Chapter 15

Andrew

 

“I’ve never done a ghost tour before.” Eric skimmed over the tickets the front desk had printed out for us. “This should be interesting.”

“I did one in Chicago a few years ago. And another in New Orleans, now that I think about it.”

“Were they fun?”

“They were hilarious, actually.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. I swear some of the guides were trying out material for standup acts or something. Or maybe it’s the only way to keep people’s attention that late at night.” I gestured at the tickets in his hand. “Doesn’t sound like this one will have that same vibe, though, so I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe the ghost tour part will.” Eric folded the tickets in half and slid them into his back pocket. “The bone church and catacombs part sounds a bit more…”

“Polite?”

“Yeah, that might be the word. Not as irreverent, anyway.”

We headed back to our room to get ready to go out again.

“So did you actually see anything on those ghost tours?” Eric pocketed his wallet. “Any ghosts?”

“No, but we did see one thing that was kind of freaky.” I picked up my own wallet and phone. “There was this mansion in New Orleans where a whole bunch of really horrific stuff happened a long time ago. Like, really gruesome shit. And our guide got all antsy and said he wouldn’t even stand on the same side of the street, so he took us to the opposite corner of the intersection before he’d tell us the story. I was thinking, okay, this is horseshit, but props for making the experience scary.”

Eric chuckled. “Gotta give him credit for commitment.”

“I know, right? But anyway, he says the place is so haunted, even the mules that pull wagons around the French Quarter won’t go near it. He continues with the story, and I’m listening because it’s a pretty good ghost story, and one of the wagons comes up the street. And I shit you not—the mule stopped, planted its feet, and wouldn’t move.”

His lips parted. “No shit?”

“No shit. I mean, I’d seen the mules around the whole time I was there, and I’d kind of laughed because I’d always heard about them being stubborn. But they weren’t. They were completely chill and just kind of plodded along. Except that one.”

Eric whistled. “Damn. I think I’d have jumped in the wagon and noped the hell out of there.”

“Seriously. That was the first time on the tour I actually got chills.”

“Yeah, I can see why.” He scrubbed at his arms like they’d broken out in goose bumps. “I mean, it’s one thing to commit, but when animals get in on it?” He grimaced. “That would freak me right the fuck out.”

“Exactly! Because yeah that was just…” I shook my head. “That freaked me out.”

“Well maybe we’ll see something on this tour. At the very least, we’ll see some bones and stuff.” He shrugged. “Could be interesting, right?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

We exchanged grins, then headed downstairs to catch a cab.

As the driver took us through Rome, I had to admit I was seriously tempted to suggest bailing and staying in for the night. The ghost tour and catacombs sounded fascinating, but another lazy night with Eric? Almost irresistible.

I kept that to myself, though, because if we spent too much time holed up in our room, we’d be kicking ourselves later. I was already annoyed with myself for missing some of the ports on the cruise even though staying in with Eric had absolutely been worth it.

And it wasn’t even that I wanted to stay in so we could be naked and have sex. I wanted to be able to touch him, and the fact was, leaving the safety of our room meant a moratorium on all the easy contact we made when we were alone. We couldn’t hold hands, steal a kiss, wrap arms around each other’s waists or shoulders. Well, okay, we could, but never as easily as we did in private. We were two men. Physical affection was risky.

So yeah, I had to admit, part of me wanted to blow off Rome and tonight’s tour and anything else that went on outside our room, and just stay in where I could touch Eric whenever I wanted to.

Still, we didn’t blow off the tour, and as much as I wanted to spend some time between the sheets with Eric, I was glad we went. After all, God only knew when I’d get to see Rome again.

Our first tour took us under the monastery to see the bones that had been arranged in decorative patterns. There was a brief history lesson at the beginning, explaining how St. Francis of Assisi had gotten his start, and the beginnings of the Franciscan and Capuchin orders, and then they took us down to see each of the rooms. I’d thought it would be kind of creepy, and it was—especially the monk skeletons that still had their habits, not to mention some skin—but it was fascinating too. In fact, the only thing I didn’t like was that we had to wedge so many people into the narrow hallway—and each of the individual rooms—that it was getting more claustrophobic than the Sistine Chapel had been. More than once I found myself pressed up against the wall—narrowly avoiding a clavicle or a jawbone—or squeezed in between Eric and some strangers. Not that I usually minded an excuse to be close to Eric, but this was a little much.

The tour was short since the monastery wasn’t all that big—the crypts were maybe a hundred feet from end to end—and I’d never been more relieved to see the sign telling us to exit through the gift shop. I skipped right over the gift shop and went outside to get some air. Eric was right on my heels.

The exit took us out onto a small stone patio with stairs leading down to where our group’s bus idled beside the curb. Our guide was hanging out up here, checking something on her phone, and the other people in the group steadily trickled out of the gift shop, some carrying small shopping bags.

“Jesus, that was claustrophobic,” Eric breathed.

“No kidding.” I leaned back against the stone railing. “Sorry I dragged you into something like—”

He shut me up with a brief kiss. “You didn’t know any more than I did how crowded it would be. And crowds notwithstanding, it was really interesting.” He smiled. “I’m glad we did the tour.”

I relaxed a bit. “Yeah. Me too. Just… could have done without…”

“Same,” he muttered. “But it is what it is. Give it a few years, and we probably won’t remember the crowds at all.”

I’ll remember being here with you, though.

I kept that thought to myself.

