Chapter Text
The voice of my beloved!
Behold, he comes,
leaping over the mountains,
bounding over the hills.
My beloved is like a gazelle
or a young stag.
Behold, there he stands
behind our wall,
gazing through the windows,
looking through the lattice.
- Song of Solomon 2:8-9
~ ❦ ~
Their monthly permanence at Castle Gandolfo passed swiftly thanks to each other’s presence. Vincent and Thomas developed a form of routine, a sort of silent agreement they did their best to respect.
After their morning prayers, they met up to have breakfast together on the terrace overlooking the main courtyard. A lush canopy shielded their heads from the rising sun, so they drank their cappuccinos without haste. The sisters brought them fresh cornetti every morning, along with a pitcher filled with juice made of fruits harvested and squeezed during the week. Neither Thomas nor Vincent could spread jam very well on their bread, and since they didn’t feel like bothering the staff for something so trivial, they simply did without.
They spent the first few days mostly inside the residence. Vincent was worried for Thomas, whose concussion wasn’t yet fully healed. For this reason, he tried keeping him in the castle’s vicinity, where help was always available in the case of an emergency. He said he didn’t mind, but Thomas knew how much it cost the Holy Father to remain behind closed doors.
They distracted themselves with a vast array of activities. Thomas took Vincent on a complete tour of Castle Gandolfo, since it was his first time there. During it, they stumbled upon a cabinet filled with board games, some even quite old. The two men sorted through their bounty with the same excitement typical of children unpacking presents on Christmas.
In the end, Thomas taught Vincent how to play Cluedo - a game his niece had shown him - and they spent the next five hours solving murder cases together, pace slower than snails due to their respective injuries.
They prayed inside the small chapel connected to the castle and read books in the evenings, sitting in expensive leather armchairs and with two glasses of wine on the coffee table.
Granted, Thomas and Vincent weren’t completely isolated from the world. Ray updated the Holy Father and his Dean on the Vatican’s situation weekly via scheduled phone calls (“Are the turtles safe?” / “They are, Your Holiness”) and they ran some check-ups with Doctor Catambrone during the month.
Once the concussion-induced nausea stopped coming, Thomas joined Vincent on his daily walks around the gardens and nearby the lake’s shore. The cicadas and the rustling of leaves were the perfect background noise for their long conversations.
Thomas learned a lot about Vincent during that month. His favourite colour was yellow because it reminded him of his childhood home in Mexico, walls painted lemon that reflected the sunlight in the afternoons. Vincent also had two elder sisters, Juana and Paloma, and when he was a kid he’d wanted to become a chef before seminary life had eventually come through.
In return, Thomas told him about his family. Of how his mother had melted into a puddle of joy when he’d been accepted into the seminary. Of his younger brother, Andrew, and of the pride he felt towards his children. He explained why he loved crime fiction so much, what had made him pick the path of priesthood.
Both never mentioned what had happened near the lake. Thomas kept blaming his sick mind for his lapse in judgement, while Vincent thought it an act without real meaning behind it.
Between whispered rosaries and coffee cups, the days flew by. Just like that, it was time for Thomas to go back to his apartment in the bustling center of Rome.
Wrist and head both fully healed, Thomas had to make an emergency trip to the tailor upon discovering that his cassock had gotten a bit too tight around the waist. The nuns had kept him well-fed at the castle, and Vincent had always made sure to place a few extra leaves of lettuce in his salad or some more grams of pasta in his plate at every meal.
On his first day back in his office, Thomas found Ray had handled the added workload excpetionally well. There were no overdue letters lying on his desk, nor had the paperwork multiplied to swallow him alive upon return.
That same evening, shortly before dinner, Vincent stopped by with a plastic container in hand and a giddy smile on his face, arm still wrapped in a cast.
“Would you like to see the turtles?” He asked, bouncing on the heels of his feet. Vincent had missed the tiny creatures terribly during those weeks.
As an answer, Thomas put his pen down on the desk and followed the Holy Father outside.
Vincent showed him the turtles’ expanded enclosure, complete with two waterfalls and plenty of added rocks to sunbathe on. They sat on the edge of the pond together that night, thighs flush and shoulders occasionally brushing as they fed the turtles leaves and fruits from the container.
They slipped into their usual amiable chatter and lost track of time. Aldo had to saunter over an hour later to drag them both to dinner, voice trying to sound annoyed despite the satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
After two more weeks, Vincent was finally rid of his cast and began physiotherapy. His trip to Egypt was rescheduled to September.
Thomas would have liked to accompany the Pope in Africa, but his duties chained him to the Vatican. Innocent’s first anniversary as Holy Father was fast approaching, so he had to stay in the Apostolic Palace to discuss logistics and attend meeting after meeting while Vincent boarded a plane and set his foot on another continent.
A few weeks later, after the main issues were all handled, Thomas took a week of leave from work and travelled to the UK for his brother’s 60th birthday in October.
~ ❦ ~
The intercom announced the plane’s safe landing in Birmingham’s airport. The passengers were kindly asked to remain in their seats until the opening of the doors.
Thomas watched from the window seat as the aircraft moved towards the building, moon high in the night sky as the other passengers pulled close backpack zips and shrugged on coats. He placed the rosary he’d been praying in his pocket and set to arrange his belongings as well.
Stepping out onto the metal staircase, the frigid wind slapped him in the face. Thomas tugged his collar upwards and breathed in the English air, letting out a long breath filled with relief.
It was good to be home.
He retrieved his suitcase at baggage claim and hailed a taxi to the train station. There, he waited for thrity minutes until his train arrived, then took the ride that brought him to Kenilworth.
He found Andrew waiting for him on the platform, hands clasped behind his back and beard perfectly trimmed.
“Thomas!” His brother exclaimed upon seeing him, opening his arms in silent invitation. Thomas accepted the hug, abandoning his suitcase to the side.
“Hello, Drew,” he mumbled against his shoulder, patting his back. Andrew pulled back slightly, hands coming to rest on the other’s biceps. His eyes scanned Thomas’s entire body, lingering a bit longer on his belly.
“You look…good,” he said, sounding skeptical. Thomas let out a short laugh. Of course his brother was surprised. Up until a few weeks prior, Thomas had resembled more a walking corpse than an actual human being.
The Dean run a hand through his thinning hairline and offered a sheepish smile. “You could say I gained a few pounds.”
“It’s not just that…” Andrew dropped his arms. “Thomas, you look healthy. The last time I saw you like this was…I can’t even remember!”
Another train pulled up on the track and they were forced to move out of the way, passengers flowing out of the doors. Thomas grabbed his suitcase and dragged it with them next to a column. The space around them quickly filled with family reunions and excited tourists.
His brother urged him towards the exit with a wave. “Come on, we can keep talking in the car.”
They reached the parking lot and walked the way to Andrew’s car, a red dot amidst an ocean of greys and blacks. Andrew loaded the suitcase into the trunk and they were off, slipping inside the evening traffic.
