The air was thick with the sweet scent of sticky dates, grilled cherry tomatoes and slices of pear.
The air was thick with the hefty scent of fresh rosemary and a hot, medium steak.
The air was thick with Silvestro's rising anxiety and flushed cheeks, fighting heart palpitations as she wheezed to herself in the furthest corner from the kitchen.
Her arm burnt, skin all tingly and aware, like it was still being— Silvestro nearly winced at the rush of emotion that followed the memory. Surprise, confusion, arousal, joy, fear.
Silvestro had never been kissed before. Well, on the cheek, sure, but never so…intimately. On the crook of her arm where the skin was thin and every nerve sizzled at the slightest touch. All Silvestro ever experienced in that small area of flesh was the bite of a needle, or the drape of a hand, specifically one of three people: Aunt Valentina, Amelia, and the new addition of 'Gustavo-Andrei-Maxwell-Yvette-Renato-Francesco'.
Silvestro was quickly realising that 'Gustavo-Andrei-Maxwell-Yvette-Renato-Francesco' had probably touched her the most these months, second only to Amelia. Grasping her hand, an arm around her waist, and that persistent warmth that spread along her side whenever that man pressed himself against her.
Silvestro wondered when she had let 'Gustavo-Andrei-Maxwell-Yvette-Renato-Francesco' creep up on her like that. When she had felt brave enough to corner him against the kitchen counter. She could have asked him to nudge aside, reach it for her, anything!
When had she gotten so comfortable with a man she didn't even know the name of? 'Gustavo-Andrei-Maxwell-Yvette-Renato-Francesco'. Never a straight answer. Always acting the enigma.
And yet her arm still burnt, and she rubbed it against her side to try and calm it.
"And, may I kiss you again soon, miss Silvestro?"
Oddities aside, Silvestro couldn't deny it: the man was cute. About as far removed from her ideal type - stable, honest, loyal - but cute.
She was sure Amelia would have swooned.
There was a gentle knock and Silvestro spun around to see 'Francesco' standing in the open doorway. His face was a muddle of amusement and concern as he watched her, then he smiled and said, "Dinner is ready if you'd like to join me."
Silvestro flushed red at the sight of 'Francesco', wondering how long he had been standing there. Then she cleared her throat and rightened herself. The smile on 'Francesco's' face had stretched a bit too wide at Silvestro's expense.
"Glad you're enjoying yourself," Silvestro grumbled, and 'Francesco' gave a sheepish laugh as he stepped into the room.
"Your reactions are charming," he explained, eyes never straying from hers. "And very endearing."
Silvestro could feel the indignant grumble building in her chest even as 'Francesco' moved into her space and peered up at the mountainous woman with bright, black eyes full of impish delight. Suddenly, Silvestro was struck with the urge to scruff the man in front of her, like she did Ruggine when he was up to no good.
Silvestro ignored the heat wafting from her face, heart still beating a double-time rhythm that seemed to thunder in her ribcage. Instead, Silvestro rolled her eyes and spun 'Francesco' around and out of her face.
"Sure, stringbean," Silvestro uttered as she marched them both back to the living room. "What the hell did you do?"
"A lovely, candle-lit dinner! Rather cosy for the weather, I'd say."
"What's wrong with the weather-" Just as she said this, a sheet of rain slammed into the roofs of Venice. "...What did you do?"
"Bella! To accuse me of conspiring with the weather!"
Despite his gasp, 'Francesco' was definitely smiling.
Silvestro huffed and looked around the room, taking in what 'Francesco's' nimble hands had done with her apartment in the time she had been having a small breakdown. All her main lights had been turned off, leaving the sparse lamps and candlelight to hold the place in a warm, dim glow. The curtains were drawn against the rain, but she could hear it pelt against the windows and roof, a gentle rumble to underlay the radio that had been turned low.
"Shall we sit, miss Silvestro?"
Silvestro looked over her shoulder and nearly wheezed when she saw him again, somehow back in his usual yellow dress shirt and tie. She tried not to imagine what kind of flurry must have taken place behind her for that transition.
Silvestro gave the man a once over with her eyes, and huffed when she saw him set his shoulders and tilt his chin up for observation.
"Who am I dining with tonight?" Silvestro asked and pulled out a chair, waiting expectantly.
The strange man blinked at Silvestro and where she stood behind the chair. Then he smiled and slowly lowered himself into the seat, allowing the mountainous woman to tuck in his chair.
