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“You must have given some thought to what you would do with your share of the gentleman’s fortune,” Enzo said with a smile. “Would you become a man of leisure? How would you fill your days—drawing? Music?”
“You’re a man of leisure,” Fiore retorted. “How do you fill your days?”
“With you.”
Fiore paused. “I can’t very well follow in your footsteps then, lest I become full of myself.”
Enzo laughed. “Very true. Would you return to your trade? Set up your own house?”
“I like my trade well enough,” Fiore admitted. A thought struck him. “Would you wish for me to return to it?”
Enzo’s smile shifted into something more wistful. “It would rather give me something to look forward to.”
Fiore ignored the pang provoked by that smile. “You’ll have moved on by then.”
Enzo did not look as though he agreed with him but knew better than to argue. “If you don’t return to your trade after your patron’s demise… might I try my suit again regardless?”
“You’ll have moved on by then,” Fiore repeated, though he believed it less with every passing moment. Particularly as Enzo gazed down at him with those fond and gentle eyes.
And as he realized that he might not have moved on by then, either.
~
It was not the first time Enzo had revealed his peculiarity to a lover.
It was, however, the first time he had revealed it to Fiore—which rather upped the stakes in his estimation.
The strain of suspense had fallen away into relief as Fiore took the revelation in stride. Orazio had likewise taken it well, which Enzo recalled with a pang. Others hadn’t. Still others had expressed disgust with the very idea before ever knowing it applied to Enzo in particular. Most of these were anonymous bathhouse encounters and left Enzo with minor disappointment rather than angst. Fiore, however, evidently had more experience with the wider world of possibilities in this particular arena and thus a more open mind, for which Enzo felt very grateful.
Likewise he felt grateful for the speed of his own recovery. He’d enjoyed general good health all his life. Even the plague had seen him come through it far less scathed than most. Still he never took for granted how near his most recent brush with death had proved.
Nor did he take for granted Fiore’s determination to remain by his side. No doubt Fiore felt anxious to return to Halcyon. Unlike Enzo he had a wide circle of acquaintance and no shortage of appointments between his work aboard the ship and modelling for artisans and practicing his own craft—though admittedly he could do two out of three at the lodge. Given all of this, Enzo expected Fiore to make his excuses and depart any day.
Yet Fiore remained.
Perhaps it was merely his mistrust of chirurgeons that kept him perched at the window whenever Dr Zoccarato came to examine Enzo. But the tender nature of his caresses when they were at last alone seemed to speak otherwise—as did his nimble fingers racing to pleat, smooth, tie up, or tug on every piece of Enzo’s garb before he could so much as blink, or his skillful hand washing and combing through Enzo’s long tresses without his asking.
Finally, a fortnight after Enzo divulged his peculiarity to Fiore, Dr Zoccarato declared him fit to travel.
Fiore would depart ahead of him, at Enzo’s insistence, for Fiore had far more pressing business within the city, and Enzo didn’t wish to delay him another moment with his convalescent pace. He soothed his loss with the thought that they would reunite within mere days.
Giovanna, meanwhile, made preparations to retire to Bluecliffe for the season. The fields required the oversight of herself and her devoted Antonio in the spring. They intended to embark within a few days of Fiore’s departure—a circumstance Enzo told himself was mere coincidence.
It seemed far less coincidental when, the very morning after Fiore set out for Halcyon, Giovanna joined Enzo for breakfast unannounced, arriving at his chambers almost simultaneous with the coffee and brioche.
“Dr Zoccarato tells me you’re well enough to travel,” she said.
Enzo confirmed this was so.
“Do you still intend to return to Halcyon?” she asked.
Enzo confirmed this as well.
Giovanna gave him a knowing look. “Because of Fiore.”
Enzo said nothing. Though he felt the heat arising in his face keenly.
“I did say we’d discuss it after the hunt,” Giovanna pointed out. “And we have arrived, at last, at ‘after the hunt.’ Though I’d intended to do so rather sooner than now.”