“So, I dare say things are going smoothly in Rome,” his brother commented from the wheel.
The mention of his adoptive city made Thomas immediately think about Vincent. His laugh. His voice. His hair. God, the hair.
Thomas squashed the thoughts back down and cleared his throat to reply, “Yes, everything is going well.” And it was true. His mind felt sharper, the migraines had gotten better.
Andrew nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m glad to hear it, especially after what happened in July. I confess…We were a bit worried about you, with Milly and the kids. Not just for the staircase accident. It’s only that - everytime I saw you on the news, next to the Pope, it looked like the job was sucking the life out of your body.”
Thomas turned to stare at him, but his brother was too focused on driving to reciprocate. The only thing Thomas got was a wonderful view of his profile, illuminated red and yellow by the traffic lights.
“The first few months of a new papacy are always more tiring,” he said, leaning against the cold window.
“It isn’t just the new Pope, Thomas. We both know that. You’ve been neglecting yourself for years.”
“Well, I’m doing better now,” Thomas shot back, averting his gaze and crossing both arms over his chest.
“Of course, of course. I can see that,” Andrew reassured him, slowing the car to make the turn into his neighbourhood. Rows of brick houses entered their vision, chimneys puffing smoke in the sky. “Maybe this is your sign to have a vacation every year or so. Seems like the month at Castle Gandolfo did you good.”
The conversation veered to its end as Andrew pulled into his house’s driveway. The building looked like all the others lining the street. White and black windows, trimmed edges and a flat front.
When the thought of travelling to England had formed in Thomas’s mind, he’d thought about booking a hotel. He’d called his brother to explain him his intentions, but Andrew had proposed a change of plans.
“Come over to our house!” He’d said on the phone, the sound of pots slamming in each other in the background. “The children are coming, too. It’ll be a beautiful family gathering!”
And so now he stood next to Andrew as he opened the front door to his humble home. The smell of washed laundry and lavender-scented candles expanded in the entryway. Thomas followed his brother’s instructions and left his suitcase next to the other two crowding the entrance.
He didn’t take two steps into the house that Emily, his brother’s wife, popped out of the kitchen to welcome him, oven mits in hand and bronze curls dancing around her head.
“Thomas, darlin’! It’s so good to have you here!”
“Oh! Emily, good evening, thank you for having m- humph!”
Thomas got crushed into his second hug of the day (his brother’s wife had always been the lively kind).
After two seconds spent deprived of oxygen, Emily released him and squeezed his shoulder affectionately, moving to kiss her husband on the cheek. She excused herself before skipping back to the kitchen, claiming she had a dinner to serve, while Andrew reserved Thomas an apologetic look.
His brother invited Thomas to get comfortable in the living room, where his children, Noah and Carrie, were arguing over a Monopoly game near the coffee table. Upon noticing him in the doorway, they left their argument on hold to greet their uncle.
The three of them settled on the sofa to exchange life updates, Andrew stalking away to help his wife. Thomas congratulated Noah on his promotion at work and listened as Carrie listed the main points of her university thesis on stem cells cultures.
A few minutes later the smell of roast intensified and Emily loudly called for them from the kitchen. Thomas walked under the open archway separating it from the living space and came face-to-face with a wonderful roast sitting on top of a bed of potatoes and greens, a container filled with gravy nestled on the side.
Noah clapped his hands, already licking his lips, and followed his sister to occupy one of the chairs at the dining table. Emily untied her apron and cocked her head in Thomas’s direction, who was still with a foot in the living room.
“Well, Eminence? Sit down, sit down! You don’t want your dinner gettin’ cold.” She gently guided him by the elbow and gestured towards the empty chair at the head of the table. Thomas settled in his seat, a bit awestruck.
“You didn’t have to,” he muttered.
“ ‘Course we had! We haven’t seen you in such a long time,” Emily piped, curls bobbing with every movement of her head.
Andrew reached for the bread basket and took out a white loaf. “We don’t usually bless our meals, but since it’s important for you…” he said, handing it to him.
Thomas accepted the bread with a nod of thanks and placed it in front of his plate. He joined his hands in prayer, watching as everyone else followed his example except for Cassie, who had declared herself an atheist a few years back. Thomas closed his eyes and recited a short blessing, then picked up the loaf and broke it in pieces, distributing it to the others.
Andrew proposed a toast, even if it was his birthday they were there to celebrate, and dinner continued to proceed smoothly after. They chatted about everything and nothing. Emily excitedly shared with the table the new recipe she’d learned from Bake Off. Andrew grumbled about the rising prices of avocadoes in supermarkets. Noah told a joke Thomas didn’t understand, but laughed at anyway.
An hour and a half later, with dirty dishes piled in the sink and the crumbs of a strawberry tart spread on the tablecloth, it was due time to head to bed.
Emily explained that she’d reserved an entire room just for Thomas, leaving Noah and Carrie to sleep in the living room. The Dean desperately tried to raise an objection, but he probably would’ve had more luck if he’d talked with a brick wall.
“This is very nice of you, Emily, but I really can’t evict your children from their room - ”
“Oh, hush you!” She’d said, pinching his cheek with two long nails. The contact left a temporary dent in his skin, and Thomas lightly rubbed his face as the woman continued. “You’re the guest, are you not? The kids are still fresh and full of energy! They don’t have to worry about aching joints like us. A few nights on the sofa bed won’t hurt ‘em.”
“It’ll be like a sleep-over!” Noah, an enthusiastic like his mother, chirped from the hallway. Emily turned to look at his brother-in-law with an ‘I told you so’ look, and Thomas’s shoulders sagged in defeat.
“I already brought your suitcase in the room,” Andrew told him while balancing two glasses in each hand, walking to the dishwasher.
“Thank you, Drew.”
Thomas bid goodnight to the family and went to retrieve his toothbrush and toothpaste from his suitcase. Opening the door to the guest room, he switched on the lights and found it completely changed since the last time he’d been there.
There were no longer two school backpacks thrown near the wardrobe, nor was there a mountain of sweaters and T-shirts on the desk chair. The two single beds had been pushed to the center of the room to function as a double mattress. The bright orange rug had been changed for something of softer colour, the beige curtains had been bleached to their original white. There wasn’t a molecule of dust in any of the corners. Thomas almost felt like he was breaking his vow of poverty by simply sleeping in there.
Smiling to himself, he carefully pushed his suitcase on top of the bed and opened it, grabbing his night clothes and beauty case. He changed his normal shoes for comfortable slippers and travelled to the bathroom to have a quick evening shower.
Thirty minutes later, he was under the covers, arms crossed over his chest, duvet warm and soft around his toes.
The door to his room was closed, but he could hear movement coming from the end of the hall. The siblings were speaking in hushed tones in the living room. There were footsteps, floorboards creaking. Thomas dozed off to the sound of running water in the bathroom.
