Tiramisu After Midnight

by Mark David Campbell

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  PART TWO

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  PART THREE

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  About the Author

  By Mark David Campbell

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Tiramisu After Midnight

  By Mark David Campbell

  If Enrico, who is gay, and his twin brother Fabrizio, who is straight, can make a success of their B&B on Lago Maggiore in northern Italy, they can save their family home from their conniving half sister. Can good intentions and lots of heart make up for what they lack in money and experience?

  On the other side of the Atlantic, in Syracuse, New York, Owen is buckling under an unrequited crush and the pressures of starting an event-planning business. His best friend Maggie books a last-minute getaway at the twins’ romantic villa—and insists Owen join her.

  Even if the B&B is not quite as elegant as advertised, they are seduced by the stunning scenery, sumptuous foods, and luscious wines—not to mention their charming hosts.

  Love is in the air, but before these four lonely hearts can make their dreams come true, they must overcome past obsession, half a world of distance, and false accusations.

  When your tiramisu is only a soggy biscuit soaked in instant coffee and topped with spray cream, it’s time to take a chance on the real thing.

  Dedicated to my husband, who else?

  Acknowledgments

  THANK YOU to Nancy Feyen, Robert Morley, Andrea Elizabeth Smith, and the members of the Milano English Language Writers’ Group, for their encouragement, criticism, and guidance. Thanks to the Onondaga Historical Association for their suggestions about Syracuse, New York, and Eleonor Shannon for her advice on wine. Also, thank you to my other friends, Markus Dolderer and Debra Pecoraro, who read and commented on various versions of the manuscript. Finally, thank you to my friends and family at Lago Maggiore and especially to my husband, Piero Salvioni, for his recipes.

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  ENRICO WALKED into the bedroom, unpinned his plastic name tag, and placed it on the dresser. “I can’t believe it’s only June and I’m already sweating like a pig.”

  “Global warming,” Fabrizio said without looking up from his computer. “How was work?”

  “We’ve got a German tour group coming in this afternoon.” Enrico undid the knot of his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. “Oh, and Ottavio and his new best friend Massimo entertained me with a set of jokes.” Enrico sneered. “Today it was gays and Arabs; yesterday it was gays and women.”

  “Why don’t you just tell them to go put it in their ass?” Fabrizio continued to stare at his screen.

  “Because if I let them see I’m upset, it just eggs them on.” Enrico took off his white shirt, held it up, sniffed it, and scrunched up his nose. “Italy is full of guys like them. And there’s not a thing I can do about that.” Enrico tossed his shirt into the laundry basket and plunked down onto the bed.

  Fabrizio looked up from his screen. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to stand up to them.”

  “Well, now is not the time,” Enrico said. “By the way, have you paid the garbage tax yet?”

  Fabrizio shook his head. “No, not yet. We barely had enough to cover the gas and electricity.”

  “Well, it’ll just have to wait until we get paid next week.” Enrico shrugged.

  “We need to find something better than the Sunshine Inn.” Fabrizio looked back at his screen. “It rains here half the time anyway.”

  It had only been a year since the boys had graduated from college in the hospitality and restaurant service program. Afterward, they both got jobs at the Sunshine Inn, the small local hotel in Castelveccana, the village just over the hill from their house, on the shore of Lago Maggiore in Northern Italy. During the May to October tourist season, Fabrizio, who was good at accounting, did the books, and Enrico, who spoke English and German quite well, worked at reception. During the fall and winter months, when there were no tourists, they helped their friend Angelo clean and maintain the gardens and grounds of the grand villas for the rich people from Milan who summered at the lake. And even if Fabrizio longed for new horizons, Enrico never wanted to venture too far from his lakeside home. Besides, Papà was not well and they couldn’t abandon him or Tata.

  “Listen, I just came home to change into a fresh shirt. Massimo has a football game at seven, so Ottavio told me I have to cover his shift.” Enrico stood up and walked into the bathroom. “I’ve got a splitting headache.” He rubbed his temples.

  “Why do you always have to cover for Massimo?” Fabrizio already knew the answer to that question.

  “Guess.” Enrico spit out the word as he came out of the bathroom holding a glass of water with a painkiller fizzing inside.

  “Phone Ottavio and tell him you can’t come in—you’re sick.”

  “And who’s going to receive the twelve Germans arriving at six?” Enrico sat down on the bed. “I know it’s just a job for you, but when Luca retires, I’m next in line for a promotion.” Enrico threw back the glass of water. “Yuck.” He stuck out his tongue. “But Ottavio is going make me grovel for it first.”

  “Look, you stay here. I’ll cover for you.” Fabrizio opened the closet and took out a white shirt and black tie. “You owe me, fratellino.” Fabrizio always liked to remind Enrico that he was the eldest, sometimes just to taunt him, but mostly because Fabrizio felt it was his responsibility to protect his brother, even if they’d been born only four minutes apart.

