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Roman smirks. "That was a pleasant surprise—though unpleasant at first. I opened the door to the farmhouse, and Bentley greeted me with a mouthful of sass. I understood his attitude, of course. Nobody wants their Christmas wrecked by inviting in a lodger. Much less one who’d been to prison. Poor Bentley had to adapt to the fact that I was there and I wasn’t going anywhere. We had to live close to each other, which is probably the reason our romance blossomed the way it did. His grandfather tasked me with various duties around the farm—as part of my program. I chopped trees, hauled lumber, and of course, assisted Bentley’s grandmother while she baked cookies."
"Did not." Bentley sticks his nose in the air. "You can’t bake for crap."
"Language." I hit Bentley with a stern look.
He rests his cheek on Roman’s shoulder. "You’re right."
"I’ll be damned." Marcello shakes his head in amusement. "What a wonderful love story."
"You can say that again," Bentley says, kissing Roman’s bulging bicep. "I’m lucky Roman gave me a chance—even after I was a meanie poo to him."
Lazaro turns to me. "Would you and your brother like to play, Jericho?"
Tears well in my eyes. I pivot back to Bentley, who’s staring at me hopefully.
"Yes," I whisper.
Bentley
This. Is. Awesome.
Not only is my older brother having the time of his life in Sicily (I’m so glad he’s finally getting a vacation after being locked up for so long), but he also met wonderful Daddies—andhe wants to play with me.
What more could a little brother want?
We don’t have the toy soldiers we use on our grandparents’ Christmas tree farm. Those are in the attic, in plastic boxes waiting for Christmas time so we can pull them out.
What wedohave are stuffies—stuffies we can pretend are soldiers, ones that we can insert into our wonderful game.
Roman, Lazaro, Marcello, and Santino lead us into Nonna Luciano’s guesthouse a bit further back from the patio. No one will bother us here, which is what we want. There’s nothing worse than getting halfway through a play session and then having to deal with an interruption that rips you out of the scene.
Lazaro tells us that this guesthouse is where Tommaso made his boy, Enzo, come in a creamy bowl of pasta that Tommaso ate. Tommaso has some kind of food fetish.None of my business.
"Here you go," Marcello says, pulling out a bin of stuffies. "These are yours for the afternoon—make them kill each other, hug, or do whatever you want."
Jericho’s eyes roll back. "Let’s get one thing straight. No stuffies are going todietoday."
"Yeah." I can’t help but agree. "Morbid, much?"
Lazaro nudges Marcello’s ribs. "You’ve been a Daddy for too long to say a damn thing like that."
Marcello lifts his hands in defense, then laughs. "You’re right. Okay—bonk each other on the head.Is that better thankill?"
Jericho and I share a look—then chuckle.
"Yes." I sit cross-legged as Jericho accepts the bin of stuffies. "Much better."
When Littles play, the violence is always PG.No exceptions.
Well, I’m sure there are some Littles who enjoy acting crazy and making their toys murder each other. That’s not something I’m into—real life is scary enough. I believe Jericho agrees.
Jericho pulls a bunny rabbit out of the box. "This will be the commander general."
Tears well in my eyes as I take it. "Perfect."
This is how our game usually works. There’s a commander general who announces the start of the battle. There are strategists, snipers, front-line soldiers, and of course, Presidents. It’s always funny when the President of each feuding country rolls up their sleeves and hops into the battle. We make them go wild spraying bullets—they fight for freedom and justice.
I set the bunny rabbit beside a coffee table. "Let’s set up the rest of our fleets. Bunny General will tell us when to begin."
