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Juan was an idiot. If the man weren’t downstairs getting congratulated by their father right now, Cesare would’ve strangled his brother before he ever reached boot camp, much less Vietnam.
Of course this had been expected, to some degree—Juan had never been the brightest bulb of the bunch. In order to get into some university, Father would’ve needed to pull strings somewhere. So after teenaged years spent drinking too much, failing too much, and never caring about consequences, Juan had been drafted into the war. Stupid, young, virile Juan Borgia had finally gotten his number called.
Not that Cesare really loved Juan all that much. But Father was proud—stupidly proud. While Cesare was up in his room staring out the window, letting the sunset enclose his room in darkness, possibly the only one concerned in the whole damn house. Possibly the only one aware of the true casualties of war.
He grimaced as he let the curtain fabric drop from his fingers, turning away from his desk to pace the room. He had no qualms with war. In fact, Cesare had half a mind to enlist himself. The South Vietnamese needed their help to fight the Communists before a hostile takeover; it was the righteous thing to do. As much as his priest robes would disagree with the sentiment, Cesare knew a heavy hand sometimes needed to keep the peace.
But at the expense of his brother? There was a likelihood that Father’s favorite would die over there, and he’d be left without a son to carry on the family name. Father had really gotten himself in trouble with his ambitions—and perhaps it served him right. But still, Cesare would’ve taken the place of Juan in a heartbeat, if given the chance.
Which wouldn’t collude well with his studies. And Father was proud of his studies. Son of a wannabe priest, becoming a priest—oh, rich. He wanted Cesare to go far in the Church, become a businessman like his old man, except dole it out in indulgences and forgiveness.
Juan had never been the studious type, much less pious. It had to be one of them.
But Cesare wasn’t even sure he believed in God, much less the Catholic Church. If anything, he thought God might be an asshole for the all the useless wars He’d started in the previous century, carried out in His name.
War was usually a messy business with a great… cost.
Cesare sat on his bed, tempted to fret a while longer—over a matter which Father and Juan couldn’t seemingly bring themselves to worry about—when a lilt of laughter floated by his door. Light and delicate, it filtered in from a room near him, likely unintended.
Lucy. One bright spot in the respite before seminary, really. Cesare hadn’t seen Lucy in months, having missed her on Spring Break when she went on a senior trip to a sunny beach somewhere—where was it? Cesare couldn’t remember, too inundated by the image of bikinis.
Cesare put his head in his hands, definitely sighing now. The other problem, surely, was that he shouldn’t be thinking of Lucy and bikinis in the same sentence, ever.
And perhaps that’s why God was an asshole. He had surely heard Cesare’s prayers by now, a thousand times over.
If Cesare had to put his finger on the start of it, it would’ve been the summer when Lucy had been 13 and Cesare had been preparing to leave for college. The holiday had been in Palm Springs—poolside, sunshine, fun and laughter. Lucy parading out her new swimsuit alongside Giulia, giving a faux fashion show for the lot of them.
Father and Juan had clapped, giving polite admiration for the new beachwear. But Cesare had been caught by the lump in his throat, struck cold from his dip in the water. If you asked him now, he couldn’t remember what his stepmother had worn—she always went burgundy, revealing, gold on her fingers and toes.
But Lucy had worn pale blue and white polka dots. And someone should’ve pointed out that the bottom and top pieces were separate—that Lucy had been too young to wear something that almost revealed her navel, that revealed too much skin. That when her and Giulia struck a pose with bright red sunglasses, lips pouted and pursed, that it could make a man’s heart thump loudly in his chest—it made his heart stampede away from him, forgetting exactly where and who he was.
Lucy had smiled brightly, meeting Cesare’s eyes, and it had been the end of him. Also the beginning of five years of penance—five years of being convinced that becoming a priest was the safest thing for all of them, calling or not.
But Cesare stood slowly and walked to his bedroom door, putting an ear to the open crack that led to the hallway, and listened intently for any sound.
More laughter. More Lucy being Lucy, chatting on the phone with her best friend—hopefully just a best friend. Happy and momentarily oblivious to the fact that one of her brothers was going into the war, likely to die there.
Cesare wanted to lean against the wood and listen forever. He wanted to put her innocence in a time capsule, open it again when the war was over and done.
***
It would be one thing if Lucy were just beautiful. Cesare had been led into temptation several times by beautiful women—Ursula especially, with her golden hair flowing down her back, her breasts pert and beckoning his mouth. They’d take in a show at the drive-in, his fingers pulling back the edges of her cardigan, and Cesare would forget what the plot of the movie was supposedly about.
But Lucy was angelic. It was a romantic term for the harsh realities of her allure: She centered him, made his burdens non-existent. The hint of a smile pleased him immensely, her blue eyes like the stained glass of the Holy Church. Her thick blonde hair framed porcelain skin, her plush lips a tint of the Earth—she was everything Cesare could not find through reading holy scripture, but only through the soft touch of her gentle hands.
Disturbing. Lucy was not only beautiful, but dangerous to his senses.
So it was best to just ignore these things. University had done much to ease the frequency of their interactions, which helped somewhat. Holidays would be bright bursts of desire, followed by a mellowed longing as Cesare distanced himself from home. He would still correspond with Lucy—she demanded it, and there was no denying his sister—but it was one thing to hear her delicate voice, and another to feel the touch of her delicate hands.
They were close, regardless. There would be no denying that to Lucy, either.
“Ray, why are you up so early?”
Cesare had been staring at the back of the cereal box, trying to figure out exactly whether Wackies were the strange animals he was supposed to draw, or the deranged child on the front that danced a jig for the banana-flavored cereal. He hated this brand to begin with, but after skipping the celebratory dinner last night he had awoken starving and couldn’t be fussy.
