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Raphael gave him a half-hearted glower, but he let Luca’s hand go, and neither of them said anything as he let himself out. They didn’t really need to. Whatever happened—whatever the future was going to be like, Raphael would never lose the most important people in his life.
And that’s why he had to do this. That’s why he had to let Dmitri go.
12
“Shouldwe do the awkward first date taboo thing?” Rian asked a few minutes after they were given the wine list.
Raphael never drank, and especially now with the medication change, everything about him was complex. Sitting in a pasta restaurant was bad enough, and his choices on the menu were limited. His stomach twisted in on itself a little, because he hated looking picky, but more than that, he hated having to explain himself.
I can’t eat carbs, I can’t eat gluten, I can’t eat sugar, I can’t drink.
I can’t I can’t I can’t.
And then would come the look of irritated pity and the half-hearted apology for choosing some place that he couldn’t eat in spite of it being Raphael’s choice not to disclose that information. And then would come the uncomfortable questions and the quiet parting at the end of the night with no promise to see each other again.
“Well, first dates are always awkward,” Raphael eventually said, reaching for his water. “What sort of taboo did you have in mind?”
Rian leaned his elbow on the table and rested his cheek against his curled fist. He was good looking—the sort of classic American beauty with high cheekbones and very straight teeth and a sharp nose. He was every man Raphael had grown up seeing in movies and on television—bodies of men who would never resemble his own.
It wasn’t Rian’s fault that Raphael swallowed down bitterness of never finding a hero like himself, but sometimes it was hard to be sitting across from the ideal. Even if Rian had no choice in the matter.
“Let’s order first. Do you drink?” Rian asked.
Raphael shook his head. “Just water, thank you.”
“What about an appetizer? I was thinking maybe,” he tapped his chin and then looked up. “Bruschetta?”
“Ah,” Raphael told him, and he felt the back of his neck heat.
“What is it?”
“I…the bread. I can’t…”
“Roasted artichokes? I don’t think there’s any sort of bread in that.”
It wasn’t always a fight, but it was usually a little push-back, so the easy give threw him off guard. “I’d be okay with it.”
There was nothing particularly taboo about the silence that settled over them, a symphony of utensils scraping plates and low chatter behind them—and ahead, awkward conversation that Raphael didn’t think he wanted to endure. But he was doing this for Dmitri—he was giving it a chance for Dmitri. But he wasn’t making promises beyond that.
“You remind me of my ex,” Rian said, cracking the silence with a mallet after the server walked away. Raphael blinked at him, and Rian burst into a fit of laughter. “Taboo enough for you?”
Raphael leaned his elbow on the table, not giving a shit for proper manners anymore, and he leaned his chin on his fist. “How?”
At that, Rian flushed. “A few different ways.”
“Was he German?”
Rian’s smile softened. “Not the way you are.”
With a chuckle, Raphael shook his head. “Ah, the way Americans are. Tracing bloodlines back to countries that wouldn’t recognize them for generations?”
“Something like that. But that’s not what I meant.”
“Dark haired then?”
“Blond.”
“Blue eyes too, I imagine,” Raphael mused. He had a feeling he knew what Rian was getting at, and it made his stomach churn.
