by Julia Talbot
What wonderful material this was! The scholarly journals and books on the subject couldn't fill in these types of blanks. Yes, much of Varza's work was probably blown out of proportion, but it explained so much. If Alicia and Matteo had an affair, and it ended badly, it would explain why Venetti's style became darker during that time, all of the man's feelings pouring out on the canvas The subsequent action by the church would have colored his opinion of them as well, so while his subjects were still religious, they did not necessarily glorify that religion. And if he knew he was going to be kicked out of the church, Venetti would surely fear going to Hell, which would help to explain why he imagined it so vividly.
There had to be more to it, but it was a start. Jacob glanced at the painting of the Fall he'd been working on before his latest duck and run. It couldn't be coincidence that Lucifer, strangely seductive as well as repellant, looked so much like a Rossi. The scope of the painting was astounding, and yet the eye was drawn to the central figure as he was cast out of Heaven. Jacob stared at it for long moments, then shook it off and closed the book. He was getting lazy and decadent, he knew, but he wanted a nap before he had his meeting. He wanted to be fresh and organized when he grilled Cecilia for information.
Grinning at the thought of intimidating someone like Cecilia, Jacob locked up his workshop and went back to the twins’ rooms. He'd been informed at breakfast, by Cristina no less, that his things had been moved to the suite across the hall from Damien and Gianni's. He hadn't been in there, yet. He was, in fact, still wearing a pair of Damien's jeans and one of Gianni's black shirts. That was indulgent too, but he just couldn't help it. He liked they way they smelled. He chuckled. He hadn't had the guts to tell Father Bertolli about the sex part, let alone the fact that he may very well like men better than women.
After an extensive search, Jacob decided that the twins didn't have an alarm clock. Then he almost smacked himself in the head. Of course not. They just called the house switchboard and told them what time they wanted to wake up. Feeling like a lord of the manner, Jacob did just that. Snuggling in under the covers, he gave himself over to the little known pleasure of sleeping during the day. As if to prove his earlier assertion about his sexual preferences wrong, he dreamed of Cecilia. Or Alicia. He dreamed of tracing that little gap between her front teeth with his tongue, of palming her breasts in his hands and feeling those luscious coral colored nipples harden under his touch. He bit into her full upper lip and sank deep into her wet heat, and she gasped his name as she wrapped around him. Matteo's name, but in his dream they were the same. He fisted his hands in her hair and rode her hard, until they were both crying out harshly. Jacob awoke humping furiously into the mattress on the bed, drenched in sweat and teetering on the edge of orgasm. A single touch of his fingers on his cock and he was coming hard, his voice loud and grating in the quiet room.
Panting, Jacob stayed where he was until he was completely relaxed, and marveled at his subconscious mind. Was that reassurance about his sexuality, or reinforcement of his idea that Alicia and Venetti were lovers? He crawled out of bed, wrinkling his nose at the mess, and rang for someone to change the sheets. It was a sign of how comfortable he'd become with the twins that he could do so without blushing. Then he went and cleaned up for his appointment with the lady.
He made it to Cecilia's morning room with five minutes to spare. He stopped by his workshop and gathered his notes, and while he waited he mentally composed his lines. He had no intention of telling her everything he'd found out; with any luck, she would tell him even more than he knew now. When she did show up, Jacob was grateful for his earlier wet dream. It kept him from having a physical reaction to the little blue green wrap dress she wore. He wondered if she did it deliberately, or if she just dressed like that all the time. She smelled good, and Jacob realized that it was not just good, it was familiar. He had known her scent before he met her, deep in his bones.
Patiently waiting for her to speak, Jacob rearranged the papers on the desk in front of him. Cecilia flashed him a smile and sat across from him. “Thank you for coming, Jacob. I hope I didn't take you away from work.”
“No. Not work.” He didn't think she'd want to know what he had been doing prior to this meeting.
“Good. So, what progress have you made?”