  “Yes, yes, I owe you,” Enrico said as he flopped backward onto the bed.

  “Here, do my tie.” Fabrizio bent over and Enrico sat up again and looped his tie, knotted it, and pulled it straight.

  “Take my name tag. Remember, you’re supposed to be me. And please, whatever you do, don
’t say anything to make Ottavio angry,” Enrico moaned.

  Fabrizio pinned Enrico’s name tag on his shirt. “Give me the scooter license, just in case.”

  Enrico threw his brother his wallet and Fabrizio stuffed it into his back pocket. Even if he was the oldest, Fabrizio still hadn’t got his motorbike license yet. Maybe he was nervous about taking the exam or just too lazy. One thing was for sure, since they were rarely apart, Fabrizio really didn’t need his own license. It had always been like that between them. They shared most things: socks, underwear and clothes, toys and books, and even homework assignments. Besides, they only had one scooter, so why would they both need a license?

  Papà had bought the blue Vespa scooter back in 1982, before the boys were born, but after he became ill it remained sitting in the garage under a tarp. On the day the boys turned eighteen, they wheeled it out into the light of day. They sprayed it with the garden hose and lathered it down with dish detergent. Then they wiped it clean, rinsed and dried it, changed the plugs and oil, and filled the gas tank. It took about twenty sharp pumps of the starter pedal before the gas made its way into the engine.

  “See, I told you. These Vespas are indestructible!” Enrico said loudly above the idling engine.

  “Let’s call her Angelina,” Fabrizio said.

  “Why Angelina?” Enrico revved the accelerator.

  “Because its wide back end reminds me of Angelina down at Bar Happy.” He cupped both hands and jiggled them.

  “You’re a pig, you know?” Enrico sneered.

  “I know.” Fabrizio grinned. “But whatever you do, don’t tell her we named our scooter in her honor.”

  That was five years ago, and ever since then, both summer and winter, Angelina had faithfully served the boys as their only means of transportation.

  Fabrizio rushed out of the bedroom and down the stairs, darted outside across the terrace and down the steps to where Angelina was sitting in the gravel driveway. He slipped his helmet on, straddled the bike, and with a sharp jerk popped it off its kickstand and pumped the accelerator with his full weight. The motor sprang to life, roaring like a demonic popcorn maker and belching out a cloud of blue smoke.

  Fabrizio gunned the accelerator, sending fumes and a spray of gravel out behind. He steered up the drive, out the gate, and onto the pavement. Angelina made a low throaty growl as it labored up the steep hill toward the church in second gear. At the crest of the hill, Fabrizio shifted into third and Angelina’s growl rose a note. He sped past the church steps, under the arched passageway between the buildings, and down the other side of the hill. Shifting into fourth, he flew down the hill past the stop sign at the foot of the street and zoomed out onto the southbound lane of the Lago Maggiore provincial road, which ran from Laveno along the eastern shore of the lake north to Luino and the border with Switzerland.

  Swooping sharply around the curve, he turned down the street into the village of Castelveccana nestled in the bay below. Angelina puttered softly as Fabrizio eased off the accelerator and glided past the row of old wooden boats that were pulled up and fastened along the edge of the sloping break wall of the harbor like seals lazing in the late-afternoon sun; while moored to floating buoys out in the bay, shiny white fiberglass sailboats and speedboats bobbed up and down like horses waiting at the gate for a race to start.

  He glided up to a planter filled with a red flowering oleander bush in front of the newly renovated four-story art deco Sunshine Inn, which sat directly across the street from the port. With a sharp yank, he pulled Angelina up onto its kickstand and flicked off the engine. He slipped off the seat, readjusted his pants, which had bunched up around his crotch, and hung his helmet on the handlebar. Checking himself in the mirror, he smoothed his thick black hair back, then strolled up the steps and in through the front door.

  “Hi, Fabrizio,” Lucia chirped as she looked up from her screen at the reception desk. “I thought Enrico was coming in.”

  “He’s got a headache, so he asked me to cover for him.”

  “You’re such a sweet brother.” Lucia kissed him on each cheek.

  “And I’m not fattening either, so I wouldn’t ruin your diet.” Fabrizio put on his best sexy smile.

  Lucia gave him a mock shove. “I’ll be sure to mention that to my husband.”

  “Ah, why are all the beautiful women married?” Fabrizio pouted.

  Lucia rolled her eyes. “Hey, did you hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Ottavio just promoted Massimo to head receptionist.” Lucia shook her head.

  “What?”

  She let out a long breath. “I know, it was supposed to be Enrico’s promotion.” She patted Fabrizio’s arm. “I tried to reason with him, but he’s always had it out for Enrico.”

