Tiramisu After Midnight

by Mark David Campbell

  Fabrizio ran up and opened the gate while Pietro turned the sedan around, drove up the lane, and onto the street.

  Enrico stood in the gravel drive in front of the house watching as they disappeared down the hill. Francesca was normally a nervous person, but ever since they’d told her about their plans to make the old house into a B&B she seemed especially agitated. And why were they making so many trips to Switzerland? Other than watches and chocolate, Switzerland was also famous for expensive medical clinics and questionable banking practices. Francesca and Pietro certainly didn’t look like they were sick. On the other hand, Francesca did suggest that their money was tight, and Pietro was a bit furbo when it came to business deals. He hoped they weren’t foolish enough to try and hide money in Switzerland from the Italian fiscal police.

  Chapter Thirty

  THE SUN had sunk below the silhouette of mountains an hour ago, but the humid heat from the day still hung in the night air. The twins and Maggie and Owen stood on the shore looking out at the dark water. Just then a red meteor shot up over their heads and out across the lake. With a crack it exploded into a thousand little green stars that sparkled and twinkled as they floated back down and disappeared just before they touched the surface of the water.

  “What are they celebrating?” Maggie said.

  “Summer,” Fabrizio said.

  Maggie leaned comfortably against Owen’s robust frame, as they so often did whenever they were in a crowd or at a concert. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Owen’s hand surreptitiously brushed against the back of Enrico’s.

  Enrico didn’t flinch or move away.

  Fabrizio continued, “My online business course said we were supposed to do something memorable, but we really can’t take credit for this. Almost every weekend one of the villages along the lake makes a fireworks show.” Fabrizio looked over at Maggie and grinned. “It’s very romantic all the same, no?”

  Instantly, like a boy who’d just been caught in the cookie jar, Owen pulled his rogue hand away and Enrico quickly stepped back and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  Maggie tilted her head back and gazed upward at the rockets bursting into cinders of light over the lake. “Ah, what more could a girl ask for?”

  “It’s a good thing Jessy’s not here.” Owen nudged Maggie. “He’d give us a detailed answer to that question.”

  Maggie snorted out a laugh that was partially masked by a second round of fireworks exploding in the night sky.

  Later that night, up in her tower room, after she’d showered, she decided to slip on her new burnt-rose lace bra and panties. It was true what Tata had said, she thought as she admired herself in the mirror. They did make her feel special even if she was the only one who could see them. She sauntered over to the large open window and leaned against the sill. Gazing out at the moonlight casting a silvery patina on the dark silhouette of the trees and licking the surface of the water against the purple stain of mountains in the distance, she imagined Fabrizio’s strong hairy arms wrapped around her, and she hugged herself.

  Suddenly, jolting her from her little fantasy, there was an odd thumping on her door that sounded as if someone was butting his head against it.

  “Coming, Owen,” Maggie sang out. She turned away from the window and sauntered past the bed, then stopped abruptly. Sure, she’d seen Owen and Jessy in their underwear hundreds of times before and they’d seen her too. But these were not just everyday underwear; they were special—they were sexy. She was sexy. Perhaps this was the first time in her life she’d ever allowed herself to think that. Yes, she was sexy, and she didn’t need to hide from Owen.

  “Hey, have you seen where I put my passport?” she said and threw open the door.

  But instead of Owen, standing there in her doorway wearing a shy grin and holding two bowls of tiramisu in his hands was Fabrizio. It was as if her fantasy had been hacked into.

  “Ah!” she squealed and crossed her arms over her breasts. “It’s you! I thought it was Owen.”

  Fabrizio looked to the floor. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Tata thought you might like a little snack before bed.” He held out the bowls.

  Maggie cast her eyes longingly at them and then at Fabrizio. “Um, well, come in. Oh, wait. I’m half naked. Let me cover up first.” Maggie scurried back across the room and threw on her father’s white shirt. “There. All decent.”

  Fabrizio stepped in through the door. “Should I take this other bowl over to Owen?” he said with a smile that left little room for interpretation.

