Page 63 of Boy Friends
‘These are your boys, Anna?’ a lady with earrings the size of chandeliers exclaims.
‘My grandson, Luca,’ Anna says with pride in her voice. Either she forgets to introduce Simo, or she purposely skips over him.
Simo is easily the most beautiful person here. I see the glances he gets, and it’s not because he looks good in a tux, which of course he does. It’s his gentle nature peeking through a layer of shyness. He’s charmingly himself in a place where big personalities vie for space. Which is how I know that Anna didn’t forget he’s here.
‘Luca, please let me introduce you to my granddaughter,’ earring lady says. ‘She’s fallen for a Windsor, and I don’t wish that receding hairline on my future generations.’
I grip Simo’s arm. ‘Don’t let her marry me off to her daughter,’ I whisper in his ear.
‘I’m not letting anyone take you away from me,’ he whispers back, and bites his bottom lip to hide a grin.
The entire evening, during speeches and performances, I try to concentrate, I really do. But I can only focus on him. I follow the pull, lean in and feel my pulse spike when his lips brush my ear as he tells a joke. It’s impossible to withstand his charm when a laugh spills from his chest into the room, when he gets caught up in telling a story about his abuela, and his fingers dance through the air to embellish it.
I wish the only disappointment of the night was the dessert, a dollop of chocolate mousse so tiny it would fit on the tip of my thumb. My grandparents aren’t rude exactly, but the temperature drops by a degree whenever they turn from me to Simo. It’s so subtle I might have missed it if he hadn’t brought it up at the bookshop.
‘Hold that thought,’ Graham interrupts him in the middle of a story, ‘I see the chancellor of the exchequer. Must have a word with him about that new tax law.’
The further the evening goes, the more we drift awayfrom my grandparents, who are busy with shop talk. I try to make up for their behaviour by hunting down a whole tray of mini chocolate mousses and offering it to Simo.
As the night goes on, people loosen up, but Simo deflates. He keeps up the smile, but I can tell that he’s out of his comfort zone.
‘Hey, why don’t we bounce?’ I suggest.
‘Bounce?’
‘Find the driver and ask him to take us back.’
‘Are you sure? I’m happy to stay longer if you want to.’
‘I’ve seen everything there is to see here. What I haven’t seen is the pool at the house.’
‘The pool at the house,’ he repeats, and there’s a new spark in his eyes.
I crane my neck to find my grandparents and spot Anna working her charm on a group of silver-haired men. I don’t know why she started giving Simo the cold shoulder, but I don’t feel like speaking to her right now. We navigate through the drunken crowd, and I try not to trip over sparkling trains as I send her a text instead, telling her we’re on our way home.
Half an hour later, the car stops in front of a modern brick building between two Victorian houses. This view of the house is deceptive: behind the low facade hides a mansion built around a square courtyard. Once inside, it’s easy to forget the city and imagine yourself in a Tuscan villa.
On impulse, I grab the bottle of bubbles from the limo. We head straight for the basement, giggling and nearly tripping over each other as we descend the winding staircase.
‘Whoa,’ Simo says, and I bump into him when he stopsin an archway. I settle my chin on his shoulder and take in the scene. Light filtered from somewhere above gives the pool a sapphire tint. Frescoes adorn the walls, but the details are cloaked in shadow. It’s like we’ve stumbled into a forgotten Roman cave. It takes Simo only seconds to rip his shoes and shirt off and jump in.
‘Simo! Fuck! Your suit!’
He only laughs and dives under again.
I sit at the edge of the pool and am trying to get the shoes off when he breaks the surface and grabs my ankles. Water pours down his angular face, and mischief dances in his eyes.
‘If you pull me in, I’m gonna kill you, and then my grandparents are going to kill me, and my dad is going to kill them.’
‘So if you fear a family bloodbath, why don’t you hurry up and join me?’ he says and it sounds like a dare. He floats on his back as I strip to my briefs and vest. Next, I aim a water bomb at his head.
I hear a yelp as he ducks away beneath me, and a blink later I’m surrounded by a stream of bubbles. It’s colder than I expected, but it clears my head. At least, until Simo tackles me and drags me to the deep end. We splash around the pool like two young retrievers that know no bounds. I earn a kick to the ribs and Simo’s arms show red lines where I accidentally scratched him, but we’re both laughing and gasping for breath.
Simo pulls me close again, but this time his grip is different. Gentler. Our thighs cross and I place my hands on his shoulders, as if to seek balance, when I’m establishing afraction of distance to keep my brain from giving out.
‘You look happy,’ he says, his voice raw. Water streams from his hair, curls flattened against his temples like rivers of ink. Droplets glide down his face and gather on his chin, where they catch the light, glittering like diamonds, before they fall.
‘I am happy.’ Happy enough to drown, almost. I don’t want to miss out on him. I’m in his arms, exactly where I want to be, but with so many things unsaid, I’d truly hate to go now. ‘Are you happy, Simo?’
