“You are not allowed to talk about the nephew charade while you’re kneeling between my legs,” Arthur said. “Maybe I’ll buy a new house. Upstate, on a big bit of land, no gossips.”
There was a heaven if Rory ever heard one. But he shook his head. “Isn’t that still too risky? Your family is gonna know I’m not your nephew.”
“Iknow you’re not my nephew, and I very much do not want you tobemy nephew, and you’re still right here between my legs and not supposed to talk about it.”
“Tough, I’m not moving,” Rory said, because this position was giving him all sorts of ideas. “I’m not trying to be difficult; I’m trying to stop you being disinherited.”
“My ex-lover offered you a large sum to leave me and you turned it down. If you assume that I, on the other hand, would choose money over you, I’m going to be insulted.”
“Me telling off some stuck-up lord and you getting disowned aren’t the same,” Rory said, although he wanted to kiss Arthur for that. “And what about the pomander? It’s not gonna destroy itself if we run off upstate, Ace.”
Arthur sighed. “You could let a man dream.”
Rory smiled softly. “You dream of me living with you?”
“Stop it,” Arthur warned, his legs tightening to trap Rory in the best way. “We’ve had this conversation. You being sweet leads nowhere good; it just wraps me further around your pinky.”
Rory put his hands on Arthur’s thighs. “What else do you dream about?”
“Don’t you dare,” Arthur said. “Because you canFifth Avenue princeme all you like, but I am not too good for this bed and I’ll gladly throw you down on it. I’ll have you right there on the floor.”
“We’re not messing around in my boarding house when you got the nicest bed in Manhattan,” Rory told him, but his heartbeat had kicked up.
“Try me,” Arthur said, in a tone of voice that sent Rory’s heart up another notch.
Rory deliberately slid his hands up an inch.
“Now you’re just asking for it,” Arthur said, and he did push Rory down to the floor.
They took the New York Central Line to Albany in the morning, and then west to Syracuse. Rory hadn’t slept much, but he didn’t sleep on the train either, anxiety making his chest hurt. The only thing that made it better was Arthur, across from him in the train car, looking like a movie star in a three-piece navy suit and Homburg hat.
Rory would’ve been having the time of his life, riding in a nice train through the forested mountains of New York with a man like Arthur, if he could’ve forgotten why they were making the trip.
It was evening by the time they disembarked in Syracuse. Arthur had already arranged for rooms and a car for the morning, and they took a cab to the hotel.
Their cab passed a block of stores and restaurants with no English to be seen. “I didn’t realize there were so many Italians here,” said Rory.
Arthur shot him a puzzled look across the back seat. “You lived at the church for three years. You never came to town?”
“We never got to leave the grounds,” Rory admitted. “There wasn’t enough money to take the orphans on trips. Most of us were just glad to have food.”
Arthur’s hands balled into fists in his lap.
He had gotten separate rooms for appearances’ sake, but he slipped into Rory’s room to sleep, curled behind him on the too-small bed. Rory slept even less than the night before, running his hands over the arm around his waist and hoping Arthur understood how grateful Rory was to have him there.
They got breakfast at a restaurant downstairs the next morning. Someone had left a copy ofLa Gazzetta di Syracuseon their table. Rory stared at the newspaper instead of eating, like it could somehow explain how he was supposed to talk to the man who’d abandoned his mom and sent him to an asylum. “When’s the car getting here?”
“Fifteen minutes.” Arthur hesitated. “There are things to do in Syracuse. Bookstores, museums, that sort of thing. The weather is even nice today.”
Rory furrowed his brow. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But what’s that got to do with the car?”
Arthur met his eyes across the table. “Do youwantto see your father?”
Rory froze.
“Please tell me your truth, whatever that is,” Arthur added, quickly and too quietly for anyone else in the restaurant to overhear. “I won’t judge you either way. He’s your father, it would be understandable if you’d like to see him. But considering what he did to you, your entire life—well. I don’t think you’re required to want to see him. You don’t owe him anything. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see him again.”
Rory’s throat felt thick. He looked away, out the window, where a pretty Italian mother was walking down the street hand in hand with her young daughter. His mom had taken him out when she could, on the rare days when they weren’t working.