  “Nah.” Maggie swatted the air. “He’s probably asleep already.” She closed the door and let her shirt fall to the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  EVEN IF Fabrizio was the one with the head for numbers, Enrico didn’t need a business degree to understand the column labeled expenses was bigger than the one labeled earnings. While he sat at the dining room table studying the spreadsheet on the screen, he heard someone in the kitchen and looked up. Maybe Fabrizio was making himself a midnight snack? He shut off the computer and went to see.

  There in the kitchen, he spotted Owen’s backside poking out from the fridge. Through his boxers, his buttocks looked like two grapefruits waiting to be peeled. He watched as Owen took out a pan of tiramisu, turned, and closed the fridge door with his hip.

  “Buona notte,” Enrico said.

  Owen gasped and jumped, practically dropping the pan. “Oh, you scared me.” Owen placed the pan on the wooden kitchen table. “I couldn’t sleep, and I was looking for something to eat. Tata said we could help ourselves,” he quickly added.

  Enrico smirked. “Yes, but if you eat that you won’t sleep for the rest of the night. Tiramisu is full of caffeine.” Enrico sauntered over. “What about a glass of Vin Santo—it’s a sweet wine from Tuscany—and some biscotti cantucci.”

  “You’re the boss,” Owen said with a playful lilt and returned the pan of tiramisu to the fridge.

  Enrico took a bottle from the cabinet and poured two glasses of thick golden wine. Then, from the cookie tin, he took out some biscotti that looked like Scottish shortbreads with almonds and piled them on a plate.

  “I’ve seen these at Starbucks, but I’ve never tried them.”

  “Come on. The kitchen’s hot. Let’s go out onto the terrace.” Enrico handed Owen a glass and gestured for him to lead the way. Enrico followed with his eyes locked on Owen’s behind.

  They sat down and Owen raised his glass and took a sip. “Oh, that’s really sweet.” He bit into a biscotto and crunched it. “Wow. You could break a tooth on one of these.”

  Enrico chuckled. “Yes, but normally we do it like this.” Enrico dipped his biscotto into the glass of wine, shook off the drops, and held it out for Owen.

  Owen leaned over and took a bite of the wine-soaked cookie. “Mmm, that’s better,” he said.

  “Can you do it on your own or do you want me to do it again for you?” Enrico shot Owen a coy look.

  Owen made a bashful grin, causing a wave of goose bumps to flow down the back of Enrico’s neck.

  “For now, I think I can manage, but I’ll keep your offer in mind.” Owen dipped his biscotto in his wine and took a bite.

  They sat in silence listening to the night, a cricket in the garden, a dog barking in the distance, and a lone car coming down the roadway.

  “Enrico,” Owen said, breaking the silence. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to tell you something.”

  “What?” Enrico looked at Owen. He felt both intrigued and concerned about what Owen might confess.

  Owen looked away. “I have a substance dependency problem.” His voice was flat.

  Enrico furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”

  “I had some problems with coke before we left.”

  “Ah.” Enrico nodded. “Some of the guys here have tried it. A few of them have tried heroin as well.”

  “At first it was just when I went out on the weekends.” Owen frowned.
“But then I started using it more and more often.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess because it made me feel brave, in control, and desirable.” Owen shrugged.

  Enrico said nothing.

  Owen looked to the ground. “Or maybe I just wanted to hurt myself because I’m none of those things.”

  “Do you still use it?”

  “No, and it cost me my best friend to realize what an idiot I was.”

  “I’m sure he’s still your best friend.”

  Owen slouched down in his seat. “Maybe, but he’s gone now. He went to California.” Owen breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled. “So I guess I’m looking for the guy who can make me forget about him.”

  “I’m not sure we’re so very different.” Enrico dipped a biscotto into his wine and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I have to make room in my heart for someone else as well. But I can’t imagine living without my brother.” Enrico paused. “Do you think that sounds strange?”

  “No, not at all. Jessy was like my brother, and more. He was always there for me.”

  “I know someday Fabrizio will find a woman and fall in love with her.” Enrico stared into his glass at the tiny crumbs of biscotto floating in the wine. “And I’ll be in the way.”

