by Willa Okati
“Some faithful companion you are,” Rick scoffed, petting the dog’s side. Hamish twisted to lick his hand, then resumed his position. His tail lazily lashed the mattress; Adriano stirred faintly, but didn’t wake.
“So I’ve an audience, now. No matter. You can’t spill my secrets.” Rick returned the direction of his strokes to Adriano, resting his palm over Adriano’s chest. Adriano’s steady heartbeat thudded under his fingers. “Strong as ever,” he noted. “You’re not a man who’ll succumb to heartbreak, no, and never have been. You never said as much, but I know you thought of my willingness to love as my weakness. More often than not after we parted I’d have agreed with you and then some. If I’d never loved you…”
He cleared his throat and sat back, too many words choking him now that he’d finally uncorked the source. Too many memories.
“Do you remember that one wine-tasting party, not a week after we’d met and fucked for the first time? I’d only seen you in passing since ‑‑ truly, I thought my bitter suspicions were confirmed and you’d forgotten about me already. But then, when I looked up from wallflowers’ corner, away from my glass of mediocre red and saw you, handsome as Lucifer and twice as roguish, all a-sparkle with mischief when you winked at me, I knew you hadn’t forgotten for an instant. I knew you’d change my life forever. And you did. D’you remember? No, of course you don’t. No matter. I recall it perfectly.”
If he closed his eyes, Rick could still hear the flawless bowing of the violinist, playing something meant to be a modern interpretation of Dvorak, which sounded exactly identical to the composer’s original to him. He could see the heat in Adriano’s eyes and the wicked curve of his smile.
Adriano hadn’t been one to waste time. Excusing himself from his clutch of dazzling companions and their shrill laughter, he’d made straight for Rick and put his hand under Rick’s elbow. “Shall we?” he’d asked, not needing to specify his request, and Rick knew that look in a man’s eye too well to require any clarification. No, he’d seen the pure want radiating from Adriano as searing as heat from a supernova, and nodded dumbly.
Rick’s body warmed as he remembered it all in crystal-clear flashes of memory. How he’d let Adriano lead him away from the party ‑‑ a wine tasting, a droll joke for Adriano, heir to his own vineyards, as he’d later learned ‑‑ into a luxurious Ferrari, silver as the moonlight. Nowhere near roomy enough for two full-grown men, but oh, they’d made it work for them and he’d readily admit the naughtiness of getting wicked nearly in public had gotten him hotter and harder than he’d been in years.
He could still smell the richness of buttery leather warmed by their bodies and hear their laughter as they struggled to get rid of their clothes, both Adriano’s absurdly expensive tailored suit and his own off-the-rack imitation. He could taste the wine-sharp bitterness of Adriano’s kisses and feel the firm trailing of fingers over his skin as Adriano skillfully and swiftly demonstrated his knowledge of Rick’s hot spots, then manipulated them without shame until Rick begged for more.
Recalling the hot, tight clasp of Adriano’s hand around his aching erection and the sound of his shout as he’d arched off the leather backseat, ready to embarrass himself like he was a horny teenager, Rick found himself reaching in the here and now to adjust his swelling cock.
He lingered, resolutely not giving in to the urge for more pressure and a taste of friction. God help him, he wouldn’t go there now matter how good the memories or how edible Adriano still looked, even when sprawled gracelessly asleep with a mutt drooling on his chest.
“Damn you, anyway,” he muttered, standing.
Other, far less pleasant recollections filled his head, chief among which was the moment when he walked in after a day’s hard slog and found a slender, charming female fashion plate in his accustomed place at Adriano’s side, and Adriano’s lips on hers.
The moment in which he’d been informed, during the shouting match that followed when the lady left, that he’d been a fool from the get-go.
“Five hundred years of history and obligation,” Adriano had said at the last. “I am the heir. The only heir. How could you not have understood what that meant? Of course I have to marry, and why not someone like her?”
“Does she care that you’re gay?”
Adriano’s expression had turned mutinous. “No, and she never will. It’s not her business to know.”
“It will be when you can’t get it up on the honeymoon night.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Rick’s pride had been stung enough to make him ask, “So this is good-bye, then? Thanks for the fuck, now hit the road?”