  Fabrizio felt his face burn and he began to sweat. “I want to hear this for myself.” He turned and marched toward Ottavio’s office.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. He’s in one of his moods,” she called after him as she packed up her purse.

  Ottavio was sitting at his desk, the buttons of his shirt straining to hold in his belly.

  “Is it true that you made Massimo head receptionist?” Fabrizio stepped through the doorway.

  Ottavio leaned back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head, making no attempt to hide the image of the bare-breasted woman on his screen. “Yes, as a matter of fact I did. Do you have a problem with that, Enrico?”

  Fabrizio knew Ottavio could never tell the difference between him and his brother, and as he often did, Fabrizio just answered as if he were Enrico. “I’ve worked here for four summers—longer than anyone on reception. I’m always on time. I work every holiday, and I cover for the others when they’re sick. And I’ve put in a lot of overtime I’ve never been paid for.”

  “My decision is not based on performance. I made my decision based on potential. Now get out of here. I’m busy.” Ottavio unlocked his fingers, sat forward, and looked back at his virtual girlfriend and leered.

  Fabrizio’s heart was thumping. He put his knuckles on the end of Ottavio’s desk and leaned forward. “Last August when you went away on your honeymoon and we were short-staffed, I took over your responsibilities, plus your wife’s shifts on the front desk. I’ve already proven I can do the job and more.”

  Ottavio looked up. “Who do you think you are to question me? I’m the hotel manager here, not you.”

  “Massimo only just started this May.” Fabrizio stood upright and shot out his open palms. “And in that short time, he’s managed to piss off everybody in the kitchen by helping himself to the food, and also the cleaning staff after he used one of the guest rooms for a little tryst and left it in a state of disaster.”

  “Those are minor things I can overlook.” Ottavio shrugged. “Hey….” He snorted out a laugh. “He’s a hot-blooded Italian male.”

  Fabrizio continued. “Not to mention, he’s often late, continually messes up the reservations, watches the football game, and ignores the guests.”

  “I can make allowances for Massimo.” Ottavio leaned back and tucked in his shirt. “He’s a football star and knows how the chain of command works. I chose him because I want a real leader who the staff respects.”

  “Nobody can stand working with him and, as far as I can see, you’re the only one who has any respect for him.”

  Ottavio stood up promptly, sending his chair rolling back against the wall. “Oh, you think anyone respects you? That’s a laugh!” Ottavio jabbed his finger at Fabrizio. “Who’s going to take orders from a little frocio like you?”

  Bile rose up in the back of Fabrizio’s throat. He squeezed his fists tight. He wanted to smash Ottavio in the face, but Ottavio held all the cards; his brother would lose his job and he would end up in court. He was trembling as he turned to leave.

  “You’re fired! And tell your brother Fabrizio to stay away from my wife. If he dances with her again, he’ll regret it.”

  Fabrizio stopped and turned back. �
��I am Fabrizio, dickhead! And as far as your wife goes, she’s the one who asked me to dance. Told me her husband couldn’t keep up the rhythm.”

  “Get out of here and take your frocio brother’s things with you. You’re both fired!”

  ENRICO LOOKED up from his book and frowned as Fabrizio walked into the room. “Why are you back already?”

  “I had a little talk with Ottavio about your promotion.” Fabrizio avoided Enrico’s eyes.

  “You did what!” Enrico pushed himself upright in bed.

  “Eh, all I did was point out how dedicated and responsible you are.”

  “I hope you didn’t say anything to piss him off.” Enrico stared suspiciously at his brother.

  “I must have.” Fabrizio shook his head. “Because he fired both of us.”

  “What!” Enrico launched his hardcover book directly at Fabrizio’s head. The corner of the book caught Fabrizio’s eyebrow with a dull thud, splitting it open. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. Enrico looked in horror at what he’d done. He leaped out of bed and over to his brother. “Oh shit! Sorry, sorry. Are you all right?”

  “Porca puttana! You could’ve taken my eye out.” Fabrizio was holding the side of his face.

  “I wasn’t thinking.” Enrico was trembling. “It just happened.”

  “Get me a towel. I’m bleeding like a statue of the Virgin,” Fabrizio said.

  Enrico returned with a washcloth. He took Fabrizio’s hand from his face, dabbed at his eye, and examined the wound. “You’re going to need stitches.”

  “Ottavio gave your job to Massimo,” Fabrizio said. “I was trying to stick up for you.”

  “Screw Ottavio! It’s just that I hoped the hotel would lead to something more stable for us. Come on. We’d better go to the outpatients.” Enrico headed out the room with Fabrizio following, holding the cloth against the side of his face.

  “Angelo could use our help now that Omar’s gone,” Fabrizio said as they hurried down the stairs.

  Enrico grabbed the second helmet that was sitting by the door. “What happened to Omar?” Enrico put on his helmet.