Page 21

He’s Kept You on a Pedestal

First act of Fielder Lemon, peacemaker extraordinaire: find Cam and try to bridge the gap, broker a deal, common ground and all that.

After all, we must have something in common.

My inner voice screams, Yeah, Ricky, dumbass!

Which feels both too obvious and far too sacred, even though Ricky fell for both of us, so there’s got to be something there worth getting to know, right?

That realization makes me feel ill.

Ignoring . Rising above. I’m suspending the urge to follow through with the original plan of lightly sabotaging their relationship!

Benny and Riccardo Sr. are outside Massimo Andreozzi’s, leaning against the exterior of a stone building opposite in the alley.

“Was it just me or was Massimo daddy?” Benny asks.

“You need help, nephew,” Riccardo Sr. says, which causes me to burst out laughing.

He locks eyes with me, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s making his way toward me and holding out a hand for me.

“I didn’t get the chance to properly catch up.

It’s really nice to see you, Fielder.” Suddenly, he pulls me into a man-safe hug, where we’re still shaking hands, but his other is wrapped around me, patting my back.

It’s strangely relieving to be so close to him—especially since I haven’t had this kind of contact with a father figure since my own passed away.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed this kind of affection.

It makes me miss my dad. “We miss you , son, if you catch my drift.”

A lump in my throat forms. “I miss you guys, too.”

“One day, my son will wise up.” Riccardo Sr. smacks my cheeks lightly.

“Give him some time. DeLuca men always find their way home.” His hands linger on my jaw, as if he’s inspecting me for stock.

Riccardo Sr. has always been a man of few words, like Ricky’s nonno.

For all the years I spent next door at the DeLucas, we’re at the maximum of our usual word count.

“Yes, sir,” I say. “I’m patient.”

“Good. He loves you, you know. You never forget your first love. I should know. I married mine.” He nods behind me as Ricky makes his way back toward the group.

“We ready to hit the Piazza del Duomo?” Topher asks. “Sienna is texting . . .”

“I can’t find Cam,” Ricky says. “I’m trying to call, but nothing.”

Benny’s antsy. “I’m hungry. All I want is the homemade pasta I was promised.”

My stomach gurgles. “I can help. Sooner we find him, the sooner we meet the girls, the sooner we eat.”

“Divide and conquer?” Tyler chimes in, hanging an arm on my shoulder and motioning for Benny and Matty to join us. “Toph, you and Trav go meet the girls. The rest of us will go comb the town.”

“We can all look as we walk,” Topher says, checking the time on his phone. “As long as we make our way to the Duomo, we can divide and conquer.”

“I’ll stay here, just in case he comes back here,” Ricky says, sounding more annoyed than concerned for the whereabouts of his boyfriend.

How often does this happen?

The group fans out on the way to the Duomo. We search shops and cafés, down narrow side streets, in between large tourist groups surrounding fruit stands—nothing.

No sign of Cam anywhere.

Matty is busy on his phone, sifting through messages from guys on a hookup app, and I’m looking over his shoulder trying to get in on the action, but he keeps shouldering me away.

As we’re walking through the town, I move between Benny and Tyler to pick their brains about what they know about Cam.

“Honestly, I didn’t know Ricky had a boyfriend until he brought him on the plane,” Benny says. “It’s not like he has social media, and we don’t really talk, so he’s not texting me all the gory details of his life. I found out at the same time as you.”

Tyler says, “I thought it was interesting how last night Cam was going on about you and how he got the impression you were not really a nice person. But I wonder how much of that is coming from Ricky. And thinking you’re a bit of a . . .” His voice trails off.

“A what?” I ask.

Benny looks at Tyler and shakes his head as if to silence Tyler.

“Now you have to say it,” I demand.

Tyler braces for impact as he says, “A fame whore. His words, not mine!”

“Is that the worst he can do—hold up!”

I spot the back of a Beyoncé Renaissance tee, the glittery font sparkling in the sun’s rays like a beacon.

The thin-framed man turns his head, and Cam’s black-framed glasses come into view.

He’s talking to some all-American beefcake in a backward baseball cap leaning against a stone wall.

They’re tucked away in the frame of an arching doorway, just out of sight to most, but now that I’ve seen them, I can’t look away.

From this far away, the guy could almost pass for Matty.

Except Matty wouldn’t be caught dead in American Eagle apparel; that embossed eagle logo is offensively large.

All-American Beefcake leans in and whispers something into Cam’s ears.

Cam shows him something on his phone.

They share a stolen laugh, but quickly hide the phone screen from sight.