  “And I know that if Maggie is ever going to have a life of her own, she’ll have to leave me too.” Owen took a sip of wine. “Maybe it’s for the better.”

  Enrico felt a pang of longing shoot through his chest. He could really fall for this American guy. He wanted to take him in his arms and kiss him, but if he did, what would it lead to? A one-night stand, just a vacation romance, nothing more. Owen was leaving tomorrow, and he would be left behind with a broken heart. Maybe that was for the better too. Enrico stood up. “I think I’ll go back to bed. Are you okay?” He placed his hand tenderly on Owen’s shoulder.

  “Fine.” Owen placed his hand on top of Enrico’s and said, “I’m going to sit here awhile longer until I become sleepy.” Owen’s blue eyes seemed to radiate light. “Good night, Enrico. Oh, and thanks.”

  “Buona notte,” Enrico said as he slid his hand away and headed back toward the kitchen, not really sure what Owen had thanked him for.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  MAYBE IT was all the fresh air yesterday out on the boat or the wine and biscotti he’d shared with Enrico on the terrace late last night, but this morning Owen woke up feeling more invigorated than he’d felt in a very long time. It was a spectacular day—hot and sunny—and their last morning at the lake before they continued on their tour of Italy after lunch. It would be hard to leave, but he was looking forward to seeing Venice. Maggie was so right. He did need to get away. Even though the B&B wasn’t quite what he’d expected, it turned out to be a perfect refuge.

  While Owen finished his cappuccino and fresh-baked brioche on the terrace, he gazed up toward Maggie’s window in the tower. After what he had heard through the wall last night, he was sure that she would be snuggled in bed with Fabrizio for the rest of the morning. They’d probably do it again, once or twice before she had to get up and pack. With her new look—the new clothes and haircut—it was obvious Maggie was doing her best to move forward and set her heart free from him. The same way he was trying to set his heart free from Jessy. If only he and Enrico had shared something more.

  His eyes wandered out across a cloud of brilliant blue hydrangea bushes at Enrico’s long, lean Mediterranean physique as he came down the gravel walkway, and Owen couldn’t help but smile. As he drew closer Owen could make out the crop of curly chest hair peeking out from his white low-cut undershirt, giving him the appearance of either a bricklayer from Calabria or a porn star. Why did Italians look so damn sexy in undershirts?

  The image of Jessy wearing an undershirt at the swimming pool flashed through Owen’s mind. Until last night his heart had refused to believe that any guy could ever measure up to Jessy. But there was something about Enrico—the way he seemed to glide when he moved, the little dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, and the dimples in his buttcheeks that poked out from his beneath his Speedo. Most of all it was the way Enrico listened and looked at him with those rich, deep understanding eyes.

  Owen continued to stare as Enrico bent over and picked up a large fallen tiglio branch, his glutes straining against the back of his shorts. His biceps bulged and his lats pressed beneath his undershirt as he balanced the branch on one shoulder.

  No matter how sweet the temptation, Owen thought, nothing could ever possibly come of it. It was just a simple vacation infatuation. Besides, the Atlantic Ocean lay between him and Italy. He had heard enough tragic stories over the years to know a long-distance love affair is a roller-coaster ride that empties your wallet and leaves you in tears. Enrico was an unobtainable fantasy best left unexplored. Who knew? Maybe there was a guy like Enrico on the American side of the pond? He blew out a puff of air. Unfortunately, he had yet to meet him.

  Then, counter to his better judgment, as if he were thumbing his nose at Cupid, Owen leaned coyly with one buttcheek propped on the banister and his other leg extended. “Hey, when you’re done in the garden, how about one last boat ride before we go?” He rolled out the words and winked.

  “A boat ride?” Enrico looked up at Owen and then around the garden and toward the gravel drive where Angelina was usually parked. “Sure.” He shrugged. “Why not? Let’s go.”

  “Give me a minute. Got to get my stuff and I’ll be right down.” Owen darted across the terrace and through the door. He flew up the stairs, coming to a sudden halt in front of Maggie’s door. He pressed his ear against it. Not a sound.

