James was repeating the guide book again, word for word, as if talking nonstop was his only way to deal with his bad dose of doomed love. Alex gave the impression of drinking in every word and being engrossed in the spectacular architecture and leaned over to kiss his friend on the mouth, assured his strange behaviour was a foolish attempt to hide his crush. The German soon got over his shock and showed Alex how to kiss. It was early enough that they were alone in this secluded piazza in Sienna. Alex smiled as the snog broke, and he moved to lead his love interest a waltz around the square.
The pair walked arm in arm to the cafe for breakfast, two boys who could afford five star luxury were backpacking and sleeping in two star hotels, which was a step up from hostels, and offered for more privacy. This was a real experience of a gap year not the splendid isolation of life in their parent's protective bubble.
Coffee and pastries ordered, Alex knew Jamie was confused. "It's not a secret that I have trust issues. I trust you. I know you like me, I've been waiting for you to make your move since Switzerland. What do you want? Sex, that's ok. A relationship, that's ok too. I like you too. I guess you have the same hangups as me. We promised no secrets. If you'd asked me I'd have told you that I will dare people I connect too. It's just that list is very short and most of the people on it are guys into girls. I have no preference. It's just girls expect the truth and nearly everything about me is a lie."
Dark blue intense eyes drank in the sight of the unattainable that was now his. Since that first holiday, when he reconnected with his hero, who was frail and convalescing and protected by Dimitry acting as concerned older brother had grown a pair to boss even Paul around. "Sasha... after that kiss, we are dating. Think how compatible we are, as we've have been cohabiting for nearly a month. No more twin beds. Can we skip the tourist thing, now? Let's head straight for the villa near Sorrento." The security guards tailing them 24/7 cramped his style and even he noticed their pitiful attempts of blending in as tourist. "Sit back and enjoy just us for a few weeks there and then we can consider what's next on our life plan."
The first positive tick on Alex's life goals list and one that had been the least likely to attain: trusting someone, anyone, enough to get laid. "Nice use of 'us' and 'our' there. Fine, to Sorrento and the start of togetherness and all that."
...
Mentally compiling another list, days after arriving in a Sorrento, was better than sitting back on his laurels and thinking life was perfect. It was pretty close, though. Now, Alex had a lot to lose, so needed to keep up with staying alert, prepared and focused on fighting his corner. Morning routine had not changed for the blond new arrival at the Sprintz villa. It was obvious that Dieter Sprintz paid for his security and his household staff to be discrete. Even so, the boyfriend of their boss' son made himself known. Talked to the security of Jamie's plans and the best way to be safe and unpredictable. Cooking for his lover had delighted Jamie, who adored brunch in bed. The eighteen year old sleeping in the junior suite slept late, whereas his guest rose early.
Alex had worked very hard over the last year, not all academic study, also survival skills of a specialist kind from the members of the presidential guard who had spent years in black ops and undercover. Building on the tricks of the trade learnt from Ian and the SAS. The teenager hoped he never needed to use this knowledge, but once Dima left for Officer training, the regime in Moscow had became a whole new ballgame. The best offence was a good defence. Even after leaving home, Five until nine every morning was a varied routine for optimum physical fitness and honing of skills. Then breakfast and entertaining Jamie for the rest of the day, evening and night. The seclusion meant both of the villa's occupants could sunbathe and swim in the nude. Jamie was a bit more prudent about sex, which was under the cover of the veranda and inside when the staff had left and always in the bedroom or bathroom with the door locked when the cleaner and housekeeper were working.
The head of security was a former Interpol officer, who arrived early to sort out the schedules as they were a man down. Mario had unexpectedly quit. Each would have to manage an additional half shift to tide them over. Inconvenient but the extra pay and holiday accrued would be welcomed. Luckily the kid and his bedwarmer were both homebodies, too busy fucking to need close protection detail. Looking over the cctv, the blond yank was fastidiously fit. Luckily they did not have to tail and keep pace with him, just watch over sleeping beauty. Even when the German had been training, he'd never endured such mammoth runs. He got the feeling this teenager was scoping out both the locality, the Villa and the security setup. He was imagining things, like Herr Sprintz's son, Sasha has just left school, it was his brother Dimitry who was working for Russian a Security Services. Though there had been a rumour of the British and the Yanks using kids a few years back. All gossip, he himself had passed himself off as college age when on intelligence operations.
Showering downstairs, Alex knew the routine of the household, which ran like clockwork. Alex was eager to learn everything from Maria, who was here every morning, and cooked meals for the security staff when one of the Sprintz's or their guests were here. The cleaner due at 9:30 three days a week. As he finished dressing, he knew the housekeeper would be laying out the China and utensils on the breakfast tray, using the fruit already prepared, and bread and pastries she bought on they way in, then he would prepare eggs, hot milk and coffee, always including enough for the cleaner and housekeeper as well.
Dressed in loose clothes, he silently worked. With the tray laden with this late breakfast, Alex took the newspapers and post upstairs; thankful that Jamie ate first before taking care of his carnal needs.
...
Maria sat down and poured herself a glass of grappa to accompany her coffee at the mid morning break, "I have complained to Dieter about his son's laziness for years, so the spoiled layabout sweet talks an angel who cooks, tidies up, does both their laundry. James gets all the bad habits from his bitch of a mother, with a father who works all the time and makes excuses that his son has problems. The boy was lazy and rude before his mother left or that funny business with the school in France. I should not complain, my sons are as bad, expecting me to wait on them when I go home. At least I get paid for my hours here."
The cleaner shrugged, less work was fine with her as the other villas she cleaned were rentals and there she earned every cent to deal with hoards of holidaying foreigners. The teenagers here were angels compared to those who partied nonstop. "You need to see the house two streets over, the shits fuck everywhere, even when I'm there. No shame, no modesty, no morals. The boys upstairs are in love, not bed hopping and jumping everything that moves, nor drinking to excess and throwing wild parties. Those damned animals there are as rich and will never have to work a day in their lives. Jamie's father taught him that love was the most important thing. So, it's a boy. Both the same age and very private, it harms no one. I've seen much worse in most boys the same age. Much much worse."
...
Mario had won the lottery and returned home to his mother's family home of Catalina. He sat in the bar and talked of working in Germany, with visits to New York, Moscow, Switzerland and Sorrento. His cousin ordered a round of brandies and asked bland questions about working abroad. The former security guard spoke German, French, English and Russian, and had been invalided out of the Italian police in the mid 90s after being shot in the chest. His modest pension had been saved, but now he could afford a house with a garden and sea view. Another round of drinks and he mentioned his former employer was Dieter Sprintz, the billionaire. The man then spoke of the son staying at the villa, those he worked with and the good food provided by the housekeeper, Maria. Missing her cooking and the fact she was happily married. The conversation strayed to his failed marriage and information about his work back with the police and his hometown of Milan.
His cousin Gino had the mask of friendly interest knowing the man thought of him as a kindred soul because he had briefly been a paratrooper. His skills and service record had seen him headhunted for training at Malagosto, missing out because of its enforced closure after 9/11. The Grimaldi's had employed him until they had been liquidated the next year. As a freelance specialist he had found work with the local families, who kept within their business empires, keen to keep off competition from Russian mafia and the Triads and stay clear of the hard line from Interpol and government agencies with zero tolerance for terrorist threats. He was eager to make his name and to go from mere contract employee to the big league. The information he possessed offered easy money from the reclusive German banker, whose only child was guarded by two to three soft, fat and complacent guards.