~ ❦ ~
He was sitting in a wide room, particles of dust floating all around him with the afternoon light. All around him were other cardinals, faces blurred and zucchettos moving with their heads. The Chapel was filled by the sound of pens scratching on paper. There were frescos of lavender flowers on the walls, stems contorting and twisting around each other.
Thomas suddenly remembered. He was in the Sistine, he needed to vote.
The Dean looked down at his slip of paper. He picked up his pen, but didn’t write a name. He’d forgotten who to vote for.
Thomas raised his eyes again to look at his brothers, but their face features remained anonymous. They were just bodies dressed in red. A hundred nobodies coughing and sniffing and muttering in twenty different languages.
Embarassment burned hot in Thomas’s gut. What kind of cardinal was he, if he couldn’t even decide who to pick as Pope?
Some of the scratching stopped. A few cardinals lifted their heads, expectant, probably wondering why Thomas hadn’t voted already. Crushed by the pressure of those foggy gazes, the Dean wrote the only name he knew – his own – and got up to cast the ballot.
Except he didn’t find the urn placed on the white tablecloth, nor were there people sitting behind the table. There was only a book, worn-out at the edges. Thomas stepped closer and realized it was a Bible, yellow pages and smudged ink, open near the middle. His eyes landed on one of the sentences:
‘A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.’4-1
Just as he finished reading, the ground below his feet trembled. Thomas looked down, slightly alarmed. His fears multiplied when he saw that he wasn’t dressed as a cardinal.
He was wearing red sneakers and a white cassock, paired with an equally white fascia, golden trim glittering in the light. His pectoral cross was made of simple wood, no jewels or decorations. Heavens, Thomas wasn’t even holding the slip of paper that contained his vote!
He felt like an impostor in his own body. The cassock was too tight. The shoes closed uncomfortably around his feet.
The floor trembled once again. Thomas wanted to turn back, but his legs wouldn’t obey him.
The lavenders on the walls began losing petals. The Bible closed shut with a bang!
Then, the window on his right exploded.
Thomas jolted awake with a start, bedsheets tangled between his legs. He could still feel the glass shards cutting through his skin, hear the debris falling on the floor.
His hand instinctively flew to his left temple, to the spot where stone had chipped the skin off months before. His fingers pawned at the soft skin, gliding over the small scar.
There was no bleeding. It didn’t even hurt.
Thomas’s surroundings came back to him slowly. The room was dark, but he could make out the silhouettes of some of the furniture. The desk next to the wardrobe. His suitcase in the corner, closed.
He was in the kids’ room, at Andrew’s. The Conclave was over.
Taking a shaky breath, Thomas kicked his legs free from the bedsheets and slid off the bed. He opened the door to the hallway as silently as possible and slowly made his way to the bathroom, hands extended in front of him to avoid bumping into something.
Once his bare feet met the tiled floor of the room, Thomas closed the door behind him and turned on the light. His eyes closed from the sudden brightness.
Blinking rapidly, he came to stand near the sink. Thomas turned the tap on the coldest setting and raised his sleeves, letting the freezing water wet his wrists. He focused on his breathing, on the feeling of his skin burning under the jet. His heartbeat slowed, the trembling in his hands evened.
It was a dream, Thomas repeated in his head, over and over. Just a dream. Everything is fine. You’re not the Pope. There won’t be any more Conclaves soon.
He remained a few more seconds with his wrists bare, then the Dean turned off the water and dried his hands with a clean towel, pulling the sleeves back down.
He swallowed. His throat was painfully dry.
Thomas decided to go and get a glass of water. Turning off the light, he stepped out of the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen, only to find that he wasn’t the only one awake.
Cassie was leaning against the counter, a glass of water in her hand. Her phone was sitting face-down next to her, top peaking out to allow the torch to light the floor in blinding white. She flinched when she spotted Thomas hovering near the archway.
“Goodness, Uncle. You scared me,” she whispered.
“Sorry,” Thomas said in an equally low tone, stepping fully into the kitchen. “I was looking for a glass of water.”
Cassie wordlessly put her own drink down and opened a cabinet. She took out a glass and filled it with water from a bottle resting on the counter, then extended her arm towards him.
Thomas accepted it gladly. “Thank you.” He took a little sip, water smoothly gliding down his throat.
“Did I wake you up?” Cassie asked, taking back her own glass.
“No, no…” Thomas reassured her. “I just - ” he hesitated. “ – had a strange dream, is all.”
Cassie hummed in acknowledgement. Thomas finished his water and set the glass in the sink, but his feet didn’t turn around to take him back to his room.
He realized he was more shaken than he cared to admit. The Dean’s mind wandered back to the words he’d read inside the Bible. Vincent’s Bible, he found out with a start. Yes, now that his mind was cleared, he recognised it. The worn-out cover and the yellow pages, marked by years of use.
Not only that. Thomas had been wearing Vincent’s shoes. Vincent’s cassock. Vincent’s cross.
The Bible had been opened on the Gospel. John’s, to be precise. The name he would have taken, had Vincent Benítez stayed in Kabul.
Thomas sucked in a sharp breath. Could it have been a coincidence? Thomas read John often. He also met with Vincent on a regular basis. It made sense that his mind would insert some elements into one of his dreams. They were all pieces of his life, slotted together to create an odd picture.
And yet…Thomas couldn’t help but think that God was trying to send him a message. That the night’s dream hadn’t been a coincidence. It wasn’t the first time he’d dreamt about the explosion, but this time it felt…different. Charged with something he couldn’t quite name.
But what is it? Thomas lifted his head to look at the kicthen roof. Lord, I received your words, yet I do not understand them.
Cassie’s voice caught him by surprise. “Too restless to sleep?”
Thomas’s eyes snapped to hers, glinting in the pearly light of her phone’s torch. A knowing smirk was plastered on her round face.
“Oh, uhm…Well, you could say that,” he mumbled.
His niece finished her drink and placed the glass in the sink, next to his. “Neither can I. Noah keeps kicking me in his sleep,” she said, mildly annoyed.
A muffled sound came from the living room, followed by the rustling of sheets.
“Grab your jacket,” Cassie told him, retrieveing her phone. “We can talk outside, if you want.” She disappeared behind the archway, leaving him in the dark.
Thomas found the prospect of getting some fresh air quite alluring. He did as he was told and returned to his bedroom to grab his jacket and slippers, then followed Cassie onto the small backporch of the house.
The two sconces behind them were the only source of light. The grass below turned a shade darker after each step away from the porch, eventually losing all its colour to the night outside. The stars lined the sky in white dots. An owl flew by the house, its song getting lost to the breeze.
Thomas put his hands in his pockets and breathed in deeply, clouds of hot air escaping from his mouth.
“Do you want to talk about your dream or would you rather I distract you?” Cassie asked, leaning nonchalantly on the railing. His niece had always been the straight-forward type. She didn’t hide behind methaphors or double meanings, never run around a topic in circles.
