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Where Corelli, her sons, and now Serafina awaited them.
Serafina raised her brow at the sight of a duke bearing Fiore’s sea-chest. Whatever doubts she had about it she kept to herself, which was the greatest gift she could give Fiore in parting.
“Farewell for now,” Fiore told them all. “I’ll be back to drink and dance as soon as the chirurgeons allow.”
Corelli accepted this with a nod and struck out her hand for him to grasp. Fiore shook it. But rather than release him afterward, she instead used their hand-clasp to draw him into a rough and hearty embrace.
“You’re always welcome back,” she said, too low for anyone but him to hear.
“Thanks,” Fiore managed, stunned. He supposed she meant as a visitor rather than as a returning tenant. Even so, he appreciated her offer. The recollections of Serafina’s misfortune with her own wealthy patron weighed heavily in the air.
Corelli released him.
Fiore entwined his arm with Enzo’s once more.
And together, they left theKingfisherbehind.
~
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Fiore expected Enzo would hand the sea-chest over to a trusted servant once they arrived at Ca’ Scaevola.
This did not come to pass.
Instead, Enzo insisted—in his quiet and deferential way, but insisted nonetheless—on transporting it himself. He hoisted it out of the felze, carried it up the staircases and down the corridors, and did not set it down again until it reached its final resting place in his bedchamber. Or rather, their bedchamber, Fiore reminded himself.
Fiore felt as astonished as he did pleased that Enzo took personal charge of the sea-chest. While the chest itself remained locked and the false bottom concealed all Fiore would want concealed, nonetheless he wouldn’t have fully trusted it in anyone else’s hands. He well appreciated the deliberate effort Enzo made to show respect to even his meagre belongings.
Once Enzo set the sea-chest down at the foot of the bed, however, Fiore couldn’t help but notice how stark it stood out against everything else in the room.
“What do you think of it?” Fiore asked Enzo.
Enzo glanced between him and the sea-chest. “How do you mean?”
“Don’t you think it looks a bit…” Fiore bit back his own first impressions. Ludicrously small when set before the vast breadth of Enzo’s bed. Quaintly carved and garishly painted when compared to the dark and grandiose decoration of the surrounding room. Downright cheap amidst the splendor of Ca’ Scaevola. “Like it doesn’t belong?”
Like Fiore himself didn’t belong.
Enzo furrowed his brow. “Not at all. But,” he added, “if you’d like, you might decorate your own rooms along similar lines.”
“Sounds like you’re eager to get me out of your bedchamber.” Fiore had intended to sound teasing. He wasn’t sure he’d accomplished it.
Nevertheless, Enzo insisted, “Our bedchamber.”
Fiore supposed he could let the matter rest there for now. He dropt to one knee in front of his sea-chest—somewhat more awkwardly than he had in days past, with an unpleasant twinge in his stomach—and took out his drawings. As the sea-chest’s decoration paled in comparison to Ca’ Scaevola, so too did his artwork. He tried to put it from his mind and think instead how Enzo appreciated them even if he himself couldn’t. Indeed, when he handed them over to Enzo he noted the quiet and handsome smile that lit up his dark eyes at the mere sight of them.
Likewise, as Fiore got his clothes out to air them, his old raiments seemed not worth the bother when contrasted against what he wore now. Still, he liked to have them. Perhaps they might see more use if he ever progressed from drawing to painting.
When he reached the false bottom, he paused. Its contents loomed in his mind’s eye. Enzo’s remark regarding the hook and happy memories had surprised him. While he also treasured those moments spent in Enzo’s willing submission, he’d assumed they’d remain a thing of the past. After all, Enzo could hardly take Fiore seriously as a dominating force, knowing what he did now about his weakness in the catacombs. He was lucky enough that Enzo still wanted to fuck him at all.
And yet Enzo had retrieved the hook specifically. Fiore turned it in his hands as his thoughts tumbled over each other in his mind, until at last he raised his eyes to the four spiraling posts framing the bed’s canopy.
“D’you suppose,” Fiore asked, forcing his voice into nonchalance, “it could support the weight of a man?”
Enzo followed his gaze. “I see no reason why it shouldn’t.”
Fiore’s heart fluttered into his throat. He hadn’t dared to hope, and yet the thing with feathers had caught him up regardless.
