by Con Riley
That praise was quiet too, as the boy’s reading had been, so as not to disturb the infant that slept cradled against Marco’s shoulder. The small, dark head shifted against his collar, and a strained cry led to Marco’s free hand patting the baby’s back much more firmly than Aiden would have dared to. When the baby let out an extravagant burp, its sound echoing around the courtyard, both Aiden and the small boy laughed.
Aiden’s fingers tightened around the bars between them when Marco’s head quickly turned in his direction. With the sunlight diffused by a tree’s leaves, Marco sat, barefoot and gorgeous, in shade shot through with mellow rays of sunshine.
He’d never looked more handsome.
He’d never looked so exhausted.
Aiden couldn’t take his eyes off him, cataloging the bags under his eyes and the unusual untidiness of his hair as he crossed the space between them.
Marco clasped the baby to him, its small head cupped in one palm and its bottom in the other. His mouth opened, but no words came out in either English or Italian.
Aiden spoke for him.
“Children suit you.” He pressed closer, one hand reaching between the bars to wrap around Marco’s nape. He placed his other over the hand that cupped the baby’s head. Fine hair, as ridiculously soft as Marco’s, tickled his fingertips. “You’d make such a great dad.”
Marco stepped as close as he could with the baby and the gate still between them. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they shone brightly.
Aiden said, “Ciao, tesoro,” and Marco let him in.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aiden had never held a baby. He sat in Marco’s place on the bench watching tiny lips make sleepy sucking motions, praying that she’d stay fast asleep. The boy now stood beside him, small fists firmly planted on his skinny hips. He glared at Aiden, who peered over his shoulder, hoping Marco would come back quickly.
“Here. Take her,” had been Marco’s first words, followed quickly by, “Let me go see if her mother is awake.”
That had been a while ago.
At least five whole minutes.
Aiden shifted positions, holding his breath when the baby’s small arms flailed. The boy leaned in closer, murmuring something and stroking the baby’s hair until she turned toward Aiden’s chest, lips smacking more intently. That had made the kid giggle, covering his mouth as he tried to keep in his laughter.
“You think she’s hungry?” Aiden really hoped she wasn’t. The boy frowned in confusion. Aiden tried out some of the basic Italian that Theo had typed out for him, saying the words for sister and for beauty. The boy had quickly nodded, looking somewhat friendlier. The next thing Aiden tried to say had him cracking up.
“You mix up your tenses and your genders. It’s probably best if I act as your translator.” Marco scooped up the still-sleeping infant and said, “Come on. Come inside and meet her mother.”
Aiden followed him into the house, passing through a series of spacious rooms that had high, ornately plastered ceilings. He nodded at a sleep-rumpled woman who smiled as she took her baby from Marco’s arms. “This is my brother Paulo’s wife. She is a little worn out.”
Aiden thought that she and Marco looked pretty similar. Perhaps looking after his mother was comparable to taking care of an infant—they both had the same dark-gray smudges under their eyes.
“She came to visit with Mamma. I think they both spent the whole time snoring.” He chatted for a few more minutes while his sister-in-law gathered her children’s things. When he showed them out the front door, he retrieved Aiden’s suitcase.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Marco kissed him, his hands settling in Aiden’s hair, tugging until their mouths met, encouraging Aiden to open so he could press his tongue in.
Aiden pulled him close, shoving the suitcase out from between them, the sound of its falling a heavy thud, loud in the expansive foyer. Marco paused midkiss, as if about to stop and right it, until Aiden gathered him even closer. He cupped Marco’s head, tilting it until he could kiss him deeply. The next sounds in the entranceway were Italian-accented whimpers.
Aiden was used to Marco’s usual energetic fight to direct their progress, and the way he now clung, body pliant under Aiden’s hands, lips opening as if this contact was something he desperately needed, made Aiden hold him tighter. They kissed that way, lost in their reunion, until the sound of the outside world began to filter in again. People passed in the street, their conversation muted yet staccato, and somewhere close by a foreign-sounding siren grew louder before receding.