It was in this hazy state of mind that Cesare looked up from the dining room table and—no. No. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t stare in awe at his little sister by the wooden banister, putting up her light blonde hair in a loose ponytail. Her arms raised above her head, lifting the white lace of her thin blouse above the hem of jean shorts, snug tight and questionably above mid-thigh.
Cesare cleared his throat and stared down at his cereal. “Still used to college.”
He swirled his spoon in the yellowed milk, trying not to flinch when Lucy leaned over to kiss his head.
“You and me both. I’d get up this early for cheerleading practice.”
Cesare closed his eyes, trying to stifle a groan—that had been an image cemented in his mind the past year, no matter how much he tried to pray it away. The gold and red of their old high school colors, now merged onto Lucy’s cheer outfit, with a bouncy skirt and white socks and pom-poms as legs kicked high in Go, Bulls!
“Is something the matter?”
Cesare lifted his head, glancing briefly as Lucy joined him at the table with an empty bowl and spoon. She grabbed the cereal box from his hands and reached across the table for the glass bottle of milk.
He tried to throw off the casual notice of her white bra through thin blouse with, “Hey, I was reading that.”
She tipped the cereal box without pity, not even throwing him a bone of apology as she poured the milk. “I hate this cereal.”
Cesare huffed a laugh. “There’s Sugar Smacks, you know. These are for Jofré.”
Lucy crunched loudly, a look of aplomb. “You hate it, too.”
Cesare shook his head and sighed, a hint of amusement left in his voice. He took another bite of the cereal, hating the sugary sweetness.
“What are you doing today, Ray?”
He had no idea. But with Lucy wearing that, it would be on the opposite side of town. “Probably seeing Mickey.” Not that he liked Micheletto.
Lucy leaned back in her chair and exhaled loudly, the heave of her chest not helping anything. “Giulia wants to go shopping to distract me, but I would rather read outside. Maybe see a movie later.”
Cesare didn’t want to think through who she’d see the movie with—not some boy who’d pull back the neckline of her blouse, not some boy who wouldn’t remember the plot of the movie either.
“Have fun,” he mumbled, not meaning it in the slightest.
But there was an electrical spark on his hand, and he looked up wildly to see Lucy’s face too close, her blue eyes too close.
“Can you come with me?” she asked sweetly, softly in the space between them.
Cesare gulped. “I don’t know your friends.”
“I didn’t ask my friends.” When Cesare didn’t immediately agree, she pouted. “Papa and Giulia are going out, and Juan is just going to drink away the rest of his time.”
But she smiled sweetly, and it was over before she even pleaded with an innocent, “Please, Ray? I've missed you.”
He nodded, unable to stop his answering smile that broadened hers.
***
Cesare didn’t see Mickey, instead running into Juan as he escaped to the ocean. Lucy was off on Rodeo Drive, likely spending half of Father’s fortune on dresses and shoes, and the sand and surfers were a nice distance away. Cesare lounged on a blanket, trying to enjoy the sun.
Juan wasn’t usually a beach bum, but he liked the amount of skin he saw there. Cesare shook his head as he saw his brother pat the round behind of a red bikini bottom.
“Hey, big brother.” Juan flopped onto a small section of blanket—small because Cesare had no intention of sharing. “What brings Ray the Holy Man to the beach?”
Cesare grimaced at the nickname. “Likely not the same reason you’re here.”
“Sure about that?” Juan rolled onto his back, hands behind his head as he closed his eyes to the sunshine. “We’re all trying to forget something.”
A stroke of pity resounded in Cesare, unannounced and unbeckoned. He knew that Juan was sometimes at the mercy of their father as much he was. Granted, Juan was a moron, but still a moron of circumstance.
“You could dodge,” Cesare murmured low, his eyes on the ocean. “I knew a guy who cut off his ring finger.”
The giggle beside him was unexpected, and Cesare looked at Juan oddly, the man still staring at the sun with eyes closed.
“And go where? And God, have you seen Canadian women?” Juan shook his head. “Too many layers, no thanks. I’d need all my fingers to peel them off.”
Cesare rolled his eyes. “So glad you have priorities in your life, Johnny.”
“Better than being stuffed in a building with a bunch of men.” Juan sat up then, looking at Cesare squarely. “You ever think about that? That you’re wasting your life with a ton of men?”
Cesare couldn’t look at him—was about to punch him, really. “No, Juan. Too busy praying to God not to shove your face in the sand.”
“If you could have freedom in your life—anything you wanted—wouldn’t you risk gunfire and certain death?” Juan leaned back on his elbows. “I don’t know, sounds like I have great priorities, to me. I get to be redeemed in Father’s eyes, then when I come home I won’t have to take his crap.”
Cesare tried to bite his cheek, but it amounted to nothing. “You can’t ride being a hero your entire life, Juan. Someday that fades and you’re just you. And when that moment comes, you’ll be reflecting on what you’ve done.”
“Shoot up a bunch of gooks in the jungle for home and country, then grab a bunch of tail when I get home?” Juan clucked his tongue. “Still don’t see a downside.”
Cesare moved to stand up. “Of course you don’t.”
“At least I’m living, Ray.” Juan stared at him with a fiery light in his eyes, reflecting the fierce gold of the sun. “At least I’m taking what I want.”
Cesare clenched his teeth, a shadow over Juan’s features. “No—no, you’re not.” He leaned closer. “You’re just scared. Scared of being broken when you get home, scared that Father won’t love you otherwise.” He felt the spittle on his lips. “That’s not taking, that’s giving all of yourself for nothing.”
Juan scrambled upwards, knocking Cesare to the sand with one swing. They scuffled and tossed each other over, rolling onto the blanket as a crowd gathered around them, voices egging them on.
Eventually they were pulled apart, and as Cesare huffed and gasped for breath, Juan spat out, “And you’re not doing the same? Hiding in a building of men?”
Cesare stood stock still, watching as Juan threw off the hands holding him, watching as Juan strode towards him with tense anger.
