All I Believe

by Alexa Land

  Late that evening, Luca walked me to the car and held me for a long time. “These next couple weeks are going to feel like an eternity,” he said. “I can’t wait until we’re together again.”

  “Me, too.” He kissed me tenderly as Ignacio came out of the church with the dog under his arm and got in the car to drive me back to the hotel. “Goodbye, Luca,” I said, running my fingertips along his short beard.

  “Please take care of yourself for me,” he said, and caught and kissed my hand before stepping back.

  As we drove away, I turned to look back at him. He was standing in the street, watching me go. I raised a hand and he did, too, and I kept staring at him until he disappeared from sight. I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind.

  *****

  When I got back to the hotel, I found Nana, Jessie and Ollie deep in conversation, clustered around a tourist map of Rome that was spread out on the coffee table. I put Diego Rivera down, and the dog shook himself before trotting over to his owner. Nana looked up at me and said, “Hi Sweetpea. Clear your schedule for Saturday.”

  “I don’t actually have anything planned, so that won’t be a problem. What are we going to do?”

  Nana’s dark eyes sparkled as she told me, “We’re going to storm the Vatican.”

  Chapter Nine

  She’d been exaggerating, but only slightly. It wasn’t technically possible to storm the Vatican. Many layers of protection were in place to keep armies, invaders, dissidents, and my eighty-year-old grandmother from doing just that.

  What she could do, though, was create such a spectacle that local reporters would show up to cover it, under the theory that the Pope might end up seeing the news footage. Nana invited Rafi and his dance troupe to join the demonstration. When they readily agreed, she sent them plane tickets and put them up in a hotel. Next, she went to several gay nightclubs and an LBGT community center, talked to a lot of people, and told them to bring their friends and families.

  I wasn’t entirely sure what she had planned, but Jessie and I showed up in the rainbow tie-died t-shirts Nana had given us at the appointed time on Saturday. We carried two tote bags filled with little rainbow flags. A couple guys we’d met at one of the clubs joined us, also dressed in rainbow colors. We chatted with them as a few more people filtered in.

  St. Peter’s Square was enormous and buzzing with tourists, the basilica grand and ornate behind us. Two news vans were parked outside the square, since Nana had tipped them off that something was going down. The reporters looked bored, smoking and leaning against their vehicles, but started to take notice when Rafi and his troupe arrived. They were in full makeup and five- and six-inch heels, and were dressed in rainbow-sequined tank tops and tight shorts. Giorgio and Jessie hugged and chatted (with the help of their translation app) as more of our group started to gather.

  In all, about fifty people showed up, which didn’t seem to make much of an impact. We were like a little army of ants, given the vastness of the square. We held our heads high though and joined hands in a show of unity. I held Jessie’s hand to my left, and a dire-looking goth teenager took my other hand. I was pleasantly surprised when he flipped his long, black bangs out of his eyes and smiled at me shyly.

  Rafi’s troupe fired up some music on a big, 1990s boom box, and started dancing. The camera crews looked bored again and started to pack up their equipment. But then, Nana happened.

  When I saw her round the corner at the far side of the square, I whispered, “Dear Lord, please don’t let her be naked.” She was riding a huge, white horse, which was being led by an oiled up bodybuilder. The man was dressed (more or less) as Cupid with wings, little white briefs, and combat boots.

  And then there was Nana. My grandmother was doing her version of Lady Godiva. She wore a very long, white wig, which was dotted with colorful flowers, and either body paint, or a skin-tight rainbow body stocking (I prayed for the latter).

  As Nana did a lap around the square and we danced with Rafi and his troupe, a family of tourists with cameras around their necks came up to us and started dancing, too. Then a second family joined us. And a third. Over the next few minutes, almost every tourist in the huge square came over and became a part of our group. Young and old, singles, couples, families, people from all over the world gathered with us and started dancing. Jessie and I handed out all the rainbow flags we’d brought. The sight of all those people waving the flags and dancing with us made me a little choked up.

