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Francis grinned. “Make wine?
“If you like.”
His teeth gleamed behind a broad grin. “I’d like that.”
“I figured you might.” Vitari braced over him, bowed his head, and nudged noses. “Our own place that nobody will dare take from us.”
Were those tears in his eyes? Vitari kissed him quick, chasing those maybe-tears away. He couldn’t stand it if Francis cried over a future that would need a fucking miracle to ever come true. Maybe he’d pray for it. Francis’s mouth grew demanding, his body too, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to spread his ass and sink home, rhythmically easing in and out, going slow, making it last. He watched his face, watched his lips part, heard his tiny gasps as his heart opened.
Francis didn’t take his eyes off Vitari…
A smile lifted Vitari’s lips, mirrored on Francis’s face too, and then a single, brilliant tear slipped from Francis’s eye.
“Farei di tutto per te,” Vitari whispered. I’ll do anything for you. “Solo tu mi capisci.” Only you understand me. “Vuoi stare con me per sempre?” Will you stay with me forever? His voice creaked, about to break.
“Yes,” Francis replied, understanding every heartfelt word.
Breakfast, or lunch, since it was gone midday, sizzled in the pan. Vitari had thrown some ingredients together, as they were both starving. They had a couple of hours left before they’d need to head to the airstrip, but he was determined to make these final hours even better than last night—no easy thing to do, after they’d spent last night wrapped in each other’s arms in the throes of passion.
Francis was semi-dressed in loose pants and a shirt and was fiddling with a radio across the room, trying to find some music. Vitari watched him on the sly, admiring his lean outline, remembering all the ways he’d had that body rocking in motion with his.
He found an old track, “Smooth” by Santana.
“Hm, leave that playing.” Vitari left the pan and crossed the large kitchen. “Do you dance?”
“Dance?” Francis’s eyes blew wide.
Vitari laughed, took his hand, and maneuver them both to the more open-plan breakfast area beside the sunlit window overlooking the lawns.
“Oh. I uh… No.. I don’t.. erm…”
Vitari gripped his hand and slipped his free arm around Francis’s waist, easing closer. “It’s easy, use your hips.”
“My… uh…” He looked down. His head almost bumped Vitari’s chin. “Oh! I don’t—I haven’t…”
“The hips,” Vitari said again, keeping his laugh behind his twitching smile, then began to shift his hips in time with the beat. He saw Francis’s throat move and had an idea of what was running through his head. Vitari could absolutely dance. “Like this.” He jerked Francis tighter to him and spread his hand on his lower back, holding him there, and then moved, drawing Francis with him, like they’d been close last night, consumed by a different kind of dance.
Heat rushed to Francis’s face, highlighting all his freckles, but as he relaxed, he stopped fumbling and allowed himself to fall into the rhythm.
They danced, Francis’s soft-eyed glare pierced Vitari’s soul, and then the music ended, the presenter moved on to discussing the Mediterranean heatwave, while Francis gazed at Vitari, making him blush.
“Will we ever have normal?” Francis asked.
Vitari cleared his throat and separated. “Breakfast, amore?” Because the answer Francis wanted, he couldn’t give.
They ate and laughed about Francis’s trip through the Spanish countryside in a stolen car before the cops had picked him up, but then the topic switched to DeSica, and the mood cooled as the weight of the task ahead loomed.
“He’s still selling children into the sex trade,” Francis said, pushing the remains of his food around his plate. “Montague said as much.”
“That’s one of several reasons I’m going to kill him,” Vitari said, then upended his glass and finished his wine.
Francis looked up, and for a moment, Vitari feared he’d tell him not to, and feared how he might listen to that advice. It would be a whole lot safer to walk away.
“Good,” Francis said.
“There’s my Padre Blanco.”
With a snort, Francis leaned back in his chair, his face pensive. “It’s wrong, isn’t it? Wanting someone dead?”