“Preach from the pulpit, Holy Man. But you’ll be just as broken as me.”
Cesare marched from the circle, wanting to get away before I hope you die there spilled from his lips. He didn’t mean it—not even close. But the triumphant look in Juan’s eyes often made people wish murder.
***
By the time evening rolled around, Cesare was still in a foul mood. The last thing he truly needed was to fight his desires whilst contemplating that he was living a desire-less life. He remembered Lucy's blouse from that morning, steeling himself for an inner battle.
Perhaps his rage would temper his other emotions. It made him care less about the plain black t-shirt he was wearing, instead going incredibly casual and familiar in jeans. He didn't even brush his hair back, only grabbing a leather jacket and wallet on his way to the living room.
He should've known better, however, when he saw Lucy in a paisley blue blouse that brought out her eyes and a red miniskirt that brought out the apples of her cheeks. It was obscene to immediately thank the skirt—he wanted to shake the thought from his mind.
Lucy was smiling innocently at him, sandals on and purse under her arm, clearly ready to go.
Cesare held out his arm. “Not sure I deserve such beautiful company—“ idiot, “but let’s be off.”
Lucy dipped her head closer, eyes on the front door. “Let’s escape Papa and Giulia. They’re in a sour mood.”
Perhaps it was from their usual babysitter taking the night off, or from Juan being indisposed. Whichever it was, Cesare quickly hurried them to the car and sneakily backed them out of the driveway, speeding onto the road.
Once they were on the highway, Lucy rolled down the window for the wind in her hair, the sunset framing her gold. She yelled in exhilaration, like she was free of her burdens at last.
Cesare wished he were as care-free, his desire blossoming as he was graced with her beaming smile.
***
At college, his dreams had often started out like this: Sitting alone, just the two of them, in a dark and secluded place. Lucy’s lips too close to his own, soft and beckoning, with a secret smile in her eyes. The way her hands would wander—or perhaps his would wander, taking the unspoken bait.
At the drive-in, Cesare kept his eyes firmly on the screen. He would not think about the miniskirt that ran high up Lucy’s thigh, the way he could easily slide his hand underneath to feel smooth skin. The way her head would tilt back as her eyes closed, sighing as his fingers touched the slit through her panties, soft cotton under his skin. He would not think about how hard he would get at the white expanse of neck exposed to him, how he’d want to run his lips under her jaw, tongue at the jugular.
“I don’t like this movie.”
Cesare braced himself for turning his head, knowing her lips would be pursed around a straw as she pouted at the big screen. Why was it that he had avoided being this close for so long, and yet it had not helped his resolve in the slightest?
“You picked it.” Hands at nine and three on the steering wheel, back to watching Jane Fonda in silver battling on a strange alien planet. “I wanted to see Once Upon A Time In the West.”
“I hate westerns.”
Cesare rolled his eyes—of course she did.
He dared to look at her lap, where Lucy’s empty bucket of popcorn gave him a nice excuse to get some air.
He grabbed it quickly. “Let me refill this for you.”
Cesare was so perturbed that the hand on his wrist sparked nothing, only stopping him from jerking away. Lucy grabbed the bucket back.
“Not hungry. And besides—“ she twisted in her seat, a leg folded under and jostling the skirt higher, “I just wanted to talk, anyway.”
Cesare fell back, trying not to sigh too loudly. “We could’ve talked at home. Or I could take you out to eat—“
She reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “No, this is better... nobody can listen in on us, here.”
His heart thumped loudly against his will, not wanting to know why that would matter, and also desperately wishing to hear it.
“I’m scared for Johnny,” she said softly, tilting her head to rest on the seat. “I don’t think he’ll survive over there.”
Cesare was so relieved at the words, the topic instantly deflating him. They could talk about this—talk like they used to, in whispers with heads close together. “He’s more cunning than he looks, Sis. “ Which was partially true—Juan had always been a weasel. “And he still has weeks of training yet. You never know, the war could end by then.”
Lucy quirked up a corner of her lip, but it was in bitterness. “Things are escalating over there. I doubt it’s going to end soon.” She looked out the window and muttered, "Stupid, useless war."
It had been worth a shot, despite how smart she was. “Juan wants to go.” Also partially the truth.
“Juan is an idiot.”
Cesare didn’t want to chuckle, but it was nice to be reminded that they agreed on some things. “You know as well as I do that he’ll get drunk all the time, have a gang of soldiers around him, and they’ll get through the war by the skin of their teeth.”
“With tons of women and drugs in the downtime.” Lucy said this so easily, so knowingly, that it caught his breath.
His sister was an adult—Cesare forgot that, most times. She was still supposed to be playing with dolls, not knowing that their brother couldn’t keep his pants on.
Lucy’s blue eyes flickered up to meet his, and their gazes locked in an easy transfer of thoughts. He’s an idiot, but he’s our brother. Our father would be devastated if anything happened—Father would never be the same, Jofré would have no one to idolize, Mama would be beside herself—
Cesare had to reach out—had to touch her hand on his arm, cover her fingers with his. Be calm. “It will be okay.”
At that Lucy blinked lazily, a smile genuinely appearing on her lips as she watched him, tried to believe him. “You promise?”
He couldn’t really promise, but Lucy knew that when she asked. He could only nod as he tried a reassuring smile of his own.
When Cesare kissed the top of her head, Lucy’s eyes closing at the comfort, he rubbed his cheek against her hair, not caring how it possibly looked.
***
Lucy had considered the Church for a while, going through a phase where she wanted to become a nun. Now she was more interested in History, however, and thank God—Father had been less than enthusiastic about the nun business, especially when the head of one of his companies had a young and companionable cousin to match her with.
Not that Giovanni was a prize compared to being a bride of Christ. But Cesare knew Lucy would not have made it, too free-spirited for such a cloistered lifestyle. At least with Giovanni she’d be in high society—perhaps divorce him in a few years for a good sum of money.