  Jessie tilted his head all of a sudden and exclaimed, “Holy shit, he actually did it!”

  “Who?”

  “Ollie! I didn’t think he’d go through with it!” Jessie pointed at the sky, and when I looked up, I saw that someone was parachuting into the square, dressed in a rainbow-colored jumpsuit and a white crash helmet with some kind of large, pink horn stuck to it. The chute itself was rainbow-striped and said in giant block letters, “GAY OK.” A banner streamed behind him, which read, “Make love, not hate.”

  All of a sudden, a lot of people were yelling, including the reporters and their cameramen, who were running toward the descending figure. A couple of the Vatican’s Swiss guards were yelling and running, too. Parachuting into the square was probably all kinds of illegal, judging by the commotion it was causing.

  “Oh no,” I murmured. Ollie was headed straight for the obelisk in the center of the square, but he spread his stubby legs and swung them up just in time to barely clear the tip of the structure. As he descended, I noticed he had a harness strapped to his chest. In it was Diego Rivera the Chihuahua, his skinny little legs sticking straight out, panting happily and wearing a rainbow sweater and a miniature crash helmet.

  Ollie ended up landing all the way across the square, near the entrance. He actually hit the ground fairly gracefully. Clearly it wasn’t his first time skydiving. He pulled a couple cords and his parachute and the banner fluttered away. Sirens could be heard in the distance, growing closer every minute. This wasn’t going to end well. Jessie and I began running toward him, and as we got a bit closer I asked, “Is that…does he have a dildo stuck to his head?”

  “Yup,” Jessie said.

  “Should I ask why?”

  “He thought it would be fun to jazz up the plain white helmet with a unicorn horn, but we couldn’t get the glue to hold. Then he remembered that some dildos have suction cups on the base. Worked like a charm!” It was right then that I realized my grandmother had found her perfect match.

  Nana trotted up beside us on that huge, white horse (I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw she was wearing a body suit) and exclaimed, “Shit, the fuzz is onto us! I need to help my man!” She dug in the heels of her bare feet and snapped the reins as she yelled, “Yah!” The horse took off like a shot with a clatter of hooves.

  I doubted Nana had been on a horse in forty years, but she looked like a jockey as she leaned close to its mane and rode it expertly. She reached Ollie before anyone else, and took his hand as he used the stirrup to swing himself up behind her. He kissed her cheek and grabbed her waist as she flicked the reins again and the horse took off.

  “Well damn,” I mumbled as I stopped running and watched their escape, the stallion bolting out of the square and disappearing from sight. I then calmly pulled my phone from my pocket and began finding my grandmother a lawyer.

  Chapter Ten

  By sheer luck, Nana and Ollie somehow managed to evade the authorities, and their gay rights demonstration made news throughout Italy. They decided they needed to lay low after that, and were well-behaved for the remainder of our time in Rome and Venice.

  Ollie accompanied us to our third and final vacation destination, and since Nana and her new boyfriend were pretty inseparable (more so than ever after all of that), I again assumed the role of tour guide for Jessie and made sure he got as much as possible out of his vacation. We saw the sights, ate and drank way too much, and had a great time.

  I was elated when we arrived in Venice and I had a letter waitin
g for me at the hotel from Luca. He sent one a day, postmarked from Rome with a post office box as his return address. They contained long, funny stories about random topics, like the unfortunate frog-kissing phase he went through when he was five because he wanted to find a prince and live in a castle. The letters always made me happy, and made me miss him like crazy, especially because they always ended with, “I miss you with every part of me and I’m counting the minutes until we’re together again.”

  On our last day in Venice, Nana and Jessie packed their bags for their overnight flight home, and Ollie packed to fly back to Viladembursa. He needed to make arrangements for an extended absence. As soon as he hired someone to manage his gallery full-time, he planned to visit my grandmother in the states.

