Fiore's kitchen sits in the middle of the woods, a curious mix of rustic charm and fairytale madness: a massive, beat-up wooden counter, a ceramic sink almost as big as I am, and a cast-iron stove that looks straight out of a period film.
The counter, though, is anything but fairytale-like: he's put together an apericena* that looks like the buffet of a fancy bar in downtown Venice.
Polenta crostini with baccalà, cicchetti, giant olives, hummus, crackers, bruschette… the only thing missing is a waiter in a bow tie. All crowned with a crisp, sparkling wine from the Colli Euganei.
"Wow, if you were trying to flex, mission accomplished," I say, thinking about my usual 'aperitivo' made of frozen pizza, olive ascolane, and discount chips. I almost feel guilty looking at all this divine spread.
"I got carried away, I'm starving!" he bursts out laughing, drying his hands on a dish towel and throwing it over his shoulder with casual flair. Even a simple gesture like that somehow looks seductive.
Or maybe it's the outfit: a skin-tight white tank top that says Send Nudes in a tacky winged font, low-rise pants showing a hint of boxer waistband, and a headband pushing his hair back. A full-blown 2000s throwback.
Meanwhile, I'm wearing an oversized white T-shirt and black athletic shorts. Minimal, neutral. Classic Milo. Next to him, I look like I just showed up in flip-flops at a red carpet. I fidget with a lock of my hair, awkward as ever.
Fiore hands me and Romina two glasses of bubbly wine.
"How are you guys feeling after the swim?"
When Romina and I got out of the water, we immediately noticed that all our wounds were completely healed. Even her foot looked brand new.
"Fantastic!" she chirps, grinning. "The foot's good as new."
"I'm glad to hear that," Fiore says. "We're gonna need those pretty feet of yours, Romina."
She narrows her eyes at him, smirking. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That, in the next few days, there'll be a lot of running around. We need to stay in shape, we don't know what's coming."
Romina tilts her head, jokingly suspicious. "For a second, I thought you were about to make me a dirty proposal."
Fiore raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Like what?"
"Like… offering to take pictures of her feet to sell online," I say, sipping my wine. Romina bursts out laughing.
"Why do you both think I'm a pervert?!" Fiore exclaims, mock-dramatic.
"I don't know… maybe because you're wearing a tank top that says 'Send Nudes'?" I shoot back, all innocent.
"Well, stop staring at my chest then, Milo," he teases, and my face goes up in flames.
"Not my fault you're showing off," I fire back.
"And what's wrong with showing off?" Fiore grins. "You should try it sometime. You've got a great body, you know—I saw earlier."
I swat his arm. "Oh yeah? How, exactly? You were facing the other way!"
"Oops," he says, with that smug little smile. "Guess I got caught."
Romina laughs out loud, nearly spilling her drink.
The evening drifts by like that—jokes, wine, and easy laughter.
For a while, it feels like the world outside doesn't exist.
Just the three of us, suspended in this soft, still moment of now.
-
After three hours, Romina is knocked out on the couch. I drape a light sheet over her and stroke her face. Fiore is at the sink, washing dishes, humming a little tune, completely relaxed.
"I'll help you dry," I offer, grabbing a dish towel and standing next to him at the sink.
"Thanks," he says, handing me a plate.
We stay close like that, doing this completely ordinary task, while Fiore continues humming happily. Suddenly, I remember Romina's words: "The only way to know how Fiore feels about you is to ask him."
My heart picks up speed. My hands are sweating.
Thank god I'm holding a dish towel.
"Fiore…" I start searching for the words. Every syllable feels like a boulder. Such a struggle. "Uh… well…"
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Nothing tragic is happening, Milo. You just need to ask. That's it.
"Something is buzzing in my head," I finally manage, my voice trembling slightly.
He shoots me a playful smile. "I've noticed. I guess it has something to do with you telling me not to hover over you. Right?"
"Yes… That's part of it." I set down the plate I was drying with a clumsy motion. How does one talk about feelings without sounding like a complete idiot? I already feel painfully cringy just thinking about it.
"I… don't understand your attitude toward me, and I feel confused… I… you… Well, basically, what do you feel for me?" Every word costs me a titanic effort.