Perhaps that was why she loved science so much. The clear definitions, the nearly non-existent ambiguity. Thomas appreciated that of her, even if her down-to-earth views had made her walk away from the Church.
“A distraction would be most welcome,” he said. He needed to be alone to decipher God’s message.
“Good. Then I’ll give voice to my curiosity.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow. He shifted his weight between his feet, and the floorboards creaked under him. “And what is it you’re so curious about?”
Cassie shot him a mischievous grin, bronze curls shining in the low light. Her mother’s hair.
“Does the Pope have any other favourite cardinals, or is it just you?”
Thomas spluttered. “I – I beg your pardon?”
“Come on,” Cassie giggled, dragging out the last word. “Don’t play dumb on me, Uncle Tom. Everyone in the family can see it. Heck, I think the whole world can see it. Pope Innocent adores you. If he weren’t a priest, I’d dare say he’s got the hots for you.” She winked.
Thomas nearly choked on his saliva. Heat creeped up his neck and he was forced to tug his jacket collar all the way up to hide from the embarassment. He desperately tried to string a sentence together.
“Cassie…I – Vincent – I mean, the Holy Father, he isn’t - ”
Thomas placed both hands on the railing, letting out a deep exhale. He needed to stay calm.
Why did things always become so complicated when it came to Vincent? It was like the mere mention of his name brought Thomas on the edge of an abyss, clogging the words in his throat and shattering his usual composure.
“Where did you even get that from?” He managed to rasp out.
Cassie giggled again. “Oh, please. You know.”
Thomas really didn’t.
Faced againts his bewildered look, his niece huffed as such a thing were obvious and crossed both arms over her chest, eyes looking at the stars above.
“It’s everywhere, Uncle Tom,” she began. “On TV. On the Vatican social media accounts. On articles inside newspapers. It’s always Pope Innocentius and his Dean. Vincent Benítez and Thomas Lawrence, standing close in pictures, sitting together in the Popemobile. Innocent can’t say three consecutive sentences without adding your name to the conversation.”
Thomas shook his head. “It’s not about favourites, Cassie. I’m the Dean of the College of Cardinals. Of course my position leads me to being closer with the Holy Father,” he told her.
The girl rolled her eyes, bronze locks lifting from her shoulders.
“You weren’t so attached to the late Pope, from what I can remember,” she pointed out sharply. The words hit a sore spot in Thomas’s heart, grief dripping from a wound not yet fully healed. Any protests he’d come up with turned to dust on his tongue. The Dean turned around towards the garden in front of him, gaze losing itself in the night.
The silence stretched out between them, thick like morning fog.
Eventually, Cassie sighed and pushed herself off the railing.
“Listen, this wasn’t meant as an attack on the Pope,” she explained, stepping close to him. Thomas kept his eyes on the horizon.
Cassie’s voice evolved into a softer tone. “I’m simply saying…when you walk into a room, Innocent’s entire face lights up, as if he’s just witnessed the second coming of Christ. And you do the same thing, Uncle Tom.”
Thomas stiffened. His grip on the railing hardened so much it turned his knuckles white.
The girl rubbed his arm affectionately, then turned on her heels and walked away, floorboards creaking under her weight.
Before opening the door, she told her uncle one last thing.
“You and I both know why my religious visions changed, but I’ll have you know…even when I still believed, I never thought that God had created love - strong and pure love - only for it to be condemned by man after. In any form or in any way.”
Then the door clicked shut behind her.
Thomas stayed on the porch for a few more minutes, fingers rapidly growing numb from the cold. A million thoughts ran rampant in his mind. Interactions he’d shared with Vincent, conversations they’d had in the past, memories of him simply existing next to Thomas. He thought about jet-black hair, soft like silk to the touch. Of skin the colour of warm bronze. Of sunny smiles and cheerful laughs that made that distinct something flutter and sprout wings in his chest.
Thomas thought about all of that and wondered what it meant.
He returned to his room, soft snores accompanying his footsteps to the door. Noah, most likely.
The Dean hung up his jacket on the desk chair. Then, carefully, he lowered himself to the ground in front of his bed and picked up his rosary from the side table.
Thomas joined both hands on top of the covers. He dipped his head low, fingers reaching for the first bead, and started praying, trying to get closer to the truth, one Hail Mary4-2 at a time.
~ ❦ ~
Thomas returned to Rome, blood sugar likely at its limit after all the cake he’d eaten, right on time to prepare Pope Innocent’s celebrations for his first year as Bishop of the city.
The Dean, his assistant and the Secretary of State had convened together to ensure everyone would live through the day’s events smoothly. Litres of coffee, countless nights spent hunched over desks, and one broken computer keyboard later, they’d come up with a sophisticated schedule that left nothing up to interpretation (with added counter-measures for any kind of inconvinience, per Aldo’s request).
Vincent had pretty much left the matter in their capable hands, stating he fully trusted Thomas and his colleagues to do a wonderful job at organizing the day. His only demand – though it had been spoken in such a gentle and soft voice that it could have been classified as a suggestion – had been to focus the activites on charity work for the struggling.
“This day belongs to the people as much, if not more, as it belongs to me,” Vincent had said, and no one had even thought of denying him.
The schedule went as follows:
8:00 - Morning Mass held in St Peter’s Square. TV screens to be mounted on each side to allow for better vision. Extra units of Swiss Guards to be deployded by the Chief Commander to protect His Holiness. Nuns will travel around the Square, holding baskets filled with food and clothes to be given to the unlucky;
10:00 – Interviews with local and international press;
11:30 – Meeting with the President of the Italian Republic and the Italian Premier;
13:00 – Lunch break;
14:00 – Meetings with the delegations;
15:30 – Start of volunteer work at the Mensa Sant’Egidio. The Pope wishes to travel to Trastevere on foot. Crush barriers to be set up to avoid casualties;
17:00 – Visit to the pediatric ward of Gemelli’s hospital. His Holiness asked for no personal Swiss Guards, as to not initmidate the children. Dean Lawrence set to accompany him.
18:00 – Return to the Casa Santa Marta. Start of preparations for the celebratory dinner in the building’s private courtyard.
The last point had been Vincent’s idea. After a day spent preaching the Gospel and helping the poor and the sick, the Pope wished to thank those who’d made the feat possible in the first place. The cardinals and monsignors who sat every day behind their desks, pursuing filing out paperwork like an Olympic sport. The soldiers who had dedicated their life to the Vatican’s protection. In addition to this, all the staff members, the priests and the nuns whose silent actions went often overlooked on such occasions.
For this very reason, Vincent had roped Aldo into organising an informal party for the day’s evening, with invitations open to everyone in the Vatican. An occasion to relish in the year’s accomplishments and have a chat between old friends, with good wine and an open buffet.