  I offered to take Diego Rivera for a walk, and stopped by the front desk just like every other day. Once again, there was a letter waiting for me. I clutched the cream-colored envelope tightly as the dog and I stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine. Venice was crowded with tourists, as was usually the case. I could see why so many people flocked there, since it really was beautiful. I crossed a cobblestone piazza, then strolled down a walkway beside one of the canals. The buildings were brick for the most part with terra cotta tile roofs. The way they were built one right on top of the other, utilizing every bit of precious space, reminded me of San Francisco, but there the similarities ended. A pair of iconic long, black gondolas glided by, making my location unmistakable.

  Eventually, I reached my favorite spot in Venice. It was my favorite because I shared it with Luca by way of his letters. The café had a pretty patio overlooking a canal, lined with hanging baskets and clay pots brimming with plants and flowers. The staff had gotten to know me during my stay in Venice, and the café owner greeted me by name before leading me to my favorite table. A waiter brought me my usual, a cappuccino and a plate of lemony S-shaped butter cookies. Diego Rivera was given a bowl of water and a pat on the head, and the man complimented his bulky, hand-knit sweater (which was red-and-blue striped that day).

  I put the letter on the tabletop, weighing it down with my saucer to make sure it didn’t blow away, and made myself wait until I’d finished my snack before finally allowing myself to slit the envelope open with a butter knife. I pulled out a couple sheets of the thick, cream-colored stationery Luca always used, and found a plane ticket included with the letter. I didn’t look at it yet, focusing instead on his elegant, old-fashioned handwriting (it absolutely thrilled me that he wrote to me in long-hand). It said:

  My dearest Nico,

  Is it presumptuous to call you mine? Probably, but I’m doing it anyway because the sound of it makes me incredibly happy.

  I don’t have any long-winded stories for you today, since I’ll be seeing you tomorrow and can ramble on in person. At least I hope I’ll be seeing you, and that you haven’t decided over the last couple weeks that you’re completely over me. I can certainly see why you would be, but I hope with every shred of optimism in me that this isn’t the case.

  I’ve missed you, Nicky. I think about you far more than any sane person should think about someone. It’s difficult during the day, but at night it’s unbearable. My mind keeps playing this cruel trick on me. I dream about you, and it feels so real that I reach for you. But you’re not there, and I wake up wondering where you’ve gone. It always takes me a few moments to remember why you’re not here (and that it’s entirely my fault).

  My bed feels so cold and so empty, even more than usual after one of those dreams. Just to completely embarrass myself, I’m going to admit I reach for my pillow on those nights and wrap myself around it, and try to pretend that it’s you pressed against my heart. It’s pathetic, I know, and you must never tell anyone, because they’ll then know for a fact that I’m ridiculous and sappy and so lost without you.

  God, why am I telling you all this? It can’t possibly work in my favor. Not unless you have a thing for sappy, ridiculous lost boys, and frankly, I should be so lucky.

  My overall point here is that I miss you so damn much, and I’m begging you, please don’t decide you’re done with me. Please use the ticket I’m enclosing with this letter. Meet me in Malta, Nicky. If you do, you’ll make me the happiest man alive. And yes, I realize you don’t even sort of owe me that, but in return I promise to do everything in my power to make you happy, too.

  Yours (if you want me),

  Luca

  I reread the letter before folding it carefully and putting it back in its envelope for safekeeping. Then I looked at the ticket. It was for the next morning on a private airline that catered to people far above my tax bracket, and it was for a flight from Venice to Luqa, Malta. I grinned at the fact that Luca was having me meet him in Luqa.

  After paying my bill and saying goodbye to the café’s owner and wait staff, Diego Rivera and I took a leisurely walk around the city, so I could say goodbye to it, too. I’d been happy there, finally feeling like I was really on vacation and actually managing to relax a little. The daily letters from Luca had certainly helped elevate my mood.

  I made sure to return to the hotel in time to say goodbye to Nana, Jessie, and Ollie. A limo was taking them to the airport. I decided to send the painting Luca had given me home with them, since Nana had room in her luggage. She hugged me and kissed my cheek as I told her, “Make sure you text me and let me know you got home safely.”