Fiore leans in slightly, that catlike grin of his that already signals he's planned the next move. "What do I feel? Mmm. I find you attractive. Sexy, too. Definitely drawn to you."
My face turns into a furnace. "So… if you kissed me… it wasn't because of the Code, for work, or…?" Was it just a reaction to how I feel? I can't quite get this out.
Fiore turns off the tap, dries his hands, and faces me with lethal calm.
"No. The Code has nothing to do with it. But I…" He pauses, weighing every word. "I'm not the relationship type."
There it is. The raw, naked truth. My stomach knots. Deep down, I'd guessed it, right? And yet, a tiny part of me had been hoping for a different answer.
"But…" Fiore continues, cutting through my thoughts. "I feel that you want me. That your body calls for me. And my body… answers. Desires you." His voice is a thread of silk and poison at the same time, and I feel it vibrating through me. Our eyes lock in that magnetism that kills me.
Fiore reaches out, brushes a stray lock of hair from my face, and leans closer.
My heartbeat speeds up, thundering in my ears, my head spinning. Like that time in that dusty office, everything is amplified.
"So…?" slips out before I can even think.
"So," he says, with one of his sly smiles, "let our bodies speak. No drama, no promises. Just the present moment."
He's so close now that I can feel every nuance of his breath, every slight vibration. I gasp, intoxicated. His lips brush against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, all the way to my toes.
"You in?" he whispers in my ear, provocative and direct, his voice a thread between command and temptation.
It's visceral, electric, and irresistible… and painfully clear.
No "us," no future—just the here and now.
I want to take a step back, to pull away, but my body has other ideas. My hands roam over Fiore's chest, brush along his sides, and then grip his back.
My stomach pulses, my heart beats like a drum at a historical reenactment. I bury my face between his shoulder blades, inhaling the floral scent that always seems to cling to his skin. My breath comes short, my hands tremble, every fiber of my body screaming desire.
Just as Fiore said: my body calls for him.
Interpreting my body language as a yes, he wraps me firmly.
His hands waste no time: as if he wants to imprint himself on every curve, they travel from my hair to my shoulders, down my back, across my hips, and finally to my butt, gripping decisively.
"Hey, g-go easy," I gasp, tilting my head up.
"Negative. I can't stop now." His eyes gleam, and he's gasping with desire too.
Our lips crash together in a voracious, aggressive kiss, different from the first: no sweetness, no slowness, just pure hunger.
Romina's words flash through my mind: "If he didn't look like he could devour me in one bite…"
He wants to devour me. And I want to be devoured. My brain tries to protest, but fails miserably.
I clutch his shirt to keep from falling, but Fiore has other ideas.
He pulls his lips from mine, slips off his tank top, and continues, famished. My hands hesitate, exploring his bare skin as if every inch is forbidden. Every touch makes me feel both free and trapped at the same time.
Mayday, Milo, maydayyyy!
I pull away from the kiss for a moment, breathless, and stare at him like he's the most delicious slice of cake on the face of the Earth.
"Who's the pervert now?" Fiore teases. I slip off my shirt in response.
"As if you mind the attention," I quip, sharp.
"You're right. Feast your eyes without holding back," he taunts.
"Just my eyes?" I challenge, but my face is blazing red.
Fiore laughs, pleased, and in a flash lifts me onto his shoulders like I'm a little goat. "You asked for it."
"H-hey! Put me down!" I protest, trying to control my voice—Romina's asleep not far off. If she woke up, I'd die of embarrassment.
My brain screams RED ALERT, but I've already lost control.
Fiore carries me through the trees to his huge hammock, piled with soft cushions and cool blankets. He drops me onto it with a knowing smile, his eyes tinged pink, burning, excited.
"Are you sure?" he asks unexpectedly, a serious shadow crossing his face amid the impatience.
"You're pulling back now, after bringing me here?" I manage, trying to smile through my panting.
"Yes. We're… on the same wavelength, right? Just checking."
I look into those eyes once more, and my chest tightens. Between the lines, he's saying: Don't get attached, Milo.
I close my eyes.
We'll deal with that tomorrow.
Then I stretch out my arms. "Come here."
*Apericena: When you start with an aperitivo and keep going until dinner, voilà: the aperi-cena! A casual Italian evening of drinks and enough snacks to replace a full meal.