Aiden pulled back just enough to kiss along Marco’s jawline, ending with his face tucked into the crook of Marco’s neck and shoulder.
Marco stroked the curve of his hunched shoulders and then patted, just as he had with the baby—hollow-sounding claps that said “You’re mine,” “You’re here,” and “Welcome.”
They parted slowly, Marco looking dazed before his brow furrowed.
“What are you doing here?” His hands smoothed down from Aiden’s shoulders to his wrists, squeezing there before he stepped back, almost falling over Aiden’s case. He bent and hauled it upright, frowning at its weight.
“You have packed for longer than a weekend?” His brows rose when Aiden shrugged.
“Evan packed for me. I’m not sure I’m allowed to come home unless I bring you with me. Maybe he’s packed enough to last for a while.”
Marco considered Aiden’s words, fingers tucking into his belt loop, tugging him closer. “How is this possible?”
Aiden wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. He didn’t know himself. Leaving Seattle for longer than a few days seemed like a glimpse into someone else’s life—impossible and wonderful.
“You will have to explain this to me later. Come upstairs with me now?”
Marco didn’t have to ask twice.
Aiden followed where he led, hefting his case as they climbed a steep stone staircase. Each step looked subtly shaped, dipping in the middle, suggesting centuries of use.
“Your house must be very old.”
“Yes.” Marco paused outside an open doorway, leaning in and gesturing for Aiden to look over his shoulder. His voice was a husky whisper. “Mamma is sleeping still. She sleeps nearly all the time now. It is good for her recovery.”
His mother’s head rested on a generous pile of pillows, turned away from Aiden’s gaze. Shutters left the room in deep shade, and a fan cast a cooling breeze. Next to the bed, an armchair stood, a laptop left open on its wide arm.
Aiden could picture Marco watching over her, reading his emails in the dark.
Marco turned and continued up the staircase. The walls here shone in a way that reminded Aiden fiercely of his brother. Evan had once described in great detail the way craftsmen used to mix marble dust into their final skim of plaster, leaving buildings lustrous, shining inside like a pearl. He said it was a sign of importance, wealth, and status. Aiden hadn’t imagined ever seeing Renaissance decorating firsthand, and he wished, just for a moment, that his brother was with him to appreciate it.
They stopped at the top of the final flight, where a hallway led to a set of dark wood double doors.
“This house is huge.” From the outside, it had looked imposing and solid. Inside, it was like a palace. “Has your family lived here for long?”
“Yes. Since the beginning.”
Marco walked ahead again, opening the doors and pushing them wide so Aiden could stand beside him.
Exhaustion suddenly hit Aiden hard, leaving him grasping the doorframe after he dropped his case, incapable of anything other than gaping. He looked at the suite of rooms that were so obviously Marco’s, from the antique double-sided partners desk, its leather top stained with faded ink spilled by earlier generations, to the huge four-poster bed he spied through an open doorway. It was masculine and stylish, meticulously organized and beautiful. Modern pieces, like a flat-screen TV, as well as classic, like the low black leather couches, were arrange
d to reflect its owner.
Aiden huffed out a huge breath.
Peter’s whole house could fit in this one room.
Marco wheeled his suitcase through the living area toward his bedroom, skirting a baby grand piano, his constant stream of words only dying out when he realized that Aiden hadn’t followed him. His head poked out from the far doorway. “Tesoro?”
Aiden slowly nodded.
“Are you coming in?”
He nodded again.
Marco smiled, then came back to get him. “Forgive me. Are you hungry? Thirsty? I don’t know what I was thinking.” He gestured toward another closed door. “You want me to get you a drink?”
Aiden shook his head.
“Come.” Marco took Aiden’s hand and drew him across the threshold, keeping hold until Aiden was safely inside. Marco closed the doors to the hallway, turning a key to lock them. “There.” He sounded very satisfied. “Now, do you want to visit for a while?” He gestured toward a couch. “Perhaps now is a good time to explain how you come to be here?” He fired out questions, and his sudden inquisition made Aiden start to smile. Another thing he’d missed.