But while eating more Wackies at 6am on a Thursday morning, Cesare still wasn’t reassured. She was so… young. Giovanni was more his age, perhaps older. Why couldn’t they wait a few more years before inviting him over? Why did Giulia ever agree to host a dinner party tonight, a sort of meet-and-greet where hopefully they would hit it off? Why should they hit it off? Why couldn't Lucy take her time at Barnard and maybe hit it off with someone else?
Giovanni had just graduated from college, a promising future before him. They were thinking about him starting a new life, not whether Lucy might want a chance to grow up first—although most of her classmates were getting married instead of getting degrees.
Cesare chewed his bottom lip. What did Lucy want to grow up to be, anyway? How did he not know this answer; her current interests in politics and the anti-war movement, aside. Were they all that neglectful of her needs—or was it just him?
Cesare was half-dressed and unshaven in a bathrobe, daring the bannister to reveal Lucy while he grumpily ate his Wackies. Perhaps she would even be in a sheer nightgown, and the whole morning could go to hell. Lusting over a lamb to the slaughter—God really did have a sense of humor.
But at 7am Cesare went upstairs for a shower, trying to think how he could possibly pass the day without strangling anyone.
***
“It’s an honor to meet you, Son. You do us all a great service by going over there and protecting our country.”
Cesare spared a glance at Lucy, who was also nervously watching Mr. Sforza shake hands with their brother. Middle-aged, conservatively dressed in a slate blue suit, there was nothing remarkable about the man. Yet Mr. Sforza exuded an aura that commanded caution, and Cesare was most definitely on edge.
Juan only gave a false, brave smile, the one he’d been wearing all week. “Just happy to do my part.”
“Juan’s a strong boy—he’ll be indispensable to the front.” Father steered Mr. Sforza from the entryway, bringing him over to Lucy with a broad grin. “This is my lovely daughter, Lucrezia.”
Mr. Sforza seemed to agree, his hazel eyes roving her form as he smiled. Cesare bit back a snarl, wishing Lucy had worn a parka instead of the beautiful, form-fitting floral dress.
But as always, Lucy was incredibly polite.
“Thank you for coming to dinner.” There was even a slight bow of her head, which Cesare wanted to take back—he had a feeling Mr. Sforza didn’t deserve it.
Or perhaps that was just him. Possibly just him, as everyone else was smiling pleasantly during their introductions, not seeing anything wrong.
“And this is Cesare.” Nothing elaborate from Father; the usual. But Cesare grimaced a smile and stuck out his hand, finding Mr. Sforza’s grip firm and assured.
“He’s leaving for the seminary in a month,” Father said warmly, and Mr. Sforza grinned in ahh. “He has done well at Harvard.” Father gave a small smile. “He makes me proud.”
It was perhaps the first time his father had ever said such, and Cesare found himself taken aback. In all of his 23 years—with all that Father commanded of Cesare as “the eldest”—it was a smack of validation, leaving him stunned. Which held its purpose, holding Cesare back in uncertainty as Father and Mr. Sforza passed him for the lit dining room, where Giulia was setting up appetizers and drinks.
Cesare felt a tug on his elbow.
“Ray?” Lucy said softly, and it brought him back into the world; her blue eyes a beacon to follow her. Everyone else was chatting in the next room, and only Lucy had waited for him.
Cesare narrowed his eyes—funny that Giovanni was trailing after his older cousin, not taking the chance to say hello to Lucy himself. Perhaps it was because he already had a preview of the main course, now choosing to take his time in whether or not to indulge. Which clenched something in Cesare, an indescribable anger at the—the arrogance. But Lucy started guiding him by the inner elbow and he found himself following, trying to stuff his feelings out of politeness.
Which didn’t last long. Considering the attitude of the Sforzas, maybe the evening hadn’t stood a chance.
“Perhaps we should barrel them down in the streets,” Mr. Sforza said calmly—which he said all things, really—followed by a forkful of lamb. “There is a lack of respect in this generation. Not only for our boys overseas, but also to our government.”
“Here, here,” Father said, cutting into his slice of meat on delicate china.
Mr. Sforza turned to Juan. “Giovanni would have enlisted himself, if not for the asthma. It has haunted him ever since—he admires the war effort. Don’t you, Giovanni?”
The pale man side-eyed the table, a look of irritation at being called upon. “Yes,” he answered smoothly, a note of pure aloofness that likely put off other people—yet made Cesare want to press buttons.
Besides wanting to point out that Juan had been fucking drafted, Cesare said, “The escalation is a concern, however.” And before Juan could open his mouth and butt in, “You know anyone in the war, Giovanni?”
Giovanni only leaned forward, bushy eyebrows still stoic and unexpressive, with his steady gaze leveled as he said, “No.”
“Then I suppose the casualty of human life—protestor or soldier—would be a light matter to both of you. A sport, even.”
Mr. Sforza only stared for a moment in amazement, then laughed—an outright, humoring laugh. “Says the priest at the table.”
Juan and Father joined in on the laughter, with even Giovanni giving a quirk of the mouth.
But Cesare would not feel humiliated. Not by these fools. Even with Juan patting him on the back, about to say something he thought to be witty to diffuse the moment—only for him to be interrupted again.
“It’s one thing to fight a just war, and another to justly protest a false one.”
The laughter stopped. Cesare turned his head to stare—partially in admiration, partially to gape at Lucy as she sat primly, properly, with a look of determination in her bright eyes as she glared at everyone at the table.
Father coughed. “Well, my dear—you are young. As such, you have no proper perspective on these things.”
But Lucy was not deterred, answering coolly, “I have perspective to know whether my brother would die a hero or be mocked as one.”
Juan fell back in his chair, as if hit, while Father clenched his fists.