Grabbing hold of Benny and Tyler, I yank them down and we hide, careful not to let Cam see us.

All-American Beefcake checks the time on his watch, and I lip-read something that looks like, “I have to go.”

Cam pouts, then checks the time on his phone and rolls his eyes. He turns his head in our direction, so we stay low and duck-waddle into a storefront full of white-painted terracotta pottery with bright blue-and-yellow brushstrokes. I hide behind a platter large and wide enough to cover my face.

We’re close enough to hear Cam’s voice. “Yeah, I gotta go, too. My phone is blowing up. My . . . friend is looking for me.”

Friend?!

I’m simultaneously devastated for Ricky and angry enough to go full Coven Lemon on him. Not only is he cheating on Ricky, but he’s also doing so as an all-expenses-paid guest at Ricky’s sister’s wedding. Ricky doesn’t deserve this.

I’m in a blind rage, and all Topher’s pleading leaves my head. As I dash out from behind the decorative platter shielding me from view and round the corner, I grab on to the fabric of his shirt.

Or, rather, I think it’s his shirt.

“You mothafucka—” the New York in me jumps out.

“Excuse me?” a deep, southern voice says.

I wasn’t paying attention, so in fact, it’s not Cam at all. It’s All-American Beefcake looking like all the hot, straight wrestlers I went to school with, and if I weren’t so stressed I’d stop to ogle him.

“Sorry, I thought you were my friend.” I gulp, wave, and duck out fast. I have zero desire to find out if he can use his formidable weight class against me.

Threading through bodies down the narrow streets, I move in the direction of the Duomo until I spot the glitter on Cam’s back.

I struggle to keep track of him as the number of people on the streets grows by the second. Families milling in and out of souvenir shops, curious women in floppy hats perusing the windows of high-end jewelers, lines building in front of gelaterias.

Benny and Tyler bob and weave behind me, trying to keep up with me as we trail Cam’s gazelle-like legs and large strides.

He’s so carefree, swaying his hips like he didn’t just cheat on Ricky. Granted, I have no idea if physical cheating occurred, but just the fact that he was openly flirting and called Ricky a “friend” means he at least emotionally cheated.

Cam turns down the alley toward Massimo Andreozzi’s.

We dash across the opening as fast as we can and start toward the Duomo.

“What happened?!” Benny shouts, sounding frazzled. “I haven’t run that fast in ages. I need to get back to the gym.”

Tyler eyes me curiously. “Do you think Cam really cheated on Ricky?”

The Piazza del Duomo is steps away. I make out the black-and-white-striped stone.

My hands are shaking. “I don’t know what else it could be, but I’m not saying anything unless I know for sure—” Before I can finish, a Vespa nearly sideswipes me, skidding around me.

Tires screech.

Gasps from passersby.

The swift movement of the Vespa knocks me off-balance, and it swerves sharply as it grinds to a halt, the ass end of it bashing into me, sending me flying.

I crash-land hard on my ass.

An older woman screams.

The crowd parts, but like a wave, swells and returns once people realize I’m okay and not severely hurt. Bodies surround me quickly.

The driver rips off his orange helmet and starts furiously yelling at me in Italian. I hear the standard refrains: “Va funculo” and “disgraziato,” but the rest is spat out so fast my head spins.

A young woman in Gucci sunglasses with black hair pulled back into a messy bun starts screaming in Italian at the Vespa driver, throwing her hands up at him until they’re both air-fighting with their hands like some sort of magic duel.

An older man bends down and asks me in broken English if I can move.

The chaos of the scene around me cements me in place, and I can’t answer. It’s like I’m not in my own body, I’m somewhere else entirely, at home watching everything unfold on Nonna’s TV screen.

Hands belonging to no one and everyone thrust a bottle of water in my face. The angst and expectation of it all causes anxiety to build in my chest.

Am I hurt?

Am I dead?

Or worse—am I bleeding? I don’t do well with blood . . .

Everything is blurry, fuzzy. Benny, Tyler, random heads and faces . . .

The hot sun beating on my forehead weighs me down.

The Vespa crashing into me replays over and over, time slowing to a halt as I float above my body, above the entire scene. Suddenly, voices that sound like Ricky and Cam and Ma and Topher and . . . me . . . say, “Who is Fielder Lemon?” again and again.

My limbs are weightless, lifeless, and my chest rises and falls at a rapid rate.

All my thoughts and fears and pain—everything I’ve suppressed since Ricky dumped me—swirl around me and push me back down to the ground, hard.

I try to remember what to do when I have a panic attack, but I can’t focus.