“No.” Aiden’s voice was gruff. He covered Marco’s mouth with one hand. “Did I see a bed in that direction?” When Marco’s smile stretched against his palm, Aiden took that as agreement. He said, “I don’t want to talk yet.” Aiden had done enough of that shit lately. “Unless you want me to tell you how much I missed you.”
He lifted Marco, who wrapped his legs around Aiden’s hips, laughing until his back hit his bed’s mattress. “No. Don’t tell me.” Marco looked up at him, eyes focused on Aiden’s mouth, wetting his own lips before he spoke. “Show me instead.” He pushed himself up, tugging at Aiden’s belt. He soon had all of his own clothes off and most of Aiden’s, cursing at the way Aiden’s pants caught around his ankles while he still had on his shoes. He knelt quickly, after making Aiden sit, and grumbled in Italian as he yanked them from Aiden’s feet. “Why must you wear so much? See how much easier this is when you only have shorts and a shirt to take off?”
“It was raining in Seattle.” Was that only a day ago? It seemed like another lifetime.
Marco stripped him of his socks, leaving him finally naked, propped up on his elbows across Marco’s enormous bed. His next move made Aiden slump back, groaning loudly as Marco’s thumbs pressed into the soles of Aiden’s feet. He then spread his fingers, pushing them all the way up Aiden’s legs from his ankles to the hollows alongside his hipbones. Marco straddled him, their cocks already paying attention. Then he leaned down for a kiss. Soon he settled between Aiden’s legs, creating amazing friction where their bodies crowded close together.
Each tilt of Marco’s hips was accompanied by quiet expressions of disbelief that Aiden had arrived, had crossed the globe, had walked away from his commitments. Marco lapsed into Italian, sounding somewhat emotional. Aiden kissed him again to make him stop, holding his head in place so he could take his time, kissing until they both were groaning.
“Tesoro.” Marco’s voice sounded strained as Aiden’s arms wrapped around him, holding him as close as he could. “I cannot breathe when you hug me so tightly. Ease up a little.”
Aiden did, reluctantly, letting go so one hand grasped Marco’s ass instead while the other clutched his shoulder. He just needed to be close. Marco’s touch and soft lips pressed to his with such warm affection were things he’d badly missed. They moved together, kissing wherever they could reach, hips arching and flexing until Aiden’s movements faltered. His orgasm was easy, a welcome relief that rolled through him rather than an extravagant explosion. Marco lasted a while longer, kneeling as Aiden cupped his balls, jerking himself until his come striped Aiden’s body.
Marco’s delighted laughter—loud and long and joyous—made Aiden smile with simple pleasure. He was still smiling when Marco wiped his come away, and then headed into what Aiden guessed was a bathroom.
Aiden turned onto his belly, letting Marco’s chatter wash over him instead of aggravating him like it once did. His eyes closed when Marco got back in bed beside him, pulling up a sheet that was butter soft, almost asleep before Marco kissed his shoulder.
“Mamma will love you, Aiden. They all will. Just try to remember that everyone is stressed about her recovery. Normally there would be more of us, but tonight I thought it best to only have my brothers here. Perhaps I should have allowed the whole family to come. Their wives would make them behave so much better.” Marco’s words coasted across Aiden’s ear. He almost didn’t hear them; the noise in the kitchen was so intense. He blinked and rubbed at eyes that still felt small and gritty, as if jetlag had somehow made them shrink inside his head. Everything seemed too bright and shiny. The clean lines of the modern kitchen—pale wood and shining granite—seemed out of place after waking up in an ancient, canopied bed.
He sat at a stone-topped table, slowly turning his glass of wine rather than focusing on the room full of too-noisy people.
Marco’s mother sat beside him. Small, and thin to the point of frailty, she was so still and quiet in comparison to her family that he wasn’t certain she was fully awake. Marco had settled him there earlier before starting what looked like a one-man attempt to feed an army. His brothers had offered little assistance, and when Aiden had stood to go help Marco with his preparations, one had laughed aloud as if the idea of an American man cooking were ridiculous. He’d urged Aiden to sit again, barring his way, and had topped off his glass of wine.