“Such talk—“
“Someone had to say it,” Cesare bit out, refusing for Lucy to get the brunt of criticism. “Let’s not mince words or make them pretty. We know it’s tough over there. It isn’t glorious, whether the war is right or wrong. Juan is going to step into a landmine—“
“Enough!”
“And we shouldn’t be beating our chests, forgetting the costs the war has given us!” Cesare raised his voice at Father’s angry face, unwilling to back down. “I know five classmates—five—who have not come home, whose parents are still mourning.” He looked at Mr. Sforza. “Nobody is bragging over there, and neither should we.”
“That’s enough, and you have gone too far—“
As Cesare took in a harsh breath and waited to be thrown out on account of Mr. Sforza’s red face, Lucy stood up next to him and threw her napkin on her full and untouched plate.
“That’s not too far, Papa—that’s being right.”
And before Cesare could tug Lucy’s sleeve, or coax her to sit back down, she ran out of the room—not looking back at the scene of their parent’s embarrassment, or of Mr. Sforza wanting to call it a night.
Cesare looked at Giovanni, whose face was filled with disgust—and that was the last straw for him. At least, if Cesare wanted to prevent murdering anyone.
He stood up and threw his own napkin down. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Cesare didn’t bother to see if Father had even heard him, walking out the front door to find Lucy already half-way down the block.
***
There was something fierce and dangerous about Lucy angry, despite her expensive rose-printed dress, or the delicate red heels she was chucking off. She didn’t care whether her shoes landed in the mud as she stomped down the road, but Cesare scrambled after them, knowing his tornado would miss them later.
“Lucy!”
She stalked aimlessly in bare feet as the sun set to dusk, with only houselights guiding her way. She didn’t say a word, her arms crossed tight on her chest as she ignored him.
“Lucy—Lucy,” Cesare repeated softly once he caught up to her, shoes in the crook of his arm. “Slow down, my love.”
She took a stuttering breath, chest heaving as she fought emotion. “I can’t stand them.”
Cesare didn’t even take a moment to be relieved, trying to match pace. “I know.”
“They were so boastful.”
“They were awful,” Cesare agreed, and that caused Lucy to glance at him.
“Arrogant.”
“The worst.”
“But Juan and Papa liked all the praise.”
“Because it’s the only sort of praise they ever get.”
They reached the end of the suburban block, the corner shrouded by a hedge of trees in someone’s darkened lawn.
She paused, confronted by the intersection, and Cesare was able to stand in front of her. His arms held out the red shoes as he tried to be patient, countering Lucy’s wet eyes with a soft, “Put these back on. Your feet must be cold.”
Lucy’s eyes flickered between his and the shoes, and she shook her head as she took them back. “Silly, I didn’t wear them for warmth.”
“Hopefully you regret wearing them for Giovanni, then,” Cesare said wryly, watching the smooth skin slip into shiny red.
Lucy smiled up at him then, coy and in better humor. “I didn’t wear them for him, either.”
Cesare took a deep breath, not wanting to press the point. Instead he turned her shoulders, urging her to go back to the house. “I don’t blame you for walking out, but we should probably say goodnight.”
Lucy pouted as she wrapped arms around herself, but she followed. “Any chance they might have left already?”
“Why? We were so hospitable.”
Lucy giggled, and the air around them was less tense as the world darkened, with children yelling and playing in the background as they also made their way home.
Cesare gave her a sideways glance, enjoying the quiet between them. Lucy usually wore a red cardigan with this white dress of roses, but now her arms were bare and showing porcelain, the neckline plunging into lace.
She shivered, and Cesare wished he hadn’t worn a sweater vest—they looked horribly dumb, anyway.
“Here,” he said as he scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You ran out without a sweater, I ran out with a doofus sweater.”
“The maroon looks good on you,” she said as she sniffled, her head tucked into his arm as he rubbed her skin for warmth. “Giovanni wore a suit and tie—where did he think he was going?”
“He was meeting you,” Cesare said softly, not wanting it to be true.
Lucy scoffed at the idea. “I can’t stand him. I know Papa is keen on us, but—he looks at me like a wolf, Ray, and not even in a good way. Like he would chew me and spit me out, then use me to climb up the food chain.”
Like Cesare had thought many times before, Lucy was too smart for her own good—yet, perhaps in this case, it was likely for the best.
“I doubt he would let me go to college—not that Papa really wants me in college, either.” Her gaze dropped to the ground, watching their feet. “He wants so much for me, for all of us—yet it’s the worst for all of us. Why are we always doing what he wants? Poor Juan is going off to war and not to Canada—you’re going into the Church—and it’s all because of him.”
It stung a little, to be so harshly pinned by Lucy. “It’s not the middle ages, you know. You don’t have to do anything.”
“But we still do. We all know that logically, but we’re still at his beck and call.” Lucy pulled away from his arm and met his eyes, her face still so close to his. “Why do we do it? Why can’t we just—I don’t know—run away? Defy everything he wants.”
Cesare found himself leaning down to meet that frantic gaze, her eyes imploring him for the truth. A truth which Cesare was sure he didn’t know—or didn’t want to know.
“Because that’s how we live.” Which was weak, but Cesare needed to say it anyway. “Even Giovanni has the same rules—you saw his face at the table. You think he likes being told what to do? It’s not just our father, we’re all too scared to buck the status quo.”
Lucy’s eyes dimmed, as if hurt, and there was a moment where Cesare irrationally felt like he had betrayed her, despite it being the truth.
The truth—it kept coming back to that. But did it necessarily have to be their truth?
And Lucy seemed to follow it all, her gaze burrowing into him and his thoughts as they stood in the street. Cesare wanted to warn that they were too close together, like illicit lovers in the night, but he felt stripped bare. He swallowed, not wanting to confess that his mind was unraveling.
Lucy watched the movement of his throat, then whispered, “Let’s be the first. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Cesare blinked. “Huh?”