“I don’t think I’ll be wearing my cassock,” Vincent had confessed to Thomas a few days earlier as they’d stepped away from their umpteenth meeting. “I wish for the party to be an occasion to relax and unwind, at least temporarily. The Vatican is a complicated organism, and one we often struggle to control. I’d like to create a lighter atmosphere.”
Thomas had nodded, shoulder brushing Vincent’s for how close they had been walking. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Your Holiness. I’m sure many of our brothers and members of staff will rejoice from it. I’ll ask Ray to spread the word.”
Vincent had smiled then, eyes glinting with pleasure, and the Dean had felt his entire body warm up despite the chilly autumn air entering from the windows.
Thomas returned to his apartment shortly after their visit to Gemelli’s Hospital. He had a quick shower and changed out of his cassock, putting on black slacks and an equally black jumper under his clerical collar. He wanted to show Vincent that he believed deeply in his cause, so much that he’d foregone offical wear as well. Plus, who knew? Perhaps seeing the Dean stripped of his usual attire would have encouraged some of his more closed-off colleagues to loosen up, too.
Thomas stepped into the Santa Marta’s private courtyard to find the Pope running around chairs and columns, helping the nuns finish the dinner’s preparations. He smiled at the sight – Vincent in simple black clothes, something any priest could have worn, distributing napkins and adjusting the fairy lights hanging above their heads in a form of boyish endearment.
Despite it being November, the evening was a pretty warm one. The peninsula had lived through a hot week in the previous days, and there were no suspicious clouds in the sky that hinted at the possibility of rain. One could remain outside comfortably while only wearing a simple jacket. It was the perfect night to host an outdoor event.
Once Vincent took notice of Thomas shuffling near the door, he excused himself with Sister Agnes and hopped over to welcome him, energy vibrating beneath his skin.
“Tomás! You arrive just in time. We’re just finishing putting up the buffet,” Vincent said. Thomas’s gaze travelled behind the Holy Father’s shoulder, over to the long table covered with a white tablecloth, dishes of all sizes forming a straight line from one end to the other.
“I came a little early on purpose. I thought I could maybe help with something,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
Vincent waved a hand in the air, huffing. “You already did enough, my dear Dean. Here, let me show you around before the guests start filing in.”
Thomas barely registered the movement of Vincent’s hand, which came to wrap around his elbow as the Pope began dragging him deeper inside the courtyard. His brain had short-circuited at the words ‘my dear Dean’, that were now bouncing around his skull like an error message on a Windows desktop. His chest filled with a fuzzy kind of warmth.
Vincent showed Thomas around the place with a liveliness that didn’t feel natural for a fifty-four year-old man who had spent the previous hours running from one official meeting to another.
The tour ended just in time for the first cardinals and bishops to make their appearance. Some of them were wearing their usual cassocks while a few others had foregone official wear for more casual clothes.
A drink was thrust in Thomas’s hands, fingers clutching around the paper cup for nothing better to do, right as Vincent excused himself in rapid Spanish and went to individually welcome the new arrivals at the party.
The couryard filled up quickly. The fairy lights were turned on as the sun dipped below the horizon. Soon, everyone was roaming the grounds with a plate of good food in hand. Small groups of people began forming under the balcony and near the buffet table, the buzzing of conversation rapidly filling the air.
Thomas couldn’t find Vincent anywhere among the crowd. It was fine. He was probably chatting with some of his fellow countrymen, or checking up on staff members and cardinals he hadn’t heard from in a while. That was a good thing. Thomas didn’t feel ready to speak again with him just yet – he was still processing the ‘my dear’.
The Dean walked over to the buffet table and got himself some green olives and a few slices of prosciutto, then begun wandering the place in search for a familiar face.
After getting pulled in at least five different coversations, Thomas finally spotted Aldo in the distance, chewing on a mozzarella ball and, most importantly, standing blissfully alone. Thomas politely extricated himself away from Cardinal Barbieri’s presence and marched over to the Secretary of State.
Aldo, like Thomas and Vincent, wasn’t wearing his official attire. Instead, he’d switched the red and black of his cassock for a navy blue jacket and simple trousers, which were a good fit for his lean and tall form. Vincent had likely asked him to make an effort for the night, given the man’s initial reluctance at allowing the party in the first place.
‘But think about the security risks, Your Holiness!’
“Aldo!” Thomas called once he came in earshot. His friend’s attention immediately snapped towards him. Aldo swallowed and greeted the Dean with a polite nod.
“Thomas, hello again,” he greeted. “I thought you were with His Holiness.”
“I was, but the Holy Father had to attend to the other guests, so I came looking for you.” Thomas stopped a few paces in front of the Secretary and took a sip of his wine. He watched as Aldo popped another mozzarella ball in his mouth, eyes sweeping the crowd around them. Thomas couldn’t help but notice the way Aldo’s body had relaxed. Gone was the usual tension in his shoulders and the frown he bore when analysing documents.
“Your mind seems quite for once,” Thomas allowed himself the quip. “Do you still claim this party to have been a bad idea?”
Aldo directed him a pointed look. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he replied, “Britain did you no good.”
Thomas reserved him a look. Aldo puffed, “Alright, I shall raise a white flag…His Holiness’ suggestion is satisfactory.”
Thomas, noting the sour tone in his friend’s voice, swapped his smirk for a small smile. He inched closer and pressed their shoulders together for a second, for lack of a free hand to pat his arm in a reassuring movement. By doing so, Thomas caught a whiff of Aldo’s scent. He noted a slight change in the fragrance – his friend’s perfume was different, a sweeter edge clouding his usual body wash. A fruit, maybe?
“Did you change your cologne?” Thomas asked, raising a curious eyebrow.
Aldo blinked. “No? What makes you think that?”
“Your perfume is different,” Thomas said, before the conscient part of his mind had a chance at interpreting the signals, signals that would have told him to let the matter drop. “It’s almost like…like cherry?”
The Secretary’s cheeks tinged a peculiar shade of red at the comment. He drank a nervous sip of wine and cleared his throat while questions piled up in the Dean’s brain.
“Well – I…ehm, you see - ” Aldo began to stutter, voice dropping to a whisper. It made Thomas’s eyes widen. Cardinal Bellini wasn’t a man to stammer in his speech. What could have caused him so much distress that he’d lose track of his own sentences?
Luckily, Aldo was spared from formulating a reply by the clincking of metal hitting glass resonating in the air. The buzzing ceased to near silence as all the guests turned towards the buffet table, the rustling of cassocks and skirts filling the air.
Standing in front of the table, Vincent directed a delicate smile to the crowd of Church officials and staff members, slender hands clasped near his chest. Thomas took a couple steps sideways, allowing the Holy Father into his field of vision. His eyes settled on his soft hair, then travelled down his forehead, his shining brown eyes, his nose, his pink lips, all the way to his long fingers, interwined on top of his shirt. The hands of a sheperd.