Once our group had reconvened on the patio, our guide took us down to the street to get on the bus. The bus drove us out of the city to another old church, and under that were the catacombs. From our guide’s description, they were people-sized shelves carved into the lava rock, and bodies would be wrapped in linen and bricked into the shelves. Most of the bones were gone now, taken down to the third and fourth levels, which weren’t accessible to the public. Apparently bones were being stolen by tourists and people trying to make money off alleged relics, so someone cleared them out and took them someplace no one could steal them, leaving the empty shelves instead.

The dark corridors were narrower and lower than the one we’d gone through in the bone church, but we walked single file and weren’t all trying to squeeze into one small space, so it wasn’t nearly as claustrophobic as the monastery’s crypts had been.

“I could stay down here all day,” Eric mused.

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s like twenty degrees cooler than outside.”

He had a point. Yeah maybe we were walking down corridors lined with alcoves where people had once been buried, but it wasn’t nearly as hot in here as it was outside. I was in no hurry to get back to the surface.

Our guide told us a few stories and about some of the history of the catacombs, and then all too soon, she led us back to the top. The blast of heat was almost enough to bowl me over, and I couldn’t get back on the air-conditioned bus fast enough.

As we took our seats, a man a few rows up shot us a dirty look before he sat beside his teenage son. I didn’t know if Eric noticed, but I just rolled my eyes. So the guy had caught on that we were a couple. Maybe that meant we’d been less subtle than usual about touching or looking at each other.

Under normal circumstances, I’d tense up all over and vow to be extra careful for the rest of the tour so no one else would notice.

Tonight? Man, fuck that guy. Just for spite, I put my arm around Eric’s shoulders, and I grinned to myself as he leaned into me. I didn’t have much time left before Eric and I went back to our regular lives, and I was so not interested in keeping my hands off him so I wouldn’t accidentally offend the sensibilities of a stranger. I’d still be cautious so we didn’t get our asses beat, of course, because I wasn’t stupid, but keeping Eric at arm’s length?

Nah. I don’t think so.

 

***

 

The night tour was a couple of hours after the catacombs tour, so we had time for a leisurely dinner in between. We found a place near where the second tour would pick up and enjoyed some authentic Roman carbonara and tiramisu.

“It’s a good thing we’ve got another walking tour after this.” Eric pushed away his empty dessert plate. “I think I just gained like twelve pounds.”

“Ugh, me too. So worth it, though. Even without walking it off afterward.”

“Uh-huh.” He checked his phone. “We should probably head toward the meeting point. We’re supposed to be there in half an hour, and I think it’s like ten minutes from here.”

We paid the bill and headed out, and shortly after we arrived at the fountain where we’d been told to meet, the rest of the group showed up. The tour was pretty straightforward—follow the guide down dark streets and alleys, stop to listen to a story about something that had happened in a particular spot, keep walking until the next spot. Not unlike ghost tours I’d taken in the past.

Eric and I mostly trailed along behind the group. When the guide stopped, he’d gather us close and tell us a story about someone who’d been executed in grisly fashion where we were standing. Then we’d continue walking, and Eric and I nearly always fell back a little. No one seemed to notice us. No dirty looks came our way. No one whispered and cut their eyes toward us. I doubted anyone really registered we were here at all, never mind that we were a couple; they were too engrossed in our guide’s stories to bother with the two gay dudes in the group.

So, in the darkness and with no one looking at us, I couldn’t resist—I slid my hand into Eric’s.

He glanced down at our hands, then at me, and smiled. He made no move to pull away. Even when the group stopped for another story—this time about another bone church that was unfortunately closed at that hour—Eric and I kept our fingers intertwined. I had no idea if anyone noticed. Couldn’t say I cared.

When the group moved into a more well-lit area, I did get a little nervous, and I debated breaking contact just to keep from drawing attention. Eric didn’t let go, though, and I just… couldn’t bring myself to. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to wander through a city holding hands with a boyfriend. Maybe it was the cover of darkness that gave me the confidence to do it. Maybe I was still annoyed with the guy who’d shot us the dirty look on the tour bus. Or hell, maybe I was just too keenly aware of time slipping away to let go of Eric any time soon.

By the time we were crossing the bridge to Castel Sant’Angelo, the last stop on the tour, it was pretty much second nature to walk with our fingers laced together. Whenever we were stopped, one of us would slide an arm around the other’s waist. If anyone noticed, they didn’t let on.

It didn’t feel as risky and ballsy as it probably could have. Whether we liked it or not, being physically affectionate in public was making A Statement, but it didn’t feel that way to me. It just felt like being close to the man I’d gotten way, way too used to being close to.

I won’t get to be this close to him for long.

My heart sank. I didn’t hear our guide telling us the latest story—something about yet another violent execution, one that had taken place here—because I was too distracted by Eric being beside me and how soon he wouldn’t be anymore.

I was asking to get my heart broken. I knew I was. Eric was newly single. This was a vacation fling. We lived in different states.

Well, if I’d ever wondered why anyone fell for someone they couldn’t or shouldn’t have, I got it now. I couldn’t have stopped myself from falling for him if I’d wanted to.

And I didn’t want to stop. Even though I knew I’d be hurting like hell once we left Rome behind and went back to our lives, I liked how it felt to be falling this hard for him. I liked looking at him and getting dizzy. I liked indulging in a moment’s smugness that, of everyone on that cruise ship, he’d taken me into his bed, and I loved the rush when that smugness wore off, replaced by sheer awe at how many odds we’d defied to find each other, never mind wind up here in Rome together.

I liked being with someone I could put my arm around in public.

And dear God was I going to miss him when this was over.