She gripped his bicep, her touch unexpectedly warm and setting fire through shirt to skin. “Let’s get in your car and run away. Right now. Just for tonight.”
Cesare wanted to point out that it was silly for a night. Was that even technically running away? And they would worry their parents, and they would have no place to stay—and what would people say, with their embarrassing questions that made Father look bad?
And yet… perhaps that was the point.
Cesare felt the keys weighing heavy in his pocket, in their rightful place near his wallet, and in a rash moment he turned Lucy towards home. There were no words, and she didn’t look confused—their pace quickened as they reached Cesare’s blue Volvo in the driveway, silent next to their father’s imposing Cadillac.
Cesare reached the passenger side, his trembling fingers lifting the handle as he heard the door rip open behind him.
“Cesare, where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Cesare ushered Lucy inside and closed the passenger door, meeting her determined gaze through the window. He minutely nodded, stirred by the resolution in her eyes—they were going to do this, this no-small rebellion.
“Where are you taking Lucrezia? She doesn’t need to be out right now, it’s too late—“
Yet as Cesare opened the driver’s side and stared down Father’s glare, the old man stopped mid-sentence, as if choked.
Perhaps Cesare did look that murderous.
He got in quickly, slamming the car door hard enough to rock the frame, then methodically started the engine and left it all behind.
***
Why had they never done this? It was so peaceful at night. With Lucy leaning into his shoulder, her legs tucked under her on the bench seat, as they drove the scenic highways. Freedom and serenity, tinged with rebellion—everything seemed more beautiful, crisp, meaningful. Even the moon held symbolism and felt like an approving guardian, lighting their way into a brand new world.
Lucy shivered with the car window rolled down, the wind tussling wisps of her light blonde hair across her forehead. Cesare could not stop staring, wanting to reach out and tuck strands behind her ear—wanting to touch and warm the skin.
Perhaps this was dangerous in more ways than one.
They stopped at a quiet intersection, and Cesare decided he needed to throw off the sweater vest—screw decency when they could be driving all night. He tossed the maroon sweater in the backseat, his hands tugging at his chambray collar as he drove on. He had buttoned the damn shirt to his neck, the tiny buttons unyielding to clumsy fingers.
Lucy reached for them. “Let me.”
Her fingers were nimble, delicate, as they deftly exposed his neck to the windy night; her fingertips touching the hem of his white undershirt.
Oh, God. Hear his prayers now. They were alone on this cold evening, tensions running high, and her skin was silky smooth.
Lucy let her fingers drop, hands curling around his waist as she leaned into his shoulder once more. It was precarious, this thin ledge he was perched upon—her hands and arms that close to his lap, where he could feel himself stirring from blatant affection.
This would not be that sort of night. They were just kids rebelling quietly, and he wouldn’t ruin that for them.
“I love you, Ray,” Lucy said softly, meekly, her words almost stolen by the open window.
It plucked strings in his chest, and Cesare kissed the top of her head. “Love you too, Sis.”
There was no space between them, their sides firmly pressed together. But Lucy still raised a hand to point out a scenic viewpoint. “Stop here—the city lights are so pretty.”
No one was there on a Thursday night, and—oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Cesare did her bidding, despite all the warning bells in his head. Or perhaps they were stoplights on the racetrack—red, yellow, go.
And it was beautiful, just like Lucy said, their car parked above the valley. But Cesare was staring at her, just like she was at him. Perhaps with the same sense of fear and uncertainty, the same sense of razor sharp optimism that could cut them or finally set them free.
Lucy whispered, because she was always the bravest, “Maybe I can still be a nun. Then I could join you, and we could always be together.”
It was a wonderful thought. But Cesare smiled patiently, knowing he could never do that to Lucy—his Lucy.
“I don’t want to cage you.”
And impossibly, dangerously, she leaned closer—her breath on his face, sweet and beckoning. “You don’t cage me—you could never cage me, Ray. It’s only with you I can be myself… I will never love anyone as much as you, Cesare.”
He was still afraid, still pulling back with the churning feeling in his gut, when Lucy leaned even closer and kissed him. A soft press of lips, chaste, which a hand-wave could explain as innocent and sisterly.
But it was Cesare that pressed their mouths together again with something else. A fierceness had washed over him, as if the contact had broken a dam that flooded emotions in his body, overcoming doubt and concern. A pilot light had exploded in his brain, making everything so warm, so feverish—he breathed into Lucy’s mouth, wanting to pillage inside and take and take and take before she came to her senses. Or even worse, before he would kiss and take and then change his feeble and hopeless mind—the mind that now made his tongue part her lips, dipping within.
But Lucy only fumbled for his hand, placing it high on her waist, where his thumb moved over a red band of ribbon below her breasts. His chest heaved at the thought, and he leaned into her, pressing her further into the leather bench seat. Cesare couldn’t get enough, and Lucy sighed and made tiny noises to excite him, which made logic fly out the windows and into the night.
He reached to angle her head, mouthing her jaw and ear, smelling her pulse point and clean hair—was there anything awful about Lucy? Her skin smooth beneath his lips, dry skin now wetted with kisses. Cesare could languish there forever, just tasting and listening to Lucy breathe quickly and shallowly, overcome by him. But as Cesare moved further down, watching as Lucy’s small hands brushed the straps off her shoulders, exposing a modest white bra—he was awfully aroused, about to break out of his skin. His fingers shook as he reached up and wanted to cup her in his hands, unbelieving what he saw, even as Lucy pressed into him and fit perfectly in his palm.
She was so soft and inviting, and they fell back against the bench seat, awkwardly on top of each other until he moved between her legs. It was so natural, as if it he were meant to be there—his hips responding with slow, shallow thrusts, her body arching to meet him. He mouthed the small dip between her breasts, moving over to mouth a clothed nipple. Her breathy moan made anything possible, his body wanting more, more, more.