“Mis estimados amigos,”4-3 Vincent began in his native tongue. A shiver run down Thomas’s spine upon hearing the language being pronounced in the Pope’s sweet tongue. He clutched his plate tighter, desperately trying to recollect himself. My dear Dean, my dear Dean…
“Forgive me for cutting in so abruptly. I can see that you’re all enjoying yourselves, which is something I highly appreciate, but I wanted to dedicate a few words to the year that has gone by. I promise I won’t be too long. You know how direct I like to be.”
Vincent winked, letting the reference sink in the cardinal’s minds, then continued.
“The past months have been a whirlwind of emotions for me. In November of last year, I found myself coming to accupy a role never in my entire life had I thought about approaching. The first year of my papacy has been a journery of wonderful discovery. I’ve tried my hardest to fulfill the role God has bestowed on me, and I feel – no, actually, I know that I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you. I may be the Pope, but the Vatican cannot be run by one man alone. Everyone has an indispensable role in the life of our Mother Church. It’s why I gathered you here today – to celebrate our achievements, yes, but most importantly to celebrate our community. El corazón de la fe”4-4
Vincent stopped briefly, reaching out to grab his paper cup. “The Lord said, ‘Behold, they are one people, and they all have the same language. And this is what they began to do, and now nothing which they purpose to do will be impossible for them.' 4-5This, my friends and colleauges, this is our Church. A union of people who battle against the difficulties posed by our trying times. I personally thank each and every one of you, for the effort and care you put in your work each day.”
The Holy Father raised his cup in the air. Dozens of hands, male and female, followed his example.
“Let’s toast. A nosotros y a un nuevo año maravilloso,” Vincent said.4-6
“A nosotros,” a chorus of voices replied.
Thomas finished his drink, placing plate and cup down on a nearby table, and joined in the applause a group of young priests had started. Vincent bowed slightly, ever the humble man.
The crowd closed back around him, bishops and nuns coming to congratule him for his speech, priests asking for handshakes and blessings.
Thomas turned back to Aldo, a fire crackling in his chest. He opened his mouth to make a comment, but he was abruptly cut off by a louder, more confident voice that began inching towards the pair.
“Tommaso!” Goffredo Tedesco all but shouted from behind.
Thomas deflated. He’d forgotten about the Patriarch’s stay in Rome in occasion for the anniversary. The Dean managed to put on a practiced expression of general politeness just in time, because as soon as he turned around, Cardinal Tedesco was already stopping beside him, scarlet pen clutched in hand.
“Goffredo. It’s good to see you. We didn’t get the chance to speak at Mass this morning,” Thomas said. He didn’t mention that he’d actually avoided the Patriarch on purpose.
Tedesco cackled, replying in his usual heavy-accented English. “Yes, yes, I remember the line for the Eucharist.” He pulled Thomas into a side hug, slapping his shoulder with vigor before taking a hit of his electronic cigarette. A cloud of peach-scented smoke flooded Thomas’s senses.
He forced himself not to cough.
“How are things in Venice?” Thomas asked instead.
“Mah, lo sai come vanno le cose da quelle parti,” 4-7Tedesco replied casually, waving his occupied hand in the air. “Piuttosto,4-8 how are you? I see you’ve gained some weight. About time, I dare say!”
“The sisters at Castle Gandolfo liked to spoil us,” Thomas confessed, placing a hand on his stomach.
“Lo vedo. I see.”
It was at that point that Aldo huffed, stepping into the conversation. “Good evening to you, too, Eminence.”
Oh, no. It begins. Thomas started sweating. The fire in his chest evaporated into a pile of ash.
Tedesco narrowed his eyes at Aldo, a playful smirk coming to tug at his lips.
“Bellini!” He said, pupils glinting with barely contained mirth. “Forgive me for not greeting you, but I just couldn’t recognize you without your cassock on! I thought a man respectful of the Church like you wouldn’t have participated in this…honestly ridicolous attempt at informality,” Tedesco added in sour tones, taking another hit of his vape.
Thomas took notice of the way the Patriarch was dressed for the first time. But really, perhaps Tedesco’s outfit hadn’t sparked his attention because nothing had changed. The Italian was dressed in his official wear, black cassock with red piping, his flamboyant cape draped over his shoulders to match. Judging by the disappointed looks the Patriarch was throwing at the people who’d come dressed casually, he considered Vincent’s idea as yet another affront to the Church’s values.
Another reason for Thomas to get out of that situation as quickly as possible.
“Ridiculous?” Aldo laughed. “Do you even hear yourself when you speak, Tedesco? All His Holiness wants is to make the fellow people of his Church feel at ease amongst themselves, and there you go, jumping at the first occasion for rebuttal.”
“Questo è l’inizio della fine, Bellini! 4-9First, it’s the cassocks and the mozzettas, becoming obsolete. Next, who knows what will become of the Vatican! Will the Holy Father start removing parts of the Catechism as well?” Tedesco exhaled another cloud of artificial peach, vape stabbing the air around him.
“It’s just for one night,” Aldo exasperated, scrunching his nose in mild disgust.
“Just for one night…Just for one night, he says!” Tedesco rebuked. “I’ll tell you what will happen! The ‘just’s will pile up. Soon, it’ll be ‘just for one meeting’, then ‘just for one Mass’, then…”
“Your Emincence,” Aldo warned.
“Non lo vedi, Bellini? Questo è il segno della decadenza. La decadenza, ti dico io!”4-10
As the two bickered on, Thomas desperately searched his mind for a good enough excuse to leave. His eyes scanned the crowd, desperate for a familiar face. By divine intervention, the Dean spotted Vincent not too far away, crouched near one of the white porch columns.
Thomas coughed awkwardly, retrieving his cup from the table. “If you’ll excuse me…I must speak with His Holiness about...ehm, urgent matters.”
The two men stopped their debacle, watching with different levels of satisfaction as their colleague fled the scene.
Aldo sighed deeply, taking a sip of his drink. “You scared him,” he spoke once Thomas was out of earshot.
Tedesco shrugged. “Bah, we both know that il vecchio Tommaso non si spaventa facilmente.”4-11
They watched as Thomas brushed Innocent with a hand on his shoulder, alerting him to his presence. The Pope turned, expression visibly softening at the sight of his Dean, and gestured for him to lean forwards more.
“Tomás, look at who I met today!” They heard the Holy Father exclaim. Right as the words left his mouth, a fluffly tail curled around his legs, and a familiar cat appeared from behind the stone column.
“Ah, yes…Aldo’s cat,” Thomas replied with a nod.
“Since when do you have a cat, Aldino?” Tedesco teased, bumping their shoulders.
Aldo huffed. He went to drink some more wine, but found his cup annoyingly empty. “That’s not a cat. It’s a nuisance.”
Innocent began petting the cat, who meowed at such display of affection. Since Thomas hesitated, the Pope used his free hand to gently take a hold of the other man’s wrist, guiding him down to caress the animal’s fur. The Patriarch of Venice and the Secretary of State witnessed the absolute spectacle of the Dean of the College of Cardinals turning five shades darker with the Pope’s touch on his skin.
