to a certain point. In your research, I mean. Now you know.” Cecilia finished with one of her eloquent shrugs. Sometimes it made him crazy tha
t Europeans could express more with one gesture than he could with an entire lecture. They were just so much more mobile than he was. Right now was one of those crazy times.
Standing, he nodded to Alessio and the others, pointedly ignoring Cecilia. “I think I'll go upstairs now. Goodnight.” He wanted to sound calm, but he sounded tight and agitated instead. He turned on his heel and left, feeling like he never did anything but run away from these people.
“Don't you ever stay and fight?” Jacob stiffened and turned on the stairs to face Vanni, who obviously thought Jacob ran away too much too. “That's the only way to get their respect. Stand up to them.”
“So that's how you get their respect? And how do you simply get their attention? By fucking everything that moves?” Jacob clamped his mouth shut, horrified by what just came out of it. Vanni brought out the very worst in him. He backed up a step when Vanni moved up so they were face to face.
“I haven't fucked you yet, Father. Do you want me to? That would certainly get their attention.”
“Shut up.” Jacob shook his head, but stood his ground, not moving away when Vanni leaned in close. “That's disgusting.”
“Not to sound juvenile, but you started it. I was just offering a little friendly advice.”
“You're never friendly. Even when it will gain you something the best you can do is a polite veneer. You're an asshole, Vanni.” Jacob knew his ears were red, and he had trouble maintaining eye contact with the last word, but he held fast.
“Maybe. But I'm not a liar, Father. Especially not to myself. I don't sit there with a hard dick in my pants watching someone else fuck the maid and call myself Holy.”
The sound of Jacob's balled up fist hitting Vanni's face was shockingly loud in the echoing space of the stairway. They were both stunned for a minute, Jacob staring with open-mouthed shock while Vanni licked blood from his lip. Then Jacob was off again, doing what he did best. Running.