“Well, I'm about fifty percent done with evaluating the collection. I've found a few new primary sources. And thanks to the information I gained from Alessio after you deigned to tell me about Alicia Rossi, I'm forming a theory. But there's nothing conclusive yet.”
“What's your theory?” Her face was tight, and she leaned forward a bit in her chair, showing him just a hint of cleavage. Despite his earlier release, his body tightened, and his breath came in on a gasp. Dark blue green eyes met his, something deep and dangerous flashing in them. Cecilia shook her head, as if trying to clear it
“I am a married woman, you know that, si?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. I adore Marco.”
“It would never occur to me that you did not.”
Expression still, intent, Cecilia stared at him, finally nodding sharply. “Bene. Your theory?”
Jacob drew a deep breath, only then realizing he leaned well forward himself. He forced himself to settle back, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, I think Venetti had a life changing experience, as corny as it sounds. I think something happened to him that changed how he viewed himself and his place in the world. And subsequently, his paintings changed. Which would account for the middle period paintings. Then, thanks to those paintings, Venetti's Church patrons began looking upon him with suspicion, maybe fear, and set about having him excommunicated. Which accounts for the third, and final, stage of his career. If he was afraid of going to Hell, then certainly it would make sense that he would wonder what it was like, and put his imaginings on canvas.”
Tapping one elegant foot against the Persian rug, Cecilia regarded him steadily. He hoped that she would react to his lecturing tone of voice and formal word choice by accepting what he said as a scholarly hypothesis, with nothing personal behind it. Jacob couldn't tell form her expression whether she had or not.
“So,” she said suddenly, “what was this life changing event?”
Plunge right in, he told himself. “I think Matteo Venetti had an affair with one of his portrait subjects. Alicia Miggliozzi, to be exact. What do you think of that?”
“It could be. Her husband was well past the age of such things.” Her voice was flat, unemotional. Jacob had hoped for a heated denial, or an expression of surprise. Something besides the enigmatic stare she was giving him now. Of course, he was probably very silly to think he could outdo her at this game. She was far more experienced at it than he. Jacob tried another tack.
“Unlike yours. Why do you want to have Matteo Venetti reinstated into the Church?”
That produced more of the response Jacob was looking for. Cecilia sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Who told you that?”
“Alessandro.”
Affronted now, as only a sibling could be, Cecilia muttered a distinctly unladylike curse against her brother. “And he did not tell you why?”
“He said he didn't know.”
“I see. Is that all you have found in your research?” At Jacob's nod, Cecilia stood. “Well then, I'll see you at dinner?”
Hurriedly rising to his feet, Jacob shook his head. “I'm going out with Damien and Gianni tonight. They've promised me the Italian version of the American greasy spoon.”
With a sharp nod, Cecilia said, “Very well. Have fun.” And she left the room. Jacob looked at the empty doorway. Interview over.
The twins really were expecting him for dinner. He didn't even think about putting his collar on before he left the house, and later he thought that should disturb him, but it didn't. The implications would have to be dealt with sooner or later, but at this point he hoped it would be later. They took him to a terrible dive, where they were greeted by nam
e and seated in the kitchen to eat. The food was magnificent in its simplicity. Handmade pastas and a hearty sauce of olive oil, basil and ripe tomatoes. The bread was hot and fresh, perfectly crusty. The wine took the top of his head off. It was wonderful.
When was the last time he'd allowed himself the simple pleasures like this? Jacob sometimes felt that as a priest, anything that felt or tasted really good had to be a sin. But really, how could something so simple as this sort of fare be bad?
Afterwards they went to a club, where Damien and Gianni took turns being seen out on the dance floor with a procession of beautiful women. They had a reputation to uphold, they said. The paparazzi loved the Rossis. And if they wanted to be left in peace at home, they would have to go out once in awhile and provide fodder for the tabloids. Jacob just shook his head and enjoyed the driving rhythm of the music. He wished the twins could dance together. He would enjoy that. The visual that popped into his head was a nice one, and when combined with the subtle touches and brushes they bestowed on him it made him ready to go home. Right then.