"Bella, I am simply your Renato."
"Sure," Silvestro shrugged and gave 'Renato' a pat on the shoulder.
A hand caught hers and gave a gentle squeeze as 'Renato' smiled up at her from over his shoulder. Silvestro blinked at the gentle touch, before she stiffly nodded. She gave 'Renato's' shoulder a tentative, reciprocal squeeze and then took her hand away.
She steadfastly ignored the eyes that followed her all the way to her seat, watching as she sat herself down. Silvestro looked down at the plate in front of her. Slices of a perfect medium rare steak sat expertly arranged with a smear of gravy sauce and a generous helping of that salad she had seen him grilling the tomatoes and pears for. It looked delicious, it looked easy to eat. No cutting, no tearing. Everything was bite-sized and artfully arranged.
Silvestro glanced at 'Renato' who sat across from her, pouring wine Silvestro knew she didn't own. 'Renato' smiled when he caught her eye, and he leant over to pour wine into her glass as he asked, "Is everything alright, bella?"
Silvestro pushed her glass forward gently and said, "Yeah, everything looks great."
It did. It looked almost too good to be eating in her casual, errand clothes in her shoddy, little apartment. Silvestro resisted the urge to straighten her shirt's collar and show that silly anxiety.
Nerves aside, Silvestro had to admit: 'Renato' was a man of talents. And Silvestro was always happy to indulge in some good food.
'Renato' gave a chuckle at the way Silvestro was eyeing her meal. He reached for his glass and extended it in a toast.
"To a good meal, and a much better one than our last."
Silvestro let out a startled snort of laughter, "I wasn't going to say anything."
'Renato' gave a sheepish smile and shrugged, "I will not shy away from my mistakes. Only learn from them."
The woman hummed at 'Renato's' words and took a small sip of her wine, "Then can we talk about that shit shot you made in the pin game that night? How the hell did you miss that?"
"That game was rigged and underhanded!" 'Renato' gasped, pausing his drink to glare at her. "In any other scenario I would have made an exemplary win!"
"Uh huh?" Silvestro uttered and took up her fork to finally eat a bite of, simply divine looking, steak. "Holy shit."
'Renato' smiled and ate a bite himself. It was perfect. Salty, herby and a little bit sweet. He had really outdone himself.
"This is amazing," Silvestro groaned and leant back in her seat, happily chewing through a mouthful of soft meat. "If marketing or whatever falls through, you can always go into being a professional chef."
"I'm glad you think so highly of me," he chuckled, before settling in to eat. "So, bella, what have you been up to?"
"Eh, nothing much. Work," she shrugged and shoved more steak in her mouth. "What 'bout you?"
'Renato' smiled and began filling the silence with gentle conversation. Silvestro almost felt bad for how fast she was clearing her plate, mostly responding to 'Renato's' story about his recent accomplishments with a hum or grunt. He didn't seem to mind, though, as he watched Silvestro eat with glee.
"I take it the meal is to your tastes, bella?"
Silvestro looked up from her plate, well worked through. She chewed and swallowed, her face tinted red, before she smiled sheepishly and said, "It's great. Really. If your middleman job ever gets boring, you could make a living as a chef, or maybe a househusband."
"Is that an offer, miss Silvestro?" 'Renato' purred and Silvestro shoved expertly dressed salad in her mouth.
She hummed happily before stealing a slice of grilled pear.
"If I got to eat like this every day, count me in."
'Renato' smiled with teeth and set into his meal, happy to let them eat in silence.
Silvestro leant back in her seat with a huff, well fed and warm with the windows closed against the rain. 'Renato' finished his plate and tucked his cutlery together politely. He watched as the woman finished her glass of wine with a satisfied sigh, her nerves soothed and in order from a good meal and drink.
"When you're ready, bella, we can get started on dessert," 'Renato' hummed, keeping his voice low and smooth as cream to keep that warm and cosy atmosphere.
"Maybe in a few minutes," Silvestro said, her voice just as low and nearly drowsy, like a sleeping giant. "Make some room first."
"Of course," 'Renato' inclined his head before slowly getting to his feet and gathering up their plates.
"Uh, no," Silvestro uttered, and 'Renato' blinked as she stole the plate out from his hands, walking them to the sink. "If you cook, then I clean, stringbean."