Tedesco chuckled and leaned into Aldo’s personal space, hot breath ghosting against his ear as he whispered, “Innocente di nome, ma non di fatto, eh?”4-12
Aldo ignored all the signals his body was currently sending him and took a precautionary step back.
“Goffredo. We’re in public,” he seethed, looking around for any eavesdroppers, then back at his empty cup. He seriously needed a wine refill.
“Half of the guests are already swaying on their feet, Aldino. Nobody is looking at us, and if they are, they won’t remember it anyway come morning. Non vorrai negarmi questa occasione ora che possiamo finalmente parlare con calma!” 4-13Tedesco pointed out and for once, Aldo had to admit the Patriarch was right. Some of his colleagues were roaming the courtyard, searching for a free chair to sit on because their legs were failing to support them.
Tedesco took a hit of his vape, peach enveloping them in a protective fog. This time, when the Italian stepped closer so that their fingers could brush, Aldo didn’t push him away. He did wonder, however, why God had decided to make his torture so tempting.
~ ❦ ~
The party proceeded until well over midnight. Thomas kept at Vincent’s side, eating an olive once in a while. The pair spent a good while speaking with Ray, who looked naked without his clipboard in hand, then bounced from one bishop to another for the rest of the night.
Thomas didn’t see Aldo nor Tedesco again. When Vincent and him passed by their previous spot, they found it empty. Thomas didn’t know if he should have been glad or have started praying. I guess that only time will tell if my temporary peace will lead to another conservationalist attack or not come morning.
Once the last guest stumbled out of the Casa Santa Marta, Thomas helped Vincent and the remaining nuns and staff members clean up the courtyard. The Holy Father, despite his tired face, was positively gleaming – the party had been an overall success.
“Are you tired, Thomas?” Vincent asked him after the last paper cup was thrown into the trash. The nuns had begun filing out, black and white robes swishing in the breeze. It was only them and a few Swiss guards left in the open.
“A little bit,” he admitted, running a hand through his trousled hair. “It’s been a busy day.”
Vincent hummed, lacing his fingers behind his back. He began rocking on his heels. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“Would it be too bold of me, then,” he whispered, “to invite you over to my rooms to nurse a drink between friends?”
Sweet Mother of Jesus. This was somehow worse than ‘my dear Dean’. Thomas’s heart started beating frantically. What was wrong with him?
Seeing he delayed his reply, Vincent quickly stepped back. “You don’t have to, of course. You’ve worked a lot this past few months. It’s just…we haven’t really had a chance to talk since - ” he hesitated, “…no, actually. It’s fine. It was a silly question.”
“What – no, not at all!” Thomas recovered. It was true, he was tired to the bone, but a hidden part of him desired Vincent’s company deeply. The preparations leading to Vincent’s anniversary had stolen a lot of free time from their days. Thomas couldn’t even remember when had been the last time they’d prayed together.
“A drink sounds wonderful. Please, lead the way,” he said.
Vincent’s entire demeanor changed, confidence coming back to his posture. They bid their goodnights to Sister Agnes and took the lift to the papal apartments.
There were already two Swiss guards standing watch at the door when they arrived. Thomas didn’t recognize them – Mael and Leonardo didn’t work the late hours.
Vincent asked to not let anyone disturb them unless there was an emergency, then opened the door and walked inside his chambers with Thomas shortly behind.
Once the door clicked shut, it was like the entire outside world disappeared. Thomas found himself in a bubble of happiness, detatched from the Vatican and Rome. There were only Vincent’s steady presence in the room and the aromas of pressed coffee and incense around him.
Thomas watched, seated on the sofa, as Vincent moved around his apartment with grace, retrieving a lighter before starting to distribute candles around the living space.
“To create a more relaxing atmosphere,” he winked, golden flames flickering on his bronze skin. Thomas felt his entire face flush, and he dipped his head low as he mumbled a reply. Fortunately, the low lighting didn’t allow for very clear vision, so Vincent had no way of noticing his odd cheek colour.
Lavender and other similar fragrances wafted in the air. Vincent retrieved two wine glasses and a bottle from a cabinet. He uncorked it and filled them about halfway, then made his way to the sofa and handed one to Thomas.
“Thank you.” He took a sip. The richness of the wine curled comfortably around his tongue, spreading like a soothing balm down his throat.
They began talking. About art, about religion, about life. Thomas told him of his trip to Britain. Vincent spoke of Egypt and the Muslim culture, which was deeply fascinating to him. Big things, little things, all mixing together beautifully. Conversation had always come naturally for Thomas in front of Vincent. He wished the bubble would never pop.
At one point, they landed on the topic of the day’s party.
“I wanted to put some speakers for music, but Sister Agnes veto’d me,” Vincent giggled, sipping his wine. His lips came back slightly redder. Thomas focused his gaze on the small doll of Innocent XIV that had been gifted to him, resting on one of the shelves, to avoid looking at those lips.
“She told me that the younger nuns have plenty of distractions from their duties already.”
“She was probably worried about a cardinal or archbishop dropping senseless to the floor. Music can lead to dancing, and that can be dangerous at our age,” Thomas mused.
“Mmh…I think you would have been a good dancer,” Vincent replied, casting his eyes low.
There it was again. The heat creeping up Thomas’s neck. He chuckled nervously. “Hardly. I have two left feet.”
“Dancing at its core is a simple act. You underestimate your abilities, as always, my friend.”
A beat of silence followed, during which the Holy Father dedicated a very concentrated look to the coffe table. Then, he finished his wine and stood up abruptly, as if possessed by an exterior force.
“I bet I could show you wrong,” he said, brown eyes sparkling.
Thomas peered at him from the couch. “You want me to dance?”
Vincent nodded enthusiastically, clapping his hands. “Exacto!4-14 Come on, up you go!”
“Vincent, I really don’t - ”
The Pope shushed him with a rapid gesture of the hand. “Hush. None of that now. Dancing is easy. Just move to the beat.”
He picked up his phone and began tapping furiously on the keypad. A few seconds later, a song began playing, a deep woman’s voice erupting from the speakers.
“Baci pensati e mai spesi / “Kisses thought of and never spent
Sguardi volti ad orologi appesi” / Looks turned to hanging clocks”
Vincent deposited his phone on the kitchenette counter and kicked off his shoes. He started bobbing his head and moving his arms to the rhythm of the song.
“See? Easy,” he said. “Come dance with me, Tomás!”
“Alla stazione, un'emozione / “At the station, an emotion
Alla vita che si fa sognare” / To the life that turns itself into a dream”
A bit reluctantly, Thomas placed his glass down and got up from his seat. He followed Vincent’s example and removed his shoes, socks thumping on the floorboards as he came to join the Pope at the center of the room.
At first, Thomas mimicked Vincent’s movements. A leg here, an arm raised over his shoulder. He focused on the position of his feet, careful not to slip and fall.