Voicing that opinion to Damien got him a sharp laugh and a quick grope, and soon they were on their way back to the palazzo. Jacob was at a loss to explain the mood that infected him, but he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Damien and Gianni were delighted with him, and by the time they got back to the house, all three of them were flushed and mussed and laughing.
They tumbled into the twins’ suite and clothes went flying everywhere. Before, Jacob had been content to be passive and enjoy what they gave him. His attitude towards sex was changing along with everything else it seemed, because his touch was more devouring than tentative, and he was eager to try things that he would never have believed possible until they were done to him.
Twisting and turning against the hands that tried to push him down on the bed, Jacob finally got a solid hold on someone and pushed them instead. Damien, he found, was the one under him, and Jacob kissed him hard. Straddling him, Jacob rubbed their bodies together, and Damien's eyes twinkled at him delightedly. He slid down Damien's body and put his mouth where his mouth had never been before, licking at Damien's erection hungrily. Damien arched beneath him, and Gianni gasped behind him, and the taste in his mouth was sweat salty and bitterly male. Jacob felt hands on his ass and then hot breath, and then Gianni's tongue was on him, and he was going crazy.
It all felt so good. Damien's slick, hot skin beneath his lips, and Gianni's strong tongue in him, and Jacob wondered why he'd ever denied himself such a pleasure. His inexpert sucking was making Damien crazy too, and the strong body under him bucked and heaved. He rode it out, his own hips circling desperately, and Gianni's hand slid around to cradle his aching cock. A few short strokes and he was coming, and Damien was too, right there in his mouth. When they were done, Gianni turned Jacob over and kissed him, licking at the essence of his brother that still lingered in Jacob's mouth.
They did everything they could think of to him that night, and the implications Jacob had been thinking about earlier with his collar became writing on the wall when Gianni slipped inside his body with fingers and cock, and took him as close to Heaven as he ever expected to get. Jacob knew where his future lay, and as much as it scared him, it also gave him peace to admit it. He slept curled between them, and felt loved.
When he dreamed, it was distant, like he was watching the scenes instead of living them. The despair and darkness were tangible, but while Jacob felt sorry for Matteo Venetti as he saw the man spiral down into suicide, he no longer felt like they were the same person.
In fact, he felt like he was finally watching things from the outside. Perhaps it was his realization that Cecilia was not Alicia. Perhaps it was the twins, who he felt genuinely cared for him, but Jacob felt he had found a certain amount of equilibrium. Thank God, because in his dreams he saw Matteo appeal to the Church, asking for forgiveness, begging them to let him dedicate the rest of his life them, and being so cruelly denied that he killed himself. The detachment made it easier for him to shrug the dreams off, and go back to sleep, which suited Jacob just fine.
The next morning seemed brighter, less confused and jumbled. Poor Venetti, sucked into a life of sin when he should have been the priest. Jacob would not make the same mistake. He would accept that his life was not with the Church before he tore himself apart trying to fit a mold that was not right for him.
It wasn't as if it would be easy, and he would agonize about it and change his mind a hundred times, he was sure. But Jacob still found relief in having made a decision to make a decision, if that made any sense at all. Things clicked into place, like they'd just been waiting for him. It was time to stop running. He rolled out of bed feeling better than he had in weeks.
At breakfast, he took Terri aside and asked if she could get him an appointment with Cecilia. She looked at him oddly, but he just grinned and said that Cecilia might be avoiding him and would she just do it already? Terri grinned back, surprised but pleased with his pushiness, as she called it. She told him she'd see what she could do. That was all he could ask for, so he set about getting the information he would need for the meeting should it eventuate.