  He grabbed his towel and day pack and jaunted down the stairs. “I’m good to go,” Owen sang out as he skipped across the terrace and into the garden to where Enrico was waiting with the life jackets in his hands. Owen followed him down the steps to the dock. Enrico jumped in the boat, untied it, and Owen leaped in.

  The engine roared and the bow rose as they motored away from the shore and sailed out across the smooth surface, cruising past the old lime furnaces of Le Fornaci. Up ahead, a couple of laser sailing boats chased each other across the bay of Castelveccana. As they headed out toward the middle of the lake, Owen slipped off his T-shirt, letting the sun lick his skin and the warm wind tease his hair and ruffle his nylon boxers.

  “How about one last swim?” Enrico pulled the throttle back. The bow dropped and the boat glided to a drift in the middle of the lake.

  “Here?” Owen said.

  “Yes, this is where all the fish pee, so it’ll be warmer.” He shot Owen a grin. “C’mon, Americano, get your balls wet.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Owen watched as Enrico pulled his undershirt up over his head and slipped off his shorts leaving nothing on but his small black Speedo—the sun glistening off his olive skin. Enrico then climbed up onto the gunwale and dove over the side, his sleek form slicing into the mirror-green surface of the water.

  Owen climbed onto the gunwale and leaped in after him, coming up for air in a cauldron of bubbles. Owen dove under again, grabbed hold of Enrico’s foot, and pulled him under too. They surfaced, splashing and frolicking like two kids. Then they swam back to the boat, climbed up the ladder, and flopped down beside each other onto the mattress-covered deck, the water glistening as it ran in little streams off their skin.

  Owen rolled over on his side, his face only inches away. “Hey, I hadn’t noticed that scar above your eyebrow before.” Owen touched the scar with the tip of his finger.

  “That’s what I earned for making my brother angry at me. I have a talent for it, you know.”

  As Owen’s eyes followed the line of Enrico’s Romanesque nose down to the stubble on his chin, he felt his rising boner pushing up the front of his boxers.

  “Are you going camping?” Enrico chuckled. “Because it looks like you’re setting up a tent in those boxers.”

  Strange, Owen thought, Fabrizio is the one who’s always makes wise cracks. Enrico is us
ually more reserved. He hadn’t noticed it before but they seemed to share the same sense of goofy humor. Must be a twin thing. Owen grinned and looked up and around. They were out in the open, but there were no other boats nearby, and they were far enough out that nobody could really see much from shore. If Owen was ever going to make a move, it was now or never. With one smooth gesture he reached over and slid his hand under the band of Enrico’s Speedo.

  “Hey, Americano, what’re doing?” Enrico flinched as his stomach muscles contracted and his cock began to swell, peeking out from its confines.

  “Giving you something to remember me by.” Owen grasped the shaft of Enrico’s cock firmly and it blossomed full.

  Enrico looked nervous and tried to shift away, but before he could Owen had tugged the black spandex down capturing his penis in his mouth as it sprang upward. Like a dog licking a wad of peanut butter, Owen teased and sucked while he wormed his other hand under the elastic waistband of his boxers, grabbing hold of his own penis and stroking himself.

  Owen then maneuvered his head around and buried his face, licking that particular spot right at the base of Enrico’s testicles and stroking him faster.

  Suddenly, his balls became taut. “Ahh, I come!” Enrico gasped.

  Like a starving man Owen engulfed Enrico’s cock to its base. Owen’s eyes teared and he barely swallowed before he felt a wave of gooseflesh run up his spine. His balls tightened and Owen shot out the top of his boxers, then collapsed onto the mattress, his chest rising and falling like waves.

  “Wow! I really wasn’t expecting that.” Enrico laughed nervously and quickly pulled his Speedo back up.

  “I didn’t really plan it either. It just kind of happened.” Owen chuckled while he tucked himself back into his shorts. “Thanks for a fantastic last morning.” Owen moved in to kiss Enrico on his lips, but Enrico turned his head sideways and Owen ended up kissing his cheek instead.