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They had just enough time to break apart before the door slammed open and Matty appeared like some sort of disgruntled Christmas elf.
“Presents!”
“Come on,” Renzo said, extending his hand. “Before we’re both murdered in this crappy bed.”
* * *
It was the first time in a while that Renzo didn’t feel a wave of crushing loneliness after gifts were opened, paper was cleaned up, and Matty was in his room talking to all of his friends online about the presents he’d gotten. Even when his sister was in town, she was usually occupied with either work or talking to one of her overseas lovers until dinner, which left Renzo on the sofa, staring at the dying fire and the remnants of their cinnamon roll breakfast.
And in the time between that—when he and John were together—the loneliness was somehow worse. The one thing his ex had never been able to do was take away his Christmas mornings with family. Sometimes John would go see his own, peppering Renzo’s day with texts and calls, his passive aggression doing all the work of making Renzo feel like shit for not giving up this one thing.
When he and John had been physically together, John would either be on the phone or busying himself with any other task besides being with Renzo. Even in the same room, it felt like there was a vast ocean separating them. Renzo had brought it up once or twice, but John had made him feel like such a moron for feeling like that, he’d learned to keep his mouth firmly shut.
But now, he wondered how he’d ever been able to stand living like that. Lying on the sofa, Emil’s arms carefully curled around him and keeping him close, was paradise. And more than that, he felt safe, and wanted, and adored. His heartbeat was slow and steady, his limbs heavy and lazy, and every now and again, Emil would press a kiss to his temple, and Renzo wondered how he was ever supposed to give it up, even for a little while.
“You’re tense,” Emil said after a long forever of comfortable silence. “Did I do something wrong?”
Renzo sighed and turned his head, taking a deep whiff of Emil’s sweater. It smelled like him—expensive laundry detergent and some cologne Renzo assumed could only be purchased from an Italian boutique found in the streets of Rome. He let his palm rest flat and heavy on the top of Emil’s thigh.
“I did, didn’t I?” Emil pressed when Renzo didn’t answer right away.
Eventually, Renzo shook his head. Itwasbecause of Emil, but it sure as hell wasn’t his fault. “This is one of the best holidays I’ve had since I was a kid.”
Emil’s body twitched, startled. “And that’s…bad?”
“It scares me a little,” Renzo admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He tilted his head back to look at Emil’s face. His lover wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was fixed across the room at an empty spot on the wall with a big drywall patch lump. Renzo dragged his fingers over Emil’s leg, feeling the way his body responded in the smallest, most subtle way. “I didn’t want to jump into anything so fast.”
“But you did. Because of me.” It wasn’t really a question, but Emil’s tone was fragile. Like if Renzo answered him wrong, he’d shatter.
“I didn’t think I could ever fall for someone again. I didn’t know I was even capable of feeling like this,” Renzo admitted. “It’s starting to make me question if I ever loved John.”
“Your ex.”
Renzo nodded and laid his ear against the side of Emil’s chest. His heartbeat was a little fast, maybe with nerves or maybe with something else. “John had really strict definitions of love. And it used to make me question myself because he always said there were limits to what a person was capable of feeling.”
“I don’t understand,” Emil said with a confused frown. “What does that even mean?”
Renzo huffed a laugh, shaking his head a little sadly. “I still don’t know, exactly. He tried to make the claim that the big, intense, powerful feelings people get when they fall in love aren’t sustainable. That the bigger the feelings, the quicker the relationship will end. Before we split, he was actually writing a book about how those feelings create an addiction—that they’re responsible for people cheating and how the affected partners are the ones at fault for not creating a more emotionally stable environment.”
Emil frowned down at him. “And he cheated on you, right? So the book was what? A manifesto to make sure you always took the blame?”
Renzo felt his cheeks heat. “It was easier for me to not think about it, but yeah. That’s pretty much it.” Embarrassment flooded him. John hadn’t actually declared those reasons openly, but last spring, he’d sent Renzo some pages to look over—friend to friend, he’d claimed.
Renzo knew John had done it to make sure Renzo was never able to move on or forget. And the fool that he was, he read the pages, and it had sent him spiraling back to when things hurt the worst. He never did reply to John, but he knew he didn’t have to. His ex had triumphed in that moment.
He snapped back to reality at the feeling of a warm palm sliding over his cheek. He glanced up into Emil’s concerned gaze. “Listen, I don’t say this very often, but I know people. I have enough money to know people. So if you want this problem taken care of…”
Renzo interrupted him with a sharp laugh. “I’m going to assume you don’t mean this in some sort of mafia, swimming with the fishes sense.”
Emil shrugged, looking unrepentant. “No, but Icouldif you?—”
“Oh my God, no. I don’t.” Renzo shivered, then heated again, but for an entirely different reason this time. He twisted his body around, pushing Emil against the arm of the sofa, bracketing him in with his hands. He nuzzled his nose against Emil’s jaw, then kissed him long, and slow, and a little messy.
“Fuck,” Emil whispered, digging his fingers into Renzo’s hips. “Tell me again we can’t do this here.”
“We can’t do this here,” Renzo said, hating himself for those words. “But you have no idea how badly I want to.”
Emil laughed, the sound tense as he ran his hand up Renzo’s spine, then grabbed him by the back of his hair. “Yeah. I kind of think I do.”