Adriano had stared flatly at him. “Only if you want to leave.” He’d reached out to tip Rick’s chin up, turning his face from side to side, examining him. “As long as we are careful to be discreet…”
Rick shook off the horrid memory, lip curling now in disgust rather than exasperated affection. “Right,” he croaked. “We’re quits, you and I, and be damned if I’ll let myself fall into your web again.”
Hamish whined anxiously.
“Oh, shut up, you.” Rick stood, dusting off his hands and making for the corridor with bloody-minded determination in his step. He reached for his cell and dialed a number from memory.
“Dominici Vineyards,” a bored receptionist droned.
“Fantastic. Do you happen to be missing an heir apparent?”
Chapter Four
“Right, of course I get that you can’t just patch me straight through, not knowing me from Adam’s left nostril.” Rick raked his hand through his hair and rued the day he’d opted for a limited number of “free” minutes on his cell; this was going to end up costing him the Earth and he still hadn’t gotten through to any actual Dominicis. “No, I’m not trying to be a smartarse. I’m sorry. No, no, no, don’t hang up ‑‑ damn!”
A faint groan from the bedroom answered his frustrated shout. Muttering still more imprecations against red tape and multi-layered levels of redundancy, Rick crept to the bedroom door to peek in at Adriano.
Whew. It looked to Rick as if Adriano still slept like the just and the dead, the only differences now being that he’d an arm flung over his eyes and had his feet uncovered, Hamish busy licking them fit to take the soles off.
“Idiot dog. You don’t know where those have been.” Rick weighed the cell phone in his hand, considering his options. He’d played fair at first, trying to go the approved route. The Dominicis were a proud lot and didn’t care for breaches of protocol.
Therefore, they couldn’t stand him, not once they’d gotten wind of what he was to Adriano, and vice-versa, but that was another story. Ugly, that had been, and not his finest hour, but neither was it his fault. A tawdry photo that suggested a tad too much closeness between them ‑‑ after they’d called it quits, mind ‑‑ they’d been fit to tear each other into shreds and some pissant member of the paparazzi had chosen then to take a snap of them.
She’d gotten one thing right, though. “Lover’s Spat?” the headlines had read.
Damage done; if Rick hadn’t already been on his way out of the city, they’d have tarred and feathered him like a Yank. Possibly even ridden him out of town on a rail, too, or just gone for the good old drawing and quartering. Back then, he’d been more than glad to go, to shake the dust off his shoes and ignore their deprecations.
Now, though…
“Ah, hell. I can’t get anyone else to even so much as listen to me.” Rick leaned against the bedroom door frame and glumly watched Adriano sleep. “Maybe I shouldn’t, eh? Maybe I should just leave well enough alone, bung you in a taxi and pay for your trip back to Rome or wherever you’d care to go.”
He’d been speaking to himself again, thinking Adriano well off in the land of Nod, and got the shock of the hour when Adriano’s eyes opened without hesitation and regarded him directly. “I only want to go where my heart is,” he said with nary a tremble or hint of uncertainty. “Will you help me fi
nd Rick?”
Rick gritted his teeth. “I’m doing my best, lo ‑‑ Adriano.” He waved his cell. “Can’t seem to get in touch with anyone who might know ‑‑”
Adriano wilted an inch or so. “No. He is very hard to find. I’ve looked for…for…” He bit his lip. “I don’t know how long. I need him.”
“Because he’ll know what to do.”
Adriano smiled beatifically. “Si. And also because wherever he is, that is where I want to be.”
“So you’ve said.” Rick thought for a moment. “What would you say to a visit to a doctor first? Just to check you over, like, and make sure there’s no injuries I’ve not noticed.”
“No.” Adriano sat nearly directly upright, blankets sliding off and Hamish crawling backward to get away from his kicking feet. “No doctors.”