He tried to throw off the straps of her bra, but she broke a kiss to giggle at the futility of it. Lucy was irresistible, her smile chastising him as she sat up to unhook herself—and strangely, the sudden pause changed nothing. Cesare saw the windows half-covered in steam, the fact that they were still pulled off on the highway, and it was his chance to cool off. But instead as Lucy’s dusky nipples came into view and she pulled his head down, he was only mellowed to continue exploring her, to continue tasting and sampling everything she wished to give him.
Lucy’s small chest pushed into him as he took a nipple between his lips, tongue flicking over the nub to make her sigh. His eyes closed involuntarily, enjoying being this close, hands braced on either side of her. Cesare slowly moved to the other nipple, trailing his tongue with a wet stripe that brought goosebumps. Now that they were really doing this he wanted her to feel good, feel intense desire—if there would be regrets, it would not be from lack of pleasure.
Cesare kept mouthing her breasts as his hands reached further below, wondering if he should, if he should even dare. His hands went up her thighs and her knees bent willingly, her legs further parting. He could smell their combined arousal, his hips still involuntarily thrusting.
But oh, oh—he groaned as his fingers touched her panties, the slit of them soaked and hinting entrance, and he so wanted to enter. Take her completely, make her his. Make that plush and generous mouth of hers form an O of satisfaction.
But Cesare caught Lucy’s eyes—dark in the night, dilated and watchful of his every move. Time seemed to stop as they stared, his hips stilling as he wanted her to say something, anything. They had gone so far already, but if she wanted, he would pull back the world. It was one thing to kiss, and another to claim her—another thing to completely lose her trust.
But her fingers reached up to touch his face—I love you, she mouthed solemnly. He could only mouth it back, wanting to kiss her firmly, when her hands reached down to push off her panties. One leg went over his head and to the side, and then there was a mad rush when the garment was thrown off and he moved between her legs again, her hands on his belt to feel his desire.
Her hands on him—every touch was a warm spark inciting him further. Lucy’s hands pushed down his pants, his boxers, her fingers on the skin of his ass, indenting with her fingernails.
Cesare lined himself up, closing his eyes as he tried to retain some semblance of control. He wanted to thrust deep, hard, right to the hilt. He wanted to make her scream, make her arch into him as they smacked bodies together.
But he opened his eyes as he slowly entered, watching Lucy’s face. She looked mildly uncomfortable, but when he stopped she hissed and cursed at him to keep going. Cesare had always worried whether she had been with someone else, but now when he found no resistance he was almost glad—glad that whatever happened, at least she wouldn’t hate him for stealing her innocence. She was tight, warm, enveloping—and when Lucy’s nails dug into skin to make him sink further, he had no regrets when his hips snapped, thrusting in and out.
One of her legs touched the floor as another rested on top of the bench seat, with Cesare’s arms braced on either side of her as he moved deeper and deeper. He watched Lucy’s face, her full lips giving him breathy moans and groans and high-pitched yeahs when he hit a new angle. Cesare wanted to capture this moment forever—perhaps the only one he’d ever get—of Lucy so completely dissembled, her nipples hard and demanding his mouth, her skin white and porcelain in the low light.
He leaned down to taste her again, shallowly thrusting and feeling the build-up. He didn’t want it to be over, it was too soon, he wanted Lucy to come for him mouthing his name—but as he straightened again it was inevitable, a cup flowing over.
“I need to pull out—“
“No—“
“I—“
He was almost too late, white pulsing onto his hand and on the silk slip of her dress. He shivered as the release bloomed throughout him, tingling his skin.
Cesare breathed heavy, staring at all of it, the coldness of reality sinking in—then over at Lucy, with her legs still parted and her arms raised. His mind wanted to go into shock, but instead his hands and mouth took over, and thank God—if He were listening, Cesare’s lips beneath Lucy’s dress were a gift of divine inspiration.
She tasted so damn good everywhere. When she came, Cesare’s tongue dipped to fuck her, to make sure she had come as hard as he had. Only Lucy’s fingers tugging his hair made him stop his licking and sucking, made him look up to finally fall into beckoning arms.
Her dress felt scratchy against his bare legs, but it didn’t matter at all. Cesare lay on top of her, her legs entangling with his, and Lucy kissed his shoulder as he breathed in her neck.
Her hair was still so clean, her skin so smooth. Cesare closed his eyes at the sensations, fighting the currents facts that threatened to clog his brain and demand answers. But instead his breathing slowed, matched Lucy’s, and they lightly dozed and forgot the world.
***
In dreams they were heroes. They would wake up to find the world brand new, their confidence strengthened, their bond cemented in the face of Father and everyone they knew. There would be bravery in waking up and starting a new life, unashamed of who they were. Bravery in waking up and seizing this new lease on their destinies, running off together and starting anew.
And maybe part of that would be the elusive truth. But mostly, Cesare woke up with a pounding headache and with no clue on what to do.
***
The sun was hinting the horizon when Lucy finally stirred to consciousness. It had been an inevitable moment, one Cesare had been contemplating for several hours beforehand. His head still rested on her barely-covered breasts—he had found the discarded sweater vest to give her some modesty—but mostly his touch still craved that silky smooth skin, her light scent, the soft fullness of her body in his arms.
He was supposed to wake up and feel immense regret and guilt, he was sure of it. But Cesare watched as Lucy turned her groggy eyes towards him, blinking herself to awareness, and he waited to see how she would react.
There were so many options. One of them being surprise and disgust, where she would demand to be taken home immediately to find some peace and personal space. Or even worse, they would never be the same again—she would refuse to speak with him, perhaps blaming him for their lapse in judgment, his inability to rein himself in.
Or, they would recover, but Cesare would pine away forever while Lucy tried to forget. Forget perhaps the most beautiful moment in his life—saccharine sentimentality, but still the truth—and he would never be the same, never find anyone else to match his dear sister. No one his body seemed to connect with so passionately, that engaged all his senses and emotions. Sex had never felt like that before—love had never felt like that before.
