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Francis blinked awake and smiled at Vitari’s warm face. The glow from the sunset caught in his eyes, like fire. “I fell asleep?” The beer and medication had definitely made him sleepy.
“You’re so fucking adorable. Come on, let’s get inside.”
He laughed at himself and limped alongside Vitari to their resort cabana. Theirs appeared to be half suspended above the water, and it was one of the smaller homes, set far back from the others. Vitari must have paid a fortune for it.
“What did you do with the cash?” Francis asked. Vitari wouldn’t have left tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of pounds on the Jeep’s back seat, would he?
They entered the house, flicking on lights. A lounge at the front had double doors opening onto the balcony over the water, then the kitchen, where they’d entered. The bedrooms and bathrooms were at the back.
“Yeah, the cash.” Vitari flopped onto the couch among its dozens of cushions. “We can’t take it with us, not like it is. I’ve stashed most of it under Father Federico’s church. What we’ll need to get out of Colombia I’ve hidden in the seams of our bags. You’ve got enough to get you settled in Belize until I can ship the rest up to you.”
Francis hid any revealing frustrations on his face by heading out onto the balcony. He leaned on the rail and watched the ocean ripple under a rising moon.
He’d lost Vitari once. Thought him dead and gone forever. But he’d come back. A miracle. Only for him to lose him a second time when Francis went to Belize? Perhaps he deserved it, for pushing Vitari away, for breaking his heart?
If Vitari hadn’t come back, that night at the cathedral would have ended very differently. Francis would have shot Montague and then turned the gun on himself. Vitari, his angel, had saved him.
Vitari’s hand settled on Francis’s back and stroked up his spine. Then those warm fingers gently rubbed his neck, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to let it happen, to lean back and let Vitari do this—he wanted him to, but at the same time didn’t, if it meant it would hurt so much more when they said goodbye.
He rolled his shoulders, brushing him off.
Vitari took the hint and moved away.
“Good night, amore,” Vitari said.
“Good night.” Francis glared at the ocean and forced the words through his teeth. He didn’t want this to be how it ended, didn’t want to push him away, but what choice had he given him? What was the point in sex if Vitari was going to put him on a plane and send him away? He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand craving him, needing him, knowing it was all for nothing.
Why did he call him his love if he didn’t mean it?
Francis bowed his head.
He had to tell him. Before it was too late. No regrets, Padre.
What sin brought you here?
You did.
“Vitari, wait.” He turned so fast his head spun.
Vitari stopped on the other side of the balcony doors, and when he turned, he wasn’t smiling. He just looked tired and alone and hurting. But he didn’t have to be alone. Francis was his, if he’d have him. He’d forever be his, if he wanted to, in whatever form that forever took. Whether it was white picket fences or stacks of ill-begotten cash. Whatever life Vitari wanted, Francis would stand beside him. That was who they were.
He opened his mouth and stalled. How did he even begin to explain all of that?
“It’s late—” Vitari began.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Doing what?” he asked.
“Pushing me away.”
“I’m not?—”
“Don’t talk, just listen.” Francis moved closer. “Or I won’t ever get this out. I know I’m not a part of your world, and I probably never will be. I don’t understand much of your life, and maybe I don’t agree with most of it either, but that doesn’t mean—” The words wedged in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to explain everything he felt. It was all so visceral, words failed him.
Vitari’s eyebrows lifted. “Doesn’t mean what?”
Dear Lord, help me say the right thing. “I’m sorry about what I said, about trying to tame you.”