“Look, Adriano. As far as I can tell, you’re sound, but I’m no Florence Nightingale and I sure as fuck don’t have a bleeding portable MRI machine,” Rick said, exasperated. “In case you’ve forgotten ‑‑ oh, Lord, I’m sure you have ‑‑ you’ve a knot on your head the size of two walnuts and you don’t know who I am, much less who you are. Not getting you to a hospital is the worst sort of lunacy, and ‑‑”
“No. Please. I cannot waste any more time in my search, now that I have found you, who can help me.” Adriano flung himself forward on hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the bed, extending his hand in pleading. Rick’s gaze riveted itself to Adriano’s long, elegant fingers reaching for him. He remembered all too well what those fingers could do when ‑‑
He shook himself out of it. The man was hurt; this was no time to go perving over him like a groupie; besides, he surely didn’t need to let Adriano get to him again. More than he had, anyway.
Yet if Adriano got any more upset, might he do himself an injury? Rick wavered. “As you like,” he said, choosing noncommittal words with care. “No doctors. Lie down and rest again, if you don’t mind. I’ll see after your needs myself.”
Adriano didn’t seem to believe him. “Do you promise?”
“Will you remember if I do promise? No, no, never mind me.” Rick sighed. “If it’ll calm you, then yes, I promise. I’ll see you’re taken care of. With my own two hands.” One to hold the cell and one to dial, for he’d made up his mind. Pride be damned, he was calling the Dominicis direct, and wouldn’t they be surprised to hear from him? He couldn’t wait for the questions about how he’d gotten the number in the first place.
He’d stolen it from Adriano’s stored message list, as it so happened. Only, at the time, his motive was because Adriano had been on a particular kick for wine and song and he’d grimly anticipated having to call them for just such reasons as he meant to now. It’d been long enough, but he still remembered.
Adriano lowered himself to the bed, for which Rick was devoutly grateful. The man needed a few more good meals before he’d enough strength for dramatic posing. He curled at the foot, using Hamish for a pillow. Hamish didn’t seem to mind. “Thank you,” he murmured, eyelids already heavy.
“Shush now, shush, and sleep,” Rick soothed. Though he rolled his eyes and scoffed at himself, he began to hum a quiet lullaby, one he’d heard Italian mothers sing to their little ones.
Is he…? Good, good. Rick retreated more fully into the hallway and dialed fast, before he got distracted again.
A profoundly deep basso voice answered, peremptorily abrupt: “Juliano Dominici.”
Well. Rick blinked. He’d not known this number went straight to Adriano’s father, the direct head of the entire tribe…and the man who’d happily have had him drawn and quartered, wielding the meat knife himself, once that picture had gone public.
“Hello?” Juliano demanded. “Who is this? Marie?”
Here we go, then. Rick cleared his throat. “Escusi, escusi, signor. This is Rick Sullivan. You might not remember me.”
Juliano made a noise that reminded Rick far too strongly of a spitting tomcat. “You. What do you want?”
“Ah, so you do know who I am. Right. Don’t hang up on me, please. I’m calling about your son, Adriano. Don’t hang up. I’m not looking for money, and I’m not here to act the lover scorned ‑‑” oh, fantastic, Rick, great choice of words there ‑‑ “Look. I’ve found him out here in the arse-end of nowhere, bleeding by the side of the road and no, I’ve no clue how he got here, but he’s got a great lump on his head, he’s hurt, and if you’d send someone to come collect him I’d be grateful, ta.”
He paused for breath, astounded at himself. Here he’d always thought himself to have at least a few drops of common sense, and yet he’d just blathered to the patriarch of the Dominicis like a schoolgirl hopped up on too many candies.
“Are you finished?” Juliano Dominici asked, tone stiff and icy. “Si? Good. You say you have found my son. Why do you think this concerns me?”
“I beg your pardon?” Rick frowned. “You’re not concerned with the whereabouts of sonny darling?”
“Impudent English. I assume that when you ‘found’ Adriano ‑‑” Rick could almost see the air quotes around Juliano’s key word, “he stank of drink and whores, correct?”
“Not exactly, no. More of garbage and BO.”
Stiff silence answered him. “I see. And what do you wish for me to do about this?”
