Chapter 28

Have I Ever Told You How Beautiful You Are, Querido?

Mi amor. Mi vida. Te quiero tanto—te quiero, te quiero.

No te dejaré nunca.

Te prometo.

Por eso...por favor...

No me dejes, mi amor. Mi vida.

Toni was very, very worried about Romano. So worried that he forgot about the conflicts that had been crushing him these past few weeks, and thought only about what he could do. He'd always had to work to make sure that Romano was happy, that Romano was comfortable, that Romano felt safe and secure, whatever that took. But now it was more difficult because Toni wasn't quite sure what Romano needed or what Romano wanted. When he came back from Rome, something had changed in him. No, that wasn't it. Nothing had changed. But the parts of himself that he hated, that he had been managing to push down, were surfacing and making themselves much more apparent, were taking over the other parts of his mind. Toni could see it. The smiles that he'd seen on Romano's face after his visit to Sicily disappeared. As if they had never existed at all.

His tantrums became more common. And so his crashes became more common. The week following his return from Rome, he hardly said a word to Toni except, "Làssimi jiri," or "Vatinni," or, "M'â scusari, t'amu, please come back and hold me." Toni did whatever Romano asked of him, tried to do more. Let the insults and the screams wash over him. He kept his door wide open, his arms even wider. Sometimes Romano clambered into them blindly. Other times he pushed them away.

One morning, Toni opened his eyes to find Romano at the window of the bedroom, pushing the curtain back and staring outside. His toes curled in, his fingers clenching the cloth of the curtain, his forehead against the glass. He was crying silently.

"Mm, Roma?" Toni said, still barely awake. The morning sunlight fell upon Romano's silhouette, lit up him like a fallen star. At Toni's voice, Romano turned to face him, his expression cold and vacant. Without a word, he climbed back into bed. He put his back against Toni's bare chest and wrapped Toni's arms around himself and pulled, pulled, pulled. Curled up and breathed out shakily when Toni kissed the back of his neck.

"Are you ready to tell me how you're feeling, neno?" he whispered.

"I'm not feeling anything. I...I'm not feeling anything, and it's terrifying."

"Tell me about it."

"When I first heard that Papá was dead, I didn't know what to think. I felt so terrible for not feeling sad. He was my father, my only father, he was family. And I kept asking myself why I didn't feel sad. Because he hit me? Because he told me he didn't love me? Is that why I'm not crying the way that Feli is? Is that why...why I feel betrayed that Feli cries for him?"

Romano's voice was smooth and steady. Not shaking, not trembling, not uncertain.

"I've only ever felt angry at my father for one thing."

"What's that?"

"Not letting me talk to Feliciano for all those years. That's it. The only thing I ever hated my father for."

Romano was playing with Toni's fingers.

"When I was staying at the home in Rome, the place that I grew up in for the first seven years of my life, one of the maids told me that she remembered me. Her name was Isabel. She used to take care of me after Papá's beatings. I don't remember her. I don't really remember anything good from that time, and she must have been one of those rare good things. She said that I caused trouble and threw tantrums, but she said, 'It wasn't your fault.' And I thought to myself, Who the fuck are you to say what is and isn't my fault? How the fuck do you know?"

Romano might have been speaking to himself then. But Toni was listening.

"And she told me what Papá said about me before he died. He said that his only regret was not asking for my forgiveness. Can you believe that? My father...his only regret was not apologizing to me." Romano laughed. Empty. "I can't believe it. I can't believe in his dying days Papá spared a single thought for me. But he didn't regret hitting me. He didn't regret sending me away, didn't regret disowning me, didn't regret keeping me away from my beautiful baby brother. No, he didn't care about any of that. He just regretted not apologizing, not saying the words. Mi dispiace, Lovino. Mi perdonerai, piccolo?"

Toni was terrified. Terrified of what Romano was going to say next. He wasn't sure that he wanted to hear it.

"I've told you before, haven't I? That I don't blame my father. I never did, even as a child. Why would I blame him? For what is he to blame? What do you think, Toni?"

"I don't know. It's not my place to pin blame."

"You're so fucking nice. It makes me sick sometimes, you know that?"

Toni squeezed Romano more tightly, afraid that if he didn't hold him as tightly as he possibly could, Romano wouldn't feel it.