'Renato' pouted at Silvestro's back. She had nearly shaken off that calm 'Renato' had put her under, but that soft mood still hung. Even the little hellbeast Ruggine had curled up, purring by the heater.
'Renato' could work with this. Homemaking and territory maintenance were some of the best ways to a Cloud's heart, after all.
'Renato' slipped out from the table and took up a dish towel, waiting beside the woman for her to finish scrubbing the first dish. Silvestro looked over and frowned.
"Go sit down," Silvestro said, nodding over to the table, "You've done your part."
"But bella, as a guest, I insist-"
"As a guest, you go sit down," she said again and took the towel out of his hands. "I got to watch you cook, so you get to be good and watch me clean. Now, go. Sit."
'Renato' took a sharp breath as Silvestro caught him by the waist and all but hauled the man to his seat. She dropped him into the chair with a clatter, before grabbing the backrest over his shoulder to make sure he didn't topple.
'Renato' looked, wide-eyed, up at the mountainous woman pinning him to his chair, feeling a buzz begin to build just from under his skin and within his ribcage. He swallowed it down.
"Sit, Renato," Silvestro ordered with all the command of a decorated captain, and the softness of someone being thoroughly wooed.
The buzz returned full force, and tightened at his throat. 'Renato' clenched his fists out of sight. Silvestro was waiting for a response.
"Of course, miss Silvestro," 'Renato' purred, eyes still wide and taking in every shift of muscle, every inhale of breath. A blemish on the right side of her neck, piercing holes in her ears.
Reborn wondered what kind of earrings Silvestro liked to wear.
"As you wish."
"Good," Silvestro said, and 'Renato' once again felt like he was being choked.
Finally, Silvestro stepped back, but 'Renato' couldn't breathe until she had crossed back into the linoleum-tile floor of the kitchen, those eyes finally off him. 'Renato' quickly fixed how he sat in his chair; he had been sloppy.
He watched Silvestro's back shift as she scrubbed the plates and pans he had used, one at a time, and let them drip dry on a rack.
"So, where did you learn to cook?" Silvestro asked, shaking two forks over the sink until they untangled their prongs from each other.
"A few places. I taught myself to cook as a young boy, and discovered I had an affinity for it. In my travels, I've learnt under a few mentors, local cuisines and delicacies."
Silvestro put the forks in the rack and started rinsing their cups. The soft clank and clatter of crockery in the sink. Then she tilted her head and asked, "What's your favourite dish?"
"I've always been partial to a good Indian curry," 'Renato' murmured, and Silvestro hummed in interest, she had never had curry before. "And a good Burmese Ohn no khao swè is utterly to die for."
"Oh no cow-" Silvestro tried to echo and 'Renato' gave a short laugh.
"Coconut noodle soup. Lovely, sweet, salty and creamy. Without the dairy too, might I add."
'Renato' watched Silvestro perk up, suddenly very attentive. He smiled and the woman went about shoving a pan in the sink 'to soak'.
"Perhaps, I can prepare it for dinner next time."
Silvestro visibly hesitated, and 'Renato's' smile went wider. Next time. He was inviting himself into her home again.
Silvestro glanced over her shoulder, and said in a low, careful voice, "Sounds good. Though, I don't know if you're gonna find the stuff for Burmese food out here."
"I'm sure I could arrange for something," 'Renato' assured, and Silvestro had the sudden fear that she had somehow challenged the man.
"I'm sure you could," she sighed, accepting that at some point in the near future she was going to be sampling some Burmese coconut noodle soup. She wasn't upset.
Silvestro put aside the last of the plates to the side to dry, her tongue still stinging of sweet rum and syrupy sticky dates. The dessert 'Renato' had served had been utterly mouthwatering, and exactly what Silvestro had been craving. It was service to say, 'Renato' had done very well ingratiating himself that evening.
Keeping up this streak, Silvestro was welcomed back to her living room to the man draped across her couch, a glass of wine cradled in hand, and another one already sitting on the coffee table for her. She gave a huff when she saw him, his collar just a touch loose and his hair stylishly 'dishevelled'.
She was almost tempted to ask what name he was going by, with this new facade.
Silvestro pinched herself on the thigh in reprimand.
"Miss Silvestro, come, sit," 'Renato' urged with a smile as sweet as sticky date.
Silvestro followed the call and plonked herself down on the free side of the couch, hearing the frame groan under her weight.
