All I Believe (Firsts and Forever, #10)(26)
“Is everything okay?” Nana asked.
“Yeah, fine. He was just distracted by something.” I changed the subject by saying, “If you want, maybe we can get a car and drive up to Catania for dinner. Afterwards, we can visit a few of those clubs and hand out flyers.” They agreed to that readily and began talking animatedly about the night ahead. I just stared into the lobby, wishing for Luca’s return.
*****
That night, I went with Nana and Jessie to the biggest, loudest gay nightclub in Catania, but my heart wasn’t in it. While they got drunk, danced and chatted with the locals, I sat by myself with a diet soda (since I’d appointed myself designated driver). I turned down every invitation to dance, and shut down everyone who tried to start a conversation with me, even though I was approached by a lot of good-looking men. I just couldn’t stop thinking about Luca. No one else held my interest.
Finally, I went outside where it was quieter and called the hotel. When someone at the front desk answered, I said, “Buona sera. Corallo suite, per favore.”
I was asked to wait a moment, and then the desk clerk came back on the line and told me in Italian, “Mr. Caruso is not answering. Would you care to leave a message?”
I left my name and cell number with the message to please call me, and once we disconnected, I lingered outside for a while with the phone in my hand, hoping he’d call right back. Of course that didn’t happen, so eventually I put my phone away and returned to the club.
I tried to cut across one corner of the crowded dance floor, but was stopped short when the crowd parted to make room for a couple who thought they were on the set of Saturday Night Fever. As I stood there trying to be patient, another couple sat down at my relatively quiet table in the corner. I stifled a sigh.
A pair of hands grasped my hips from behind, and someone leaned against me and said in Italian in my ear, somewhat loudly to be heard over the pulsing music, “Hi handsome, want to dance?”
I turned around to deliver a polite thanks but no thanks, but then I exclaimed, “Matteo?”
My cousin let go of me like he was holding a rattlesnake and cursed vividly in Italian. Then he said in English with a fairly thick accent, “What are you doing here, Nico?”
“I’m on vacation with my grandmother, as you know because we’re supposed to meet for lunch later in the week.”
“I know that part. What are you doing in Catania?”
“We wanted to visit a few gay nightclubs, which of course meant getting out of Viladembursa.”
“I can’t believe I was checking out my own cousin’s ass. Please never tell anyone I did that.” He lowered his head embarrassedly, his somewhat curly dark brown hair falling into his light eyes. At twenty-seven, he was a year older than me but looked barely twenty-one. He was about five-foot-eleven with a lean build, and was currently wearing tight jeans and a form-fitting bright blue t-shirt with the logo for an Italian bicycle manufacturer on it. I’d last seen him three years ago, when he was traveling through the western U.S. and had spent a weekend with Erik and me.
“I always wondered if you were gay,” I told him. “Why didn’t you come out to me when you were in L.A.? The fact that I was living with a guy should have told you I’d be a pretty safe person to open up to.”
“But if I told you, what was I going to do, swear you to secrecy? This side of the family’s not as accepting as the U.S. side. They pretend they are when they’re in public. They act progressive and say the right things about the current social climate and the changes happening in our society. But behind closed doors it’s another matter. You should have heard them when our cousin Dante came out a few years ago. It was right around the time he took over the Dombruso family business, and some people were actually questioning his ability to do the job because he was gay. Is that not the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“I get why you don’t tell them, but what are you going to do if you fall for someone? Will you keep him a secret from your family?”
“I have no intention of settling down. I’ve moved to Catania for work, I don’t remember if I told you. I’m a cameraman at the local news station now, and it keeps me busy. When I lived in Viladembursa, I constantly had to dodge the family’s efforts to set me up with every single woman in town. I’d tell them I was too busy training with no time for love. It’s actually the truth.” In his free time, he trained as a competitive cyclist. “I think they’ve given up to some extent and written me off as a workaholic. Little do they know, I still find time for fun.” He gestured at our surroundings.
A good-looking guy with short, light brown hair and a muscular build came up to us and said in Italian, “Sorry to interrupt. Matteo, I’m headed home but I’m going to walk because I drank too much. Will you bring my car back if you’re sober enough?” He turned to me and said, “We’re just roommates, nothing more. Don’t worry.”
“Matteo and I are cousins,” I told him, also in Italian, “so no worries at all.”
“Allessandro Girardi, this is Nicolo Dombruso, my cousin from America. Nico, Allesso,” Matteo said, “my friend, roommate, and, as he annoyingly refers to himself, the ‘on-air talent’ at my news station. I spend all day pointing a camera at that ugly mug.”