“Come and get him, as I’ve asked you to?” Rick snapped, moving past irritation. Lord almighty, Juliano sounded very nearly as if he didn’t care a jot for his only son. “I don’t want him back. His wife or his piece of arm candy’s got that right now. I only want to see he’s taken care of seeing as he’s injured. Can I make that any clearer?”
“I see.” Ponderous silence weighed down the line. “Very well. I suppose you’ll contact the media if I do not acquiesce to your demands ‑‑”
“Excuse me? What the ‑‑”
“Give me your address. Someone will be there as soon as possible to take care of this matter.”
This matter, for fuck’s sake. Whatever was going on here, Rick didn’t like it one single bit. “And shall I pass on any messages from Daddy dearest?”
More silence. “No,” Juliano clipped. “You may not. So far as I am concerned, I have no son.”
Without further ado, he hung up. Slack-jawed, Rick stared at his cell. “If these shadows have offended,” he muttered. “Good God in the heavens. All I wanted of life these days was a cup of tea and to be left alone. Is that too much for a bitter old hermit to ask?”
“Hello?” Adriano called from the bedroom, sounding lost and alone. “Hello? Is anyone here? Please?”
“Right,” Rick said under his breath. “Suppose it was too much, then. Coming, Adriano, I’m coming.”
Chapter Five
“Heaven help us all.” Rick couldn’t quite hold back a laugh at the sight that greeted him when he re-entered the bedroom. “You look like Scarlett O’Hara the morning after Rhett swept her up the stairs.” And Adriano did, for a fact, all rosy-cheeked and indolent, stretching his arms over his head, smiling like a lazy cat who’d gotten into the cream.
Adriano beamed at him. “Scarlett O’Hara. Yes. I remember that movie.”
“Do you, now?” Rick tilted his head to one side. “Do you…do you remember me?”
His smile fell. “I’m sorry, signor. I don’t.”
“Not at all? Even the bit where I scrubbed half an inch of grime off your carcass and tucked you in bed?”
Adriano frowned. “I don’t…wait, that was you?”
“Afraid so.”
“Thank you, signor,” Adriano said with all gravity. “I am in your debt.”
“Don’t mention it. Please, don’t mention it.” Rick made a face. “What’s got you cheered up? Did you have good dreams?”
“Oh, I did.” Adriano stretched again, arms high, joints popping. Rick watched, fascinated as ever by the inherent strength and grace of the man. He decided he really did like the leaner, tighter version of his old lover. The tauter muscles suited him. �
�I dreamed I was home.”
“Ah. And where’s home?”
Adriano looked troubled. “I do not think it was a real home. You know how dreams are. Insubstantial, floating away. I cannot remember the details…”
“No one ever can, after the dream’s over. Don’t let it trouble you.”
“But I was so happy, while I dreamed,” Adriano insisted. “I was somewhere I perceived to be home, signor. Content, at peace. In the strong arms of the one I loved more than life itself.”
Rick cleared his throat. “Who’s that, then?” And aren’t you a glutton for punishment? he scolded himself. “What’s his name?”
Adriano shook his head, apparently still lost in trying to recover the lost fragments of his sweet dream. “The way he held me, signor. As if I was as precious to him as he was ‑‑ is ‑‑ to me. I can yet feel the pressure of his lips here ‑‑” He brushed his fingertips over his own lips ‑‑”and here ‑‑” below his ear ‑‑”and here ‑‑” across his collarbone.
“I see.” All too clearly for his own peace of mind, he did see. More, Rick saw, thanks to the thinness of the garments he’d found to dress Adriano in that Rick wasn’t the only one having a physical reaction to Adriano’s monologue. He’d gotten half-hard, and Adriano’s partial erection from his dream looked to be on the rise.
Fuck, but he ached with an almost physical pain, needing to have that proud cock in his hand again. In his mouth, heavy and salty on his tongue.
He restrained himself with a near-violent effort and tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, very glad indeed that he hadn’t tucked it in. “Sounds like a fine dream to me, but only a dream.”
“I suppose.” Adriano sighed with clear regret transmuting quickly to puzzled discontent. “Where am I, signor? This place is not familiar to me. I know you mean me no harm, but where…signor, how did I come to be here?” He stiffened suspiciously. “You are not a doctor, are you?”