Unspoken - 6. Meet the Family - Part 2

The car was parked forthwith, and the three of us all bundled ourselves in our luggage, entering the manor without delay. None of us wished to linger in the cold. Despite the intimidation factor from the sheer size of the manor, the foyer was decorated classically but not ostentatiously. Area rugs over the tile floor, small pedestals with various pieces of art, and wall hangings all spoke of culture, but managed to avoid the image of excess.

Nicolo took the lead, heading up the large half-moon staircase, and Lucio fell back to follow. Through hallways decorated similarly to the foyer we traveled, eventually coming to a stairwell, which we took to the fourth floor. I was regretting my glared insistence that I carry my fair share of luggage, for when we reached our destination, I was almost out of energy.

“This is my room,” Nicolo indicated as he tapped a door, and entered without ceremony. We trundled in after him, and it was immediately evident that it was indeed Nicolo’s room. There was a king bed in the center of the room, which was unusual – at least in my book, not sure about Italians though – but there were several posters that seemed haphazardly arranged along the bare walls. There was an Italy national soccer team poster, one for a musical or opera, and, not entirely to my surprise, several pinups of *cough* younger but clearly legal models in various states of undress. I leered towards Nicolo, and he had the good grace to flush and look embarrassed. Lucio laughed when he realized why. I dropped my bags and strutted around the room, glancing between the posters of the models and Nicolo, still leering at him. My anxiety seemed to have been abated by my libido, as staring at all these gorgeous men got me hot and bothered. I almost ran into the Total Gym he had hidden behind the large headboard, and when I emerged from hiding, I had shucked my shirt. Modesty was not one of my virtues. Both their eyes widened, Lucio’s in shock and comedy, and Nicolo’s in heat. Lucio coughed and excused himself, hastily speaking that dinner was still more than an hour off. I stopped my little walkabout maybe three feet in front of my lover, and teasingly removed my jeans. His nostrils flared at the sight of my underwear, an electric blue Jockey string bikini. I turned and bent over to pull the jeans past my feet, pulling off my shoes and socks in the same motion, and wiggled my ass at him, before giving him another leer over my shoulder. He glared.

“Ti scoperò attraverso il letto, Alex.”

**

“What does that mean, papà?”

I coughed into a hand, and Nicolo sputtered at me with a half-hearted glare. “You did not have to mention this part, Alex.”

An innocent smile was sent his way. ‘It’s important we tell the whole truth.’

Nicolo’s eyes narrowed in a promise of retribution, before turning to Bryce. “It was…sexual innuendo.”

Bryce eyes widened comically, and I hurried to continue the story, even if Nicolo was unhappy with me.

**

I had no idea what it meant, but the growl of hunger in his voice suggested it meant a good time. His clothes almost vanished, before he unceremoniously picked me up and carried me to the bed. It seemed like it did mean a good time.

Even though I’d slept on the plane, we took a nap after our fun, a pleasant burn in my backside and a satisfied smile on Nicolo’s, for an hour or so. An alarm set on his phone woke us, and he squeezed me tight, whispering “I love you, Alex” into my ear. I pushed away from him a bit, and pointed to myself, made an X with my arms across my chest, and then poked him gently over his heart. ‘I love you.’

We climbed out of bed, taking a quick shower, where I let Nicolo gently soap and scrub me, before returning to the room, to unpack. When everything was put away, barring clean clothes, we dropped the dirty clothes in a hamper he kept in a corner, and got dressed. Just in the nick of time too, as a knock sounded through the room, and Lucio’s voice could be heard calling “decoroso?” through the door, to which Nicolo responded with a loud “SI!”

Lucio entered as I was carrying the empty luggage to the closet. I was a bit wobbly on my feet, which Lucio seemed to notice. Nicolo was bigger than average, and hell I was way smaller than average. He gave me a knowing smirk. “Dinner is ready. Alex?” I returned to the room, and nodded at him. “Nanna has made la famiglia promise to take it easy on you tonight. Only twenty are here, but they know it will not be easy for you. Do not worry.”

He got another nod, and a smile. Lucio led us back through the house, with a promise that it would get less confusing the longer I was here. As we came to the first floor, chatter could be heard lightly echoing around us. As the voices grew louder, we came across an older couple in a hallway.

“Ah, mamma, papà!” Lucio exclaimed. As we approached, their eyes widened at the sight of me. I was used to it, I knew I’d be dealing with this my whole life, but it did get tiring quickly.

“Mio amore, Alex, these are my parents, Lorenzo and Aria Bucello. Mamma and papà, this is mio amore, Alex Addison. He is twenty six,” Nicolo introduced us. I shook Lorenzo’s hand – having to reach up a bit, and leant forward to kiss Aria’s. I admit I was grateful that Nicolo told them my age.

“Nicolo,” Lorenzo spoke first, “hai trovato Peter Pan!”

Nicolo and Lucio erupted in laughter, leaving the other three of us chagrined.

**

"What was so funny?" Bryce asked, head cocked to the side.

"My father was obsessed with fairy tales well into his twenties; Peter Pan was always his favorite," Nicolo answered.

**

I looked to their parents, and signed ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’

Lorenzo had a deep soothing voice, “It is a delight to meet the one who has captured my son’s heart.”

Aria nodded. “Yes, Nicolo has spoken of you often during our weekly videocalls. We have been looking forward to meeting you. How was your flight?”