"More wine?" 'Renato' asked, extending the ready-filled cup towards the woman.
"Thanks," she murmured and took the cup. She gave a low, happy hum as she drank, on her third glass for the evening and already feeling her bones becoming warm and soft.
'Renato' shifted to get comfortable, and reclined against the corner of the couch as he faced Silvestro. His knee bumped against her thigh. It didn't move away. A warm pressure.
'Renato' sipped his wine with a smile. Silvestro tried not to chug hers.
They sat in comfortable silence on that couch, listening to the rain pelt the windows and the slosh of wine in their glasses. 'Renato' never once lost his soft smile as he sat beside Silvestro, knee pressed to her thigh and arm draped over the back of the couch. Silvestro leant back against the cushions, stomach full and warm.
Fingers, light to the point of ticklish, glanced across her nape. Silvestro resisted the urge to jump to her feet, hackles raised and alert. 'Renato' smiled still, meeker, before he carefully touched her again.
Silvestro held her glass as the brush of fingertips turned into a full palmed press against her shoulder. She took a long breath and let it out.
"Okay, miss Silvestro?" 'Renato' asked, voice just a hint above a whisper, barely audible over the rain.
Silvestro thinned her lips, feeling that hand on her. It was warm, it was gentle. He hadn't reached around to cage her in across the shoulders — merely slid his hand from the backrest onto her skin closest to him like it was the natural progression.
Ruggine purred in front of the heater.
"Okay," Silvestro assured with a slight nod of her head.
'Renato' made a soft noise and his hand trailed from her shoulder, those deceptively delicate hands surprisingly rough to the touch as he let it fall to cradle her bicep. His thumb swiped over a patch of skin. Silvestro felt her ears burn as she remembered the tickle-tingle of lips.
Silvestro, against her better judgement, glanced at 'Renato' out of the corner of her eye.
He smiled more when he caught her. 'Renato' sat up from his lounge, slow as if to not startle, lazy as if unpressured.
"May I kiss you again soon, miss Silvestro?"
Silvestro's eyes widened a fraction. That hand burnt her bicep, smelling of the rosemary used at dinner. She thought of the tingle-sting. Like electricity across her skin.
Silvestro felt her cheeks heat as she nodded.
Then 'Renato' opened his wine-stained lips and asked, "May I kiss you again now?"
He was close. Closer than he had started, shuffled across the couch with such deft subtlety that Silvestro hadn't noticed until that press of a knee had turned to a full thigh, hip-against-hip upon the lumpy cushions of her old couch.
He put aside his glass.
Silvestro tried not to crush hers.
His free hand came and touched her jaw, bumpy with uneven scars, and 'Renato' gently persuaded Silvestro to turn and face him. 'Renato' looked up at her, black eyes full of something similar to hope.
He didn't ask again. He didn't press. Merely held her arm and cradled her jaw like Silvestro was something precious, his hands rough with callouses in places Silvestro was familiar with. A callous on the thumb joint. Skin worn smooth near the index's fingertip. Firearm usage. Regularly.
Silvestro knew almost nothing about this man. Not his job, not his phone number, not even his name. 'Gustavo-Andrei-Maxwell-Yvette-Renato-Francesco'.
"I am simply your Renato."
Oh fuck it—
"Okay," Silvestro agreed, and let those firearm hands draw her closer.
It was soft. Warm. A little bit tacky with dried wine. It tasted of sweet dates and citrus, rum and steak. Eyelashes brushed her scarred cheek, the tip of a nose nudged against hers. An exhale, drenched in victory and sweet pears.
They drew back. Silvestro felt all twisted up, full of nerves but so relaxed, wine soaked her bones.
Lightning lit the night, and for an instant, Silvestro couldn't see the face of the man without a name. Just a dark silhouette against the white light from the window.
Then the window went dark, the candle's glow touched pink cheeks and 'your Renato' was sitting across from her, eyes still half-closed like he wasn't ready to come away from the sensation.
Rain pelted the rooftops, torrential.
"May I spend the night with you, my Silvestro?" 'Renato' asked, with lips that tasted like citrus and intention, with hands that smelt like rosemary and gunpowder.
Silvestro smiled, "I'd like that."
Silvestro's bed wasn't very large, but when skin pressed against skin, and she could taste rum and ash and something sweet, she found that she didn't mind.