"And when Isabel said that to me, said, 'It's not your fault,' I thought, yes it is. Yes it fucking is. It fucking is my fault. It has to be. You don't hit someone for no reason, right? Look at Feli. Papá never hit Feli. He only hit me. So it wasn't him, it wasn't...it wasn't him. It was me. I'm the problem. I am. Of course it's my fault, it has to be my fault. And can you believe, Papá wanted to apologize to me? It's hilarious, it fucking kills me it's so damn funny. You know, if Papá really had apologized to me, I probably would've laughed in his face and told him to shove that apology back up his wrinkly ass where it came from."

Toni felt the world crashing down on them.

"I should've been like Feli. I should've been talented and fair and sweet, like Feli. That's what Papá wanted. But I couldn't be like Feli. It's my fault. And it's my fault Feli's childhood was so fucked up. Why did I fuck it up for him? That's selfish of me. That's so selfish of me."

"Mi Roma...por favor..."

"At the funeral service, Feliciano gave a speech. And he said that Papá loved both of his sons. Isn't that hilarious? Everybody in the whole church knew that he was lying straight through his teeth! How could Papá have loved me? It's so funny that Feli said that. Don't you think? And now Papá is dead, and he had to die knowing that I was never what he wanted."

And then, for the first time in years—years—Toni began to cry. Large, powerful tears blinded him, stung his eyes. He couldn't breathe, couldn't hear anything but the sound of his own loud, ugly sobs. He buried his face into Romano's small, fragile back, let his tears slide down Romano's skin. He grasped at him as his body shook. His throat burned, his muscles ached, his heart seemed to stop completely. He cried like a young child. Without restraint, without reason, unable to be comforted until the tears dried on their own and he couldn't cry anymore from sheer exhaustion. He was aware of himself saying Romano's name, his real name, over and over again in his hoarse voice.

"Lovino...Lovino...Lovino."

"I'm sorry. Now I'm making you cry, too. I think that's all I can really do. Disappoint people, make people sad. Even the person I love...the person I love more than anything in the whole world...all I can do is make you cry."

The entire bed—the entire world—shook with Toni's sobs. He could hold nothing back. Everything flowed from within him, intense and affectionate and compassionate. All he could think was, how I love this beautiful boy, this perfect child, this Lovino, how I love him and how little I can do for him. Can I do more? What can I do?

"I love you so much, I love you," Toni heard himself say. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"You don't have to say it if you don't mean it."

Toni held on more tightly.

"Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero."

"You can leave me if you want. It'll probably be easier that way, right?"

"Mi amor. Mi vida. Te quiero tanto—te quiero, te quiero. No te dejaré nunca. Te prometo. Por eso...por favor...No me dejes, mi amor. Mi vida."

Romano said that he needed to make an important phone call, and he wanted Toni to be there with him.

"Can you just stay in the room with me while I make this call?"

"Of course."

They were in Toni's office. The semester had started up again. Romano was in another one of Toni's seminars, and though their schedules were different this semester than last, they quickly worked out a system in which Romano could visit him in his office when it was likely to be empty. Toni sat at his desk, glasses on his head, flipping through assignments, while Romano sat at the windowsill with the phone shaking in his hand. He glanced up at Toni, who smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Toni had told Romano that he thought he should get therapy. Talk to a professional who might listen to him, help him, give him the proper advice that he needed. Give him what Toni wanted to give him, but didn't have to means to. And Romano's response had been, initially, absolute refusal.

"I'm not gonna talk to any fucking shrinks, all right, bastard? I've tried that already."

"Well, was it helpful?"

"I'm still fucked up, aren't I?"

So Toni had let it be. But gradually, he had managed to warm Romano up to the idea.

"It doesn't mean you're crazy, querido. Please? Do it for me?"

And Romano had agreed. But first, he said, he needed to make a phone call. An important phone call. And then, he promised, he would talk to a therapist in the UK.

So now they found themselves in Toni's office, and Romano was dialing a number on his phone. He looked completely frightened, lips pursed, sitting on his other hand, knees curled up to his chest. Toni watched him closely, swiveling slightly in his chair. To his surprise, when someone picked up on the other end, Romano began to speak in Spanish.

"Hello? Is this Laura Peeters?"

Toni could just barely hear the voice on the other hand, muffled. It was a woman's voice.

"Ah, um, yes...did I call at a bad time? No? Oh, good."

He glanced over at Toni, and Toni gave him another smile.

"I don't know if you still remember me...It's Lovino. Lovino Vargas."

Toni heard the other voice grow louder and more excited. Romano flinched, but began to smile.

"Doing well. I'm sorry for not calling before now, it's already been two years...no, I love the school, I think it's a perfect fit...um, most of the time, I do. But sometimes I forget, or I don't feel like taking it...yeah, my grades are fine...Friends? Yeah, I have friends. Oh, and my brother transferred here. Remember I used to tell you about him? Mhmm, he's here, too...I like my professors, they're all nice."

