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“What do you think about it all?” I asked. “Being a dad?”
Leander blinked. Like he was really letting himself absorb it deeply for the first time.
Damn. Maybe all his assholishness had been a defense mechanism against letting it in. If he hated and distrusted me, then he didn’t have to admit he could be the father. Shitty, yes, but then, he’d also been man enough to apologize.
Then again, I’d lived long enough to know words were one thing and actions another. So I supposed we’d see if this new Leander would stick around.
“My dad was a good guy,” Leander said, blinking some more. “I mean, I think he was. He loved my mom and she loved him. I know that much.”
I tilted my head. “How do you know? I mean, it’s sweet, but—?”
He nodded. “Our grandpa had these old letters between them. From back when they first met in college. It was really romantic shit. Dad was even sappier than Mom. He would quote poetry. Cheesy shit.” Leander laughed and breathed out at the same time, obviously recalling a memory with warmth. “And you could tell, Mom was just eating it up.”
I reached out and stroked my fingers through his hair. “I think you’ll be a great dad.”
His breath hitched and a look of vulnerability came over his face.
The bathroom door opened and Leander ducked his face into my neck. Janus walked into the room, still naked and dripping from the shower. He used the towel to scrub his hair dry instead, naturally.
“Breakfast is ready,” Milo called from the kitchen.
Leander pulled away from me, the moment between us broken. I wanted to pull him back. I wanted more.
SIXTEEN
HOPE
“Have you noticed a change in the guys?” I whispered to Milo as we strolled one of the long aisles of St. Anthony’s Basilica.
It was one of Italy’s most famous churches and was covered in frescos and statues and blah blah blah—for once, I couldn’t give a shit about the history stuff.
I was the one who’d asked Milo if we could go sightseeing. But that was just because I couldn’t seem to sit still back at home. Milo had his camera out—an actual camera, not just his phone—upturned to one of the many frescos overhead. We’d been sightseeing for a couple hours now. Usually I lost myself in the architecture and art as much as Milo did. But today I just couldn’t stop thinking about last night and this morning…
“Hmm?” Milo asked, obviously barely listening. “Holy shit, look! We finally got to the Donatello piece.”
He swung his camera around and started snapping away. We’d come on a weekday and it wasn’t as flooded with tourists as it probably was on a weekend. So we could actually see the skinny bronze Donatello sculpture of Jesus. It hung at the apex of the central church nave.
I waited until Milo had snapped the pic before grabbing his bicep. “Could we stop looking at the ninja turtle art for a second? Leander told me he loved me this morning. And that was after he apologized.”
Milo dropped his camera so that it swung on the strap around his neck, finally seeming to hear me. “Like an actual apology? Or like he implied it or something?”
I shook my head. “He said the words. Multiple times. Last night and this morning, he said he was sorry for how he’s been an asshole lately.”
Then I frowned. “But then Janus was the one who barely had any time for me before they left for the stables. He kept saying the jockey they were finishing training with had no patience for American celebrity types.” I used air quotes like Janus had this morning and rolled my eyes.
“Janus doesn’t like to come off as entitled,” Milo said. “It embarrasses him.”
“I get that, but he didn’t even say goodbye. I was putting away my dish for breakfast and when I turned around, he was just gone. Usually he makes such a thing of kissing me before he leaves…”
I sighed. “Not that he has to do that every morning, or that I should let myself come to expect it, it was just…” I bit my lip. “It’s like they’ve had a personality swap. Now Janus is the twin with an ego who’s too busy to be bothered and Leander’s the sensitive one?” I tossed my hands in the air.
“Shhhh!” another visitor hissed at me, crossing themselves and gesturing at Donatello’s Jesus.
I dropped my eyes to the floor. And then tugged at the collar of my shirt and grabbed Milo’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Milo snapped one more picture of the Donatello sculpture and crossed himself. He was still steadfastly Greek Orthodox and crossed himself whenever we passed a church. He followed me as I hustled out.
It was sunny out, balmy and hot.
As soon as my foot touched cobblestone, I turned to Milo. “Can we go visit them? At the training stables? Janus always said we could come by. And now that I’m in my second trimester,” my hand went reflexively to my tummy bump, “I finally feel good enough to go. It’s the last day.”
