The Pairing(103)

“Uh—sure,” I say, barely hearing him.

He sets the oil beside his mother’s mixing bowl and takes in my expression, then reaches out with easy affection to stroke my cheek.

“When I met Valentina,” he says, “there was another man who loved her. He was the son of a rich man, with a good job close to home, and her mother liked him very much and me not at all, so I believed she will be happier with him. So, when he tells her he loves her, she says to me, ‘Fabrizio, what should I say?’ And I tell her, ‘I want you to be happy.’ And when he asks her to marry him, she says to me, ‘Fabrizio, what should I say?’ And again I tell her, ‘I want you to be happy.’ And the night before her wedding, she comes to my door, and she says to me, ‘Fabrizio, what should I do?’ And I tell her again, ‘I want you to be happy.’ And she says to me, ‘Fabrizio, idiota, all I ever want is to be happy with you.’”

The oven dings, preheated.

“What I mean is, if I say how I feel sooner, Valentina’s father does not have to tell the priest why his daughter is not coming to her wedding,” Fabrizio says with a grin. “It was not for me to protect her from my heart. It was only for me to let her see it and decide if she will keep it.”

He glugs oil into the bowl and takes the whisk from my hand, replacing it with a well-seasoned wooden spoon. I should start folding if I want the batter to come together. But I’m frozen on the spot, overpowered by the plain truth. Maybe it’s not a matter of whether I deserve to tell them. Maybe it’s that they deserve to know.

From the balcony, laughter grows. The door slides open.

“I will say one more thing,” Fabrizio adds in a low voice. “How Valentina looked at me the night before her wedding—this is how Theo looks at you.”


Near midnight, full of wine and olives and cake, Theo and I call a cab back to the hostel. We make it two blocks before we dissolve into long-delayed, incredulous laughter.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Theo says, wiping their eyes.

“I think we might be friends for life? With Fabrizio? Somehow?”

“What the fuck.” They smooth a hand down their face. “God, this whole competition was so . . . stupid. We’re being stupid, aren’t we?”

“It definitely hasn’t been my finest work,” I say. “Sexually, yes, but not intellectually.”

“It’s stupid,” Theo concludes. “And it’s immature. We’re adults.”

“That’s what I keep hearing.”

Theo shakes their head. “But when I first saw you in London, it was like I was an insecure twenty-two-year-old again.”

Ever since they crashed in that first day, I’ve wondered what they felt when they saw me. I didn’t want it to be that, but it’s nice to be reminded that they never hated me. They still thought enough of me to care what I thought of them.

“When I saw you, I thought I was dreaming,” I confess. “I couldn’t possibly get that lucky.”

Theo frowns like they don’t understand.

“Lucky?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to make things right,” I say. Afraid of giving myself too much credit, I add, “And I don’t know if I have, but—”

“I think so,” Theo cuts me off with a small smile. “I mean, it’s a process, or whatever. But I’m not mad at you anymore. It wasn’t one person’s fault.”

“That’s good,” I say, warmth pooling in my chest. I wish I could dip their fingers inside me and let them feel it. I settle for confessing something else, pouring a little out. “The competition . . . when you suggested it, I said yes because it was an excuse to keep talking to you. That was all I really wanted. Although I did enjoy the sex.”

“I . . . I didn’t understand it when we started, but I think I wanted to prove I was over you,” Theo says. “To you, and to myself. And maybe I wanted to make you jealous.”

“Why?”

“Because of this thing I have where I need to win the breakup, which I’ve realized is meaningless,” Theo admits. “It doesn’t leave room for me to care about you as a person. I don’t want to not care. I want you to be happy.”

I watch the traffic lights change in the reflection of Theo’s eyes and think of Fabrizio’s story. All I ever want is to be happy with you.

“I’m happy right now,” I say.

Theo nods. “I’m happy you’re happy.”

I feel it in the pit of my stomach: Fabrizio is right. I have to say it. Theo should know they have a choice.

I love them. I should tell them. I’ll tell them in Palermo.

“So, should we call it off?” I ask. “The competition?”

“Yeah.” Theo nods. “Cut it loose.”

“Okay.” I make a sweeping, pinching gesture in front of my face like I’m pulling some invisible mask away from it, and cast it off into the air. “Done.”

Theo’s brows draw in realization.

“Was that the thing from Face/Off?”

I smile. I knew they’d like it. “That was the thing from Face/Off.”

“God,” they groan, grinning, throwing their head against the headrest. “One of the greats.”