“Sento il suono del metallo che stride / “I hear the sound of metal grinding
Mentre passo qualcuno sorride / While I walk someone smiles
Frena il treno e mi sposta un po'” / The train brakes and moves me a bit”
“You’re too stiff,” Vincent laughed. “Relax, my dear. It’s just us.”
My dear. The fire in his chest returned in full force. Thomas smiled, his moves gaining purpose. He began swaying this way and that, humming quietly to the music.
“Adesso lo so, sto arrivando da te / “Now I know, I'm coming to you
Niente di più semplice / Nothing simpler
Niente più da chiedere” / Nothing more to ask”
Vincent grabbed Thomas’s hands. They were calloused but warm, fingers slotting perfectly in his larger palm. They moved in circle, linked together. Vincent laughed again, the sound sweet like honey, thrumming in the other man’s veins. Listening to Vincent laugh was a bit like getting drunk, except that Thomas’s head was perfectly clear, and he could bask in the moment fully.
“Rimanderò tutto a domani / “I'll postpone everything to tomorrow
Sono di carta tutti gli aeroplani / All airplanes are made of paper
Sei tu il mio re, io la tua regina / You are my king, I your queen
In un'eterna Roma” / In an eternal Rome”
“E all'aria tutti i piani / “And all plans are up in the air
Ravviciniamo i sogni più lontani / Let's bring closer the farthest dreams
Che tu lo sai che non c'è segreto per vivere a colori” / You know there's no secret to living in colours”
“Per vivere, vivere a colori / “To live, live in colours
E vivere, vivere a colori / And live, live in colours
E vivere, vivere a colori / And live, live in colours
E vivere, vivere” / And live, live”
Vincent had been right. Dancing was incredibly easy. It came to Thomas as naturally as breathing.
The low candlelight painted Vincent’s features in a portrait so beautiful he didn’t want to ever cast his gaze away. His smile held the brightness of a thousand suns. His eyes hled the richness of the earth.
Age caught up to both men. Head dizzy, Thomas drove their spinning to a stop. He looked at Vincent, really looked. Parted lips, still red from the wine. A bead of sweat rolling down his temples. Wild hair sticking in all directions.
Thomas was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kiss him.
He didn’t know why, but neither men dropped their hands as the song entered a new verse. The Dean pulled, feeling Vincent’s body following the movement. A moment of clarity allowed him to fix the trajectory in time.
Their lips didn’t meet. Instead, the two men crashed together in an unsteady embrace. Thomas wrapped his arms around Vincent’s waist. The other sighed, nuzzling his nose in the crook of Thomas’s neck. His hands came to rest on the Dean’s shoulder blades.
Thomas could feel Vincent’s heartbeat against his chest through the soft cotton of his clothes, accelerated from the physical activity. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
His scent enveloped him, incense and soap and clean laundry and something uncharacteristically Vincent. Thomas felt like the luckiest man in the world.
“E penso che tu sia un fiore / “And I think you are a flower
Di un raro colore / Of a rare colour
Che riesce a stare fermo con lo sguardo altrove / That manages to stay still with a gaze elsewhere
E oltre che tu riesci a vedere / And beyond what you can see
E oltre che tu sai sentire” / And beyond what you know how to feel”
They stayed like that, swaying to the music, listening as their heartbeats slowed down and their breathing synced.
“Amo te, niente di più semplice / “I love you, nothing simpler
Amo te, niente in più da chiedere” / I love you, nothing more to ask”
~ ❦ ~
Thomas floated outside the Santa Marta an indeterminated amount of time later. His cheeks hurt from all the smiling, and there was a certain spring to his step as he rounded a corner and entered the Gardens. Thomas didn’t want to alert any staff members of his presence, afraid they could have gotten the wrong idea at finding the Dean roaming close to the Pope’s rooms, so he’d decided to take a slightly longer route and get to the street through the Vatican Gardens.
Walking in the direction of the turtle pond, Thomas’s thoughts circled back to those fleeting moments in Vincent’s chambers, when he’d nearly pulled the Holy Father into – he shuddered at the memory – a kiss!
The Dean shook his head, sobering up. The silence of the Vatican at that late hour allowed his mind to go back to thinking rationally.
It must have been the wine, Thomas thought as gravel crunched under his shoes. Yes, perhaps I was a little bit tipsy.
He hadn’t been thinking straight, that was sure. Thomas couldn’t kiss Vincent. It was preposterous. He had no right of staining his figure like that, a soul so divine, so tenderly made.
He needed to pray, ask forgiveness to the Lord. Then, in the morning, Thomas would go looking for a confessor, someone trusted that could cleanse his mind from such improper fantasies. Perhaps he could message Aldo and see if he had a free spot in his schedule…
The threads of a conversation reached his ears, snapping Thomas out of his reveries. He stopped in his tracks, eyes scanning his surroundings.
His gaze settled on two figures, walking not too far away from him on one of the many paths that slythered around the gardens. When they stepped under a street light, their faces became clear. They were…but no, it wasn’t possible –
Am I hallucinating?
The faces belonged to Goffredo Tedesco and Aldo Bellini.
It was just the two of them. Alone. Arms linked. Walking as if everything was good in the world.
Thomas rubbed his eyes and looked again. The cardinals’ identities didn’t change.
They weren’t arguing, or shouting at each other like they did during meetings. They were talking like two civilized men. Aldo was actually smiling. As in, an actual smile, not one filled with irony or visible restraint.
Good Lord. Aldo Bellini is smiling at the Patriarch of Venice.
Tedesco took a hit of his vape, smoke rising from his lips. The sight struck a chord in Thomas’s brain.
Aldo had come to the party smelling of cherry.
Oh.
Thomas blinked, mouth falling open. The conclusion he’d come to would have been impossible, if only all the visible hints hadn’t been pointing right at it. Of course, Thomas knew of Aldo’s preference for men. He also knew many priests and cardinals often broke their vows, and with each other nonetheless. Thomas didn’t really judge. That was God’s work, not his. But to think that Aldo, with - with Tedesco...
Thomas shook his head. No, he was done thinking for the night. There was still too much wine in his circulation.
Realizing he was standing in the open and a simple turn of the head would have been enough for Aldo and Tedesco to spot him ogling, Thomas sharply turned on his heels and speed-walked to the gate near the turtle pond. Aldo was a free man, concluded the Dean. He could dedicate his affection to whoever he pleased.
Thomas set a new personal record that day, reaching his apartment in only nine minutes. He climbed the stairs instead of taking the lift to exert himself, pulled open the door and dropped jacket, phone and keys on the couch before making a beeline to his bedroom. There, he sunk to his knees in front of the crucifix and recited all his evenings prayers and the rosary twice.
Despite it all, when he came to lay in bed later, with both arms crossed over his chest, Thomas found sleep eluded him. There was a song stuck playing in his head, over and over and over…