  “I will, Sweetpea. Where are you meeting Luca?”

  “He sent me a plane ticket to Malta.” I couldn’t help but grin at the prospect of seeing him again.

  “I hope you have the best time ever,” Jessie said, taking his turn with the hugs and kisses. “If you decide to run away with him and never come back, I’ll miss you, but I’ll understand.”

  “I’m coming back,” I told him. “School starts in just over three weeks.”

  Jessie rolled his eyes so hard I thought it might make him topple over backwards. “Seriously? Law school versus a smoking hot guy, and law school wins?”

  “I have no idea what’s in store for Luca and me after this. I guess the next couple weeks will tell me what I need to know.”

  “You’re so crazy about him, Nico, and it’s so obvious that it’s mutual,” my friend told me as he squeezed my hand. “I hope you’ll at least consider following your heart, no matter where it leads.”

  After they took off, I wandered around the spacious suite and thought about what Jessie had said. I was getting ahead of myself, but what if the next couple weeks were great? Then what? I hadn’t been looking for anything long-term, but then I never imagined I’d meet someone like Luca, either.

  I dropped into an upholstered armchair and stared up at the ceiling, which was decorated with a mural of clouds and cherubs. My cousin Gianni and his boyfriend Zan had once again booked us into an absolutely beautiful suite. This one was red and gold and reminiscent of a castle, with rich tapestries on the walls and ornate details at every turn.

  I remained lost in thought for a while, before finally getting up and going to my room to pack. I also called the airline to change my flight back home, leaving from Malta instead of Venice in two weeks’ time. I had to wonder where Luca and I would be by then. Would we be a couple? Would he come back to California with me? Was that even an option?

  Again, I was getting ahead of myself. I didn’t need any of those answers yet. All I needed to do was relax and enjoy the next couple weeks.

  *****

  The flight to Malta the next morning took less than two hours. I had never been there, and looked out the window as we approached the archipelago. A vivid, turquoise sea framed a rugged coastline, and a jumble of ancient-looking buildings in gold and earth tones were clustered along the water and up the hillside. It was incredibly beautiful.

  Luqa was located inland. The airport was like any other, bustling with activity, and when we landed I took a moment to get my bearings. I wasn’t used to flying anything other than a commercial airline and must have looked lost, becaus
e one of the flight attendants came over to assist me. She walked me to a nearby terminal that was shared by a few private airlines and told me someone would be bringing me my luggage.

  I didn’t notice the terminal at all, because as soon as the flight attendant pushed the door open, I spotted Luca and all my attention became riveted on him. He looked so sexy in a pair of dark jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that emphasized every muscle. I forced myself not to run to him, but there was definitely some power walking involved. His face lit up when he saw me, and the moment I reached him, he grabbed me in an embrace and kissed me passionately, as if we’d been apart for years. People stopped and stared. I didn’t care.

  The flight attendant grinned and said with a French accent, “I’ll leave you in good hands. It must have been a long time since you’ve seen each other, yes?”

  “Far, far too long,” Luca murmured. “Ages. A lifetime.”

  I smiled at him and said, “A couple weeks.”

  “Exactly! A lifetime,” he repeated as he grinned at me, his green eyes sparkling. “God I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I am, too. Thanks for the plane ticket. That was really nice of you, even though coach would have been fine. You’re going to spoil me.”

  “Good. You need spoiling.”

  A porter arrived with my suitcase and backpack (which were old, well-worn and probably a huge step down from what he was used to), and the flight attendant said goodbye before leaving the terminal. A sleek, silver Ferrari convertible was parked out front, and I raised an eyebrow at Luca. “It’s a rental,” he admitted. “I’m trying to impress you. Just go with it.”

  Soon I was seated beside him with the wind rushing through my hair as we left the airport and headed south. The sports car’s engine growled when he stepped on the accelerator, and I laughed as I laced my fingers with his on the gearshift. “What?” he asked, glancing at me over the top of his sunglasses.