‘It was fine. I slept most of it.’

“Good, good,” Lorenzo nodded. “Tomorrow Nicolo will have to take you on a tour of our beloved city. He tells us you enjoy history.”

‘Very much, yes.’

“Firenze is full of historical places to visit. Ah, I am delaying dinner! But first. Alex, my papà is likely the only one who will challenge you as Nicolo’s boyfriend. Be bold and you will win his favor, yes? Good, let us enter.”

The dining room was spacious, almost as large as the entire front floor of my parent’s house, which was substantial. Nicolo led us to two empty chairs, and as we sat down he whispered to me, “do not worry about remembering names.” It was a good thing, too, because the introductions were too fast to match most names to faces. I was able to catch Nicolo’s other two brothers, Bartolomeo and Vincento, and the names of their Nonno, Giuseppe, and their Nanna, Celestina. Easygoing chatter abounded, and there were many questions asked of me, which Nicolo helped me to answer, and I had questions for some of them, too. Giuseppe, though, remained quiet. Not rudely so, but he avoided taking part in most of the conversation. I was enjoying dinner, and Nicolo’s family was extremely nice, and no mention was made of my height or muteness as a negative, and my youthful look was quickly explained, and surprisingly, accepted without challenge.

I’m sure some would say that the night was going too well. They’d have been right. When Giuseppe spoke, everyone else fell silent.

“Alex. It is clear that my grandson cares very much for you. It is clear you care very much for him. However, the Bucello name is a thousand years old. What makes you think you are worthy to join it? What makes you think you are man enough?”

Most of the people around the table looked resigned. Lorenzo looked expectant. Celestina looked a combination of shamed and angry, and Nicolo looked like he was going to murder his grandfather. Personally though, after Lorenzo’s warning, I’d been waiting for this. It gave me a chance to mull things over, and see if I could be bold enough.

I looked to Nicolo, and signed ‘help translate’ at him. I knew that even learning English and Sign some words wouldn’t come across correctly. He nodded, and together we responded to the inquiry.

‘If someone broke in here, right now, with a gun, and threatened the lives of your family, and you had the opportunity to kill this person, could you do it?’

The question took him, and likely everyone else, off guard. I’m sure Nicolo was expecting my response to have something to do with guns. The entire table’s eyes were on Giuseppe.

“What?”

‘Would you kill to protect your family?’

“No.” He shook his head, goggle eyed at me. “Killing is wrong.”

‘Then you tell your family the life of a stranger, the life of a criminal, is more important to you than them. You are a coward.’

“How dare you!” He slammed his palms on the table, and shot to his feet.

I did the same, moving my arms and hands slowly and deliberately for effect. ‘I carry firearms because I literally have no other way to defend myself. I was fortunate enough to be present in a situation where I had a choice of letting innocent people die, or kill a man. I chose to protect the innocent. You say you wouldn’t do that for your own family, and you have the gall to stand there and suggest I am not a man? You, who put the lives of criminals and scum above your own family? Who put the worth of people who choose to harm others above your own family? It is easy to die for your family. It is much more difficult to kill for your family. You would shunt the responsibility of protection off to the police, instead of standing up yourself for your family. You should not be asking if I am worthy to join your family. You should be asking if you are worthy to join mine.’

I usually take longer to make this point with people who challenge why I carry, but a family dinner isn’t really the place to have a drawn out debate across both culture and language barriers. I could only hope that my point was made, because I sat down and crossed my arms, effectively ending the conversation. Dead silence reigned. Nicolo, who normally would have put a hand on my thigh and squeezed it under the table in support, instead threw an arm across my shoulders, pulling me close, and giving me a light kiss to the top of my head. I tapped his foot with my own to let him know I appreciated the gesture, but my glare remained aimed at Giuseppe, whose face was purpling. I worried he would pop a vessel and have an aneurism right there at the table.

The change happened to fast, it seemed like stop-motion effects seen in movies. His visage of unadulterated rage flipped to a broad smile, and he began to laugh. He sat back down, and took hold of his wine glass, raising it, and tipping it slightly toward me. “You’ll do. You chose well, nipote.”

**

Nicolo was smiling fondly at me as I finished off the story. I didn’t give details of all the places we visited during our stay there, and I didn’t give too many more details about conversations. I don’t know if Bryce was nervous about meeting the Bucellos, but I wouldn’t have understood why. He has spoken to almost all of them at least once through Nicolo’s videocalls, more than half of them more than five times. Then again, meeting someone face to face as opposed to through a camera could very well be different in the mind of a child.

‘B, you’ve talked to Lorenzo and Aria, and even Nanna and Nonno. You have nothing to worry about.’

“I know that, dad,” he waved his hand at me dismissively. “That must have been wicked though! Seeing you stand up to him like that! Thousands of miles from home, in someone else’s home, with nowhere to go if he’d kicked you out! You’re the best, dad.” He shuffled off his stool, and gave me a hug, before pilfering the last little bit of what remained of my tacos. The little sneak! I gave him a light spank on the bum, and he started gathering dishes as he chewed. The story had taken longer than I intended, so we sent him up to bed, with the admonition that he did have some time to read before lights out. As he climbed the stairs, he called to us that "next time you’ll have to tell me what it was like when papa met your family, dad!”

When we were certain that he was in his room, I turned to give Nicolo puppy dog eyes. His only response was to leer at me, and say “Ti scoperò attraverso il letto, Alex.”