Aiden’s grip had clenched around the stem of his glass until Signora de Luca had reached out, her own hand small and only lightly wrinkled, tapping the back of his. When she’d spoken, he’d leaned close to hear over the din of five noisy Italian men intent on one-upping each other.
“You want to help my son? There is no need. He knows what he is doing. I taught all my sons how to feed a family. These four have grown lazy.” Her voice had been restrained as if she were conserving her breath, the pauses between each sentence significant and protracted. Aiden had internally wondered what she was doing out of bed already, given that she’d been so sick only a short time before. The reaction of one of Marco’s brothers, when he’d arrived for dinner, had helped answer Aiden’s unspoken question. This brother—similar to Marco, but a whole lot taller—had spoken quickly when he spied his mom at the table, his words rattling out like semiautomatic gunfire, sounding irate and aggressive.
Even if Aiden had understood Italian beyond sex words and endearments, he most likely couldn’t have kept up with the speed. Aiden had unconsciously leaned farther forward, as if his wide shoulders could deflect them away from Marco’s mamma.
Her response, a single sentence, had the son who’d spoken to her shaking his head fiercely, turning around to yell at Marco instead. Aiden had watched, fascinated and aggrieved in equal measure, wondering just how bad a first impression he would make if he knocked out Marco’s asshole brother.
A small hand wrapping around his clenched fist had made him sit back again.
Marco had walked over, shoving his hair back from his heat-flushed forehead as he yelled in return. He’d translated, quickly and with clear annoyance, that there was little point in his brother questioning the doctor’s orders with him. If the doctor had said that his mother could get up for an hour a day, who were they to spoil her pleasure?
After that, Aiden sat back and watched, head pounding with a jet-lagged headache, wishing he could steal Marco upstairs with him again. The mood lifted once everyone started eating, and even in another language Aiden thought he heard praise for the meal mixed with some loud teasing. Once they’d gotten over their worries about their mother, the brothers’ conversation washed around him, sometimes in Italian but more often in English.
Marco sat next to him while he ate, one hand resting on Aiden’s lap. He’d fended off his brothers’ questions when Aiden struggled to keep up. By the time they were sipping coffee, Aiden had heard so many tall stories about Marco he wasn’t
sure he could tell the difference between the truth and the brothers’ joking fiction. When Marco simply shook his head and smiled, the stories got even wilder.
Marco’s mom sat forward when the brothers cleared the table. “Excuse them. They behave badly without their wives to keep them in line.” She smiled, warm eyes crinkling just like Marco’s. “They are always loud, but tonight you and I are tired, I think. It makes them hard to deal with. Yes?”
Aiden nodded. He was whipped. An hour’s nap had only left him feeling more tired.
“Usually Marco is their ringleader. Lately, he has not been himself. They are like dogs. They can sniff out any weakness.” She paused, drawing in a long, slow breath before adding, “My Marco Fortunato talks about you often. I think he missed your company.”
Marco chose that moment to look across the kitchen to share a smile filled with warm affection.
“See? That look? That look has been missing since he came home to Italia.”
Heat stained Aiden’s cheeks. He felt about fifteen years old again as Marco’s mamma teased him in her only slightly broken English.
When she yawned, Marco hurried over. “Come, it’s past your bedtime.” They slowly headed for the staircase, Signora de Luca accepting gracefully when Aiden offered to carry her to her room.
Marco’s voice behind them sounded slightly annoyed. “This is why I suggested moving your bed downstairs. No one here listens to me.”
“Hush. I am too old to play at camping. Besides, now that we have your Aiden—” She broke off from what she was saying as Aiden backed into her room. “Tell me, what is your full name?”
“Aiden Phillip Daly.”
“Ah. Now that we have your Aiden Phillip, I need not walk at all.” She smiled up at Aiden from the armchair where he set her down, her smile warm and so familiar—shades of Marco, and of Ben.
Marco followed him to the bedroom doorway, waiting until they stood outside before he quietly spoke. “I need to help settle Mamma for the evening. I will be a while. Do you want to . . . ?” He inclined his head in the direction of the courtyard where his brothers were now noisily talking.