The book that Father Bertolli had given him, the history by Vincenzo Garza, yielded more information to him that day. It told of the trial, as Jacob had originally read, but it also named names in the church, which was incredibly valuable. With that sort of information, Jacob might be able to pinpoint exactly who had been afraid of Venetti, enough so that they trumped up a silly charge and took away something he loved so much.
Jacob also made a few calls. One to Father Bertolli to ask him to look a few things up. One to the office of Father Fermozzi, the priest who had sold the Venetti portrait of Alicia to the Rossis. He inquired politely as to whether the good Father would be in town in the next week or so, in case Jacob needed to see him. His secretary said, yes, he would. Terri got back to him at midday, and told him that Cecilia could work him in the next morning. Telling her that was fine, he also asked if she could see about Marco making it to that meeting. She grumbled, but said she'd work on it.
Then he went to see if he could find Vanni. It wasn't hard. Vanni was in his office, shuffling papers industriously. Which probably wasn't a fair description. He did actually appear to be doing work. Jacob knocked, then entered without waiting for a reply, and resisted the urge to look under the desk and see if Cristina was there, sucking Vanni off. The thought made him grin, though, and that was the expression he wore when he plopped down across from the other man.
His attitude caught Vanni off guard, he could tell. It was a good look for him. Jacob just sat there for a minute savoring it. Of course, that gave Vanni time to recover. He leered at Jacob and asked, “So, Father, what can I do for you?” The snide words were accompanied by an insulting once over.
No blush, no uncomfortable shifting. Jacob just sat there and looked right back. Oh, inside he was cringing. He couldn't change that much overnight, but Alessio had a point when he said that once Jacob got over the running he'd come back and stand his ground. It was time Vanni learned it, too.
“I was hoping you had a minute, Vanni. There was something I wanted to say.”
“By all means. Be my guest.” Vanni made an expansive gesture with his hands and sat back in a waiting posture.
“Thank you.” Jacob gathered himself for a moment, then launched his opening salvo. “First of all, I have asked you repeatedly to call me Jacob. You refuse to do so. If you were using my title as a sign of respect, it wouldn't be so bad. But you use it to mock me, which is upsetting to say the least. I have not mentioned how much it bothered me, because I was trying to be polite. Obviously I can no longer do that. If you cannot bring yourself to call me by name, then I'm going to have to ask you not to address me at all.”
By the time he finished his face was hot, but Jacob held his ground, and held Vanni's stare, which held a mixture of skepticism and amusement. He knew he'd have to back it up now, which would be hard because he was
so used to placating. He could do it though. And he wasn't finished. Maintaining eye contact, Jacob continued.
“I also wanted to let you know that I'll probably be around for awhile, working on the Venetti collection. Longer than I expected really.”
Here Vanni broke in. “And that concerns me how?”
“Because I'll be living in your house. And that means I'll have to interact with you. Which will be difficult if you continue to dislike me so.”
Surprise flashed briefly on Vanni's face, but was quickly covered by an unpleasant smile. “I don't dislike you, Jacob. In fact, I like you a great deal.”
“No, you like trying to fuck with my head.”
Vanni's mouth fell open, then he burst out laughing. “I didn't know you had that in you, Jacob. And it's not just your head I want to fuck with.”
Relaxing a little, Jacob smiled along with Vanni. He waited for the other man to stop chuckling before he started speaking again. “No, I don't suppose that is all you want.” Then, knowing it was unexpected, Jacob stood and planted his hands on Vanni's desk. He leaned forward across it, closing the space between them. “But I don't want you that way, even though I enjoyed it the one time. If you ever try to touch me that way again, I'll have your balls. Or better yet, I'll just tell your sister-in-law, who seems to like me, and she can have them. Understood?”
Slowly, Vanni nodded, something like approval creeping into his expression. “Looks like you stopped running from the fight,” Vanni said, and there was none of the sarcasm in his voice that was usually there.
“Looks like it,” Jacob replied.
“What brought this on?”
“It's really none of your business. Just tell me that we understand each other.”