But to Cesare, it seemed like all the options of that love led to pain. Maybe that was the price of it all. Costly, but worth the startling clarity—worth the act of Fate shoving him down one fork in the road, when before he had wavered in endless indecision.
So he held his breath as Lucy twisted in his arms, preparing himself for the worst.
Her body didn’t lean away, instead making the sweater vest fall between them as she turned to face him, her mouth so close to his. Her breasts pressed against his chest as Cesare’s hands smoothed across her waist, as Lucy’s lips met his without hesitation.
Cesare sighed into her mouth, an act of relief as she still didn’t pull away, still continued with her lips on his, her legs entangling bare limbs. He tightened his grip on her waist and pressed her flush against him, an irrational desire to never let her go, not even for a moment.
But Lucy giggled, pulling away and angling their foreheads together. “Ray, I have to pee.”
There was a pause as Cesare looked at her, blue eyes meeting his earnestly. Her fingertips played with the hem of his white undershirt, her skin the first to feel his body shaking from hysterical laughter.
He rolled over, hands covering his face as it kept bubbling up, tumbling past sputtering lips as he tried to rein it in; tried very hard not to laugh as Lucy kept poking him and asking, “Ray—Ray? What is it? What’s so funny?”
There was still a giggle in her voice too, which didn’t help matters. But eventually Cesare gestured into the air, complaining towards the ceiling, “God, Lucy—my love—this is our first morning together, after committing an unspeakable act, and the first thing you say to me is I have to pee.”
A whining giggle left his mouth, unbeckoned, but this time Lucy’s body shook too—her giggle rumbling into full-out laughter, contagious as they both started laughing uncontrollably, loudly, falling into each other as it started to become painful, but with neither able to stop.
Lucy coughed, her fingers trailing his jaw as she watched him, trying hard to breathe. But eventually she asked meekly, disguised lightly, “Is it really an unspeakable act, Ray?”
Despite her attempt at levity, the question was still sobering. Cesare cleared his throat and tried to stuff his giggles, but mostly tried to find a good answer.
His hands tightened their grip on her waist. “How many siblings do you know that are lovers?”
Cesare swallowed, his eyes watching the act of contemplation on Lucy’s face. This would be it, wouldn’t it? The moment where Lucy realized what exactly they had done.
But she shrugged. “Just us.”
Just us. That was hinting at a continuation, wasn’t it?
“So…” Cesare tried to find the right words, tried to pluck the best ones from his brain. “That kind of says something.”
But Lucy pressed her lips against his, her only answer to that statement. Cesare let himself fall into it, his tongue meeting hers as their mouths opened, gentle and tender with affection.
He would never tire of kissing her, Cesare was certain. But Lucy pulled away again with a huff.
“I really have to pee, though.”
Cesare rolled his eyes—yeah, that, and him too. But Lucy probably wouldn’t go in the bushes.
He sat up reluctantly, his body aching and protesting the movement, and settled behind the wheel. He saw his keys still dangling from the ignition, and he hunched over as he started the car, trying to regain his bearings.
Which were immediately lost when he turned his head and watched Lucy pull herself together. Her long hair was all over the place, but he still saw her hands twisting and tugging at her bra, then pulling up the straps of her dress. She looked rumpled and disheveled in the orange-tinted morning light, but—but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her face taking on a glow as the sun finally met them on the cliff.
They both watched the sunrise for a moment, letting it reveal their car to the city below. Then Cesare shifted gears and pulled them onto the highway, the cold wind stinging them as they headed back to the real world.
***
His hands shook as he looked at the map stand, his momentary diversion as he waited for Lucy to be done in the gas station bathrooms. He turned the carousel once, then twice, his eyes unable to settle on any of the states.
Then a dainty hand reached from behind him, plucking a road map of the entire United States. Cesare’s gaze settled on Lucy’s still rumpled form as she unfolded the paper, letting half of it fall to the ground as she turned it this way and that, peering at it curiously.
The cashier also watched her avidly—especially watched as she absent-mindedly headed towards the doors—and Cesare pulled out his wallet to lay down a dime quickly, then followed.
What on earth was she thinking? They had to go back and face the wrath of Father, now. A map probably wouldn’t help matters.
“The grand canyon isn’t that far away,” she muttered, spreading the map on the roof of his car. “We could make it by the evening.”
Cesare felt words clog his throat. He wanted to say Yes Yes Yes, but knew he’d have to say No.
Instead he eked out, “Your things, Sis. We still have to go home and get your things.” Which seemed like a kind way to reintroduce reality, a gentle nudge that hell still awaited both of them.
But Lucy only hummed as she attempted to refold the map, failing miserably to follow the creases. “Oh, I know. We should probably stay for another week. Have enough time with Juan and Jofré—Papa and Giulia, too.” She turned towards him with a bright smile, patting his cheek. “But then we can be on our way. I bet we can travel to all sorts of places before I have to settle at Barnard.”
Cesare wondered how he looked as the panic shot throughout him, like a dart in his bloodstream that sent black spots behind his eyes. He just loved Lucy so much, and—oh God, it was really happening. He would not only get Lucy, he would not have to go to seminary. Not only miss seminary, but Lucy could also escape fate and go to college. They would run away and settle in New York—and oh hell, he’d have to figure out a job, a place for them to live, how they would eat and pay rent and—
Lucy’s eyes met his as she gripped his shoulders, helped him to stand by leaning against the car. But instead of worry or regret, she only had a patient smile for him.
Be calm. Everything will be all right.
Cesare took a deep breath, finding resolve when he realized that the world actually hadn’t ended. That despite sleeping with his sister, planning to leave the Church and defying Father, they were both still standing and making plans.
He tried on a smile, and was surprised when it came easily.
“I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon,” Cesare said softly, then leaned down to meet Lucy for a kiss.