Romano stuck his tongue out at Toni, who pretended to flip his nonexistent long hair.

"I mean, not great. But...I think I'm going to talk to someone here. Do you think that's a good idea? Yeah, I know, but...to be honest, I'm scared...I know...yeah...oh, I guess I forgot to tell you that my father died a couple weeks ago. Yeah, the same one."

Romano was on the phone with Laura Peeters for another hour. As the conversation continued, he appeared more comfortable, his muscles releasing their tension. He began to smile as he spoke, even laughed. Toni watched him, his chest swelling, and continued flipping through his students' assignments.

"Thank you. Yeah, I will. Okay. Talk to you soon. Hasta luego."

After Romano hung up, he took a deep breath.

"So?" Toni asked. "Who was that? You gonna tell me now?"

"She...she was my therapist in Granada. I just wanted to talk to her. Out of every therapist I've ever had she was the best."

"You've never told me about her."

"You never asked."

"You little..."

Romano laughed, and then reached his hand out. Toni took it in his own and kissed Romano's tingling fingertips.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are, querido?" he murmured.

Romano finally smiled, really smiled.

"Maybe once or twice. Wouldn't hurt to say it more often."

"All right." Toni kissed his fingers one by one. "You're beautiful."

"You're not half bad yourself, old man."

"Romano."

"What? Why'd you get all serious?"

"You...you do know that I love you, don't you?"

Romano opened his mouth, about to say something. But he hesitated. Toni squeezed his hand and stared into his eyes.

And then, Romano sighed.

"Yes. I know."

Toni knew that he had to do what was best for Romano. Even if it made his heart scream out, even if it made him physically ache, even if it made him question every decision he had ever made. He needed to put Romano first—that was what love meant, after all. Loving someone meant putting them first, meant treating them in the best way possible. That was love. But Toni still didn't know what that meant. He didn't know what it was that Romano needed. Surely the therapy was a step in the right direction. Romano was taking his own steps to get the help that he needed, the help that he deserved. So what could Toni do?

He thought about his conversation with Arthur Kirkland. He thought about his warnings. It will hurt, Toni, but you have to do what's necessary. What did that mean?

He thought about his conversation with Alfred. He remembered how much Alfred had been hurting. How betrayed, how abandoned, how lost he'd felt.

Was that something Toni would ever wish upon Romano?

And then Toni thought about María. His wife, his companion, the woman that he had promised to give his life to. He tried to imagine what a future with Romano would look like, but he could see nothing past the next day, the next minute, the next second. If only he'd met Romano earlier, he thought. If only he'd met Romano before he had made his decision to marry María, if only he had met Romano and thought, This is it. This is the love that people spend their whole lives waiting for. I've found it.

Toni had found it too late.

But...had he really? For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to believe that. He couldn't bring himself to believe that the situation would be different if he were younger, if he hadn't married María, if he weren't Romano's professor at this school.

Toni started thinking a lot about the first time he'd seen Romano. Sitting at the other end of the table in the classroom, curled up, withdrawn, dragging his little dark cloud wherever he went. Shocking everyone with his eloquence, mixed in with his unapologetic vulgarity and undeniable talent. He recalled his initial enthrallment with Romano—write for me, querido. I want to read your writing. One night, when Toni stayed late in his office, he rummaged through his desk and pulled out the poem. The one that had first caused his writer's block, the one that Romano had written the first day of class. He read through it one, two, ten, a hundred times. He nearly had it memorized by that point.

marinara pieces of paper stray cat

sleep jacket overstuffed with lasagna

guitar water candles at night

island renaissance not-talented-at-all

chapels volcano cheap tickets

tourist tourist tourist the color blue

brother baby brother pedestals

grandfather paint 17th century florence

It suddenly made more sense to Toni. All of it. Knowing Romano allowed him to know the poem. He read the anguish in it, the different pieces of his life that had helped create him, woven into the story that this poem told. He hoped that one day the poem would be published for the whole world to read and misunderstand. That seemed so very like Romano.

Toni knew that he was very much in love with Lovino Vargas, and he knew that that wasn't going to change. Not now, not ever. He was old enough, had experienced enough, to understand that.

And, as much as it made him hate himself, he was starting to understand what it meant to love Lovino Vargas. Was starting to understand the best way to do it.

That same night, sitting at his desk, ragged and exhausted, Toni wrote out the entire ending chapter of his novel.

just a few more chapters left!

hasta luego (: