The Mosaic

Chapter 45 | Ghosts of Men

Dedicated to the wonderful RGSkyRusher for being so kind and helping me with the Italian for this story! They're super kind and amazing - thank you so much!

Alessandro should have never learned how to speak.

Wherever, whenever he opened his mouth, he caused damage left and right. He wouldn't apologize for the truth. But the few times he wanted to -- he made it worse.

The hurried clicking of heels on marble rushed away from Alessandro.

"Lorenzo!" Alessandro cursed in Hebrew when the steps stuttered for a second, then raced on twice as fast. He hated cursing. It signified a lack of control over both oneself and the situation. Maybe Giacinto was right -- he was a control freak.

The chaos in his mind battled the one in his chest -- half of him wanted to know more, dig a little deeper, the other half hissed he should be ashamed and comfort the man. "Lorenzo!" The younger man twisted between two columns, slipping out into another yard.

Maybe Lorenzo wanted to be caught. Maybe he didn't want to be alone. Not really admitting it or even stopping -- but giving Alessandro the chance to catch up. "Lorenzo!" Alessandro grabbed his arm, pulling them both to a sudden halt.

Lorenzo's shoulders slumped. He gave a weak yank, tugging his arm close. The velvet of his doublet slipped through Alessandro's fingers.

"Lorenzo." Alessandro reached out again, but dropped his hand in the last moment. A weight settled in his chest, dragging him down -- how was he supposed to fix this? What should he say? "I'm sorry." For what? For what happened to Lorenzo? For bluntly telling everyone?

Lorenzo turned around with a defeated sigh. "It's alright." The spark was gone from his eyes. Something was wrong with that, a sea without any reflection. It was unsettling, the feeling of something missing, something shifted churning deep in Alessandro's stomach-- this wasn't Lorenzo. Not the Lorenzo he knew. Not the Lorenzo he wanted.

He blamed the heavy weight on his chest on the guilt -- he was the reason Lorenzo was like this. The other option was far more frightening. Was he bothered by it, simply because he liked the other's smile? That would require an uncommon amount of affection. It certainly wasn't affection.

"I--" Alessandro started. "When I was eight, my parents threw a ball. They made me wear this weird pelt cloak, I looked ridiculous," he chuckled. It really had been a hideous thing. He had been drowning in fur, like a tiny version of an English king. "The duke was there."

Lorenzo's jaw tensed. He held himself very still, too still, like he didn't trust himself to whip around and run off any second.

"Not your uncle," Alessandro quickly added. "His predecessor. It was before he got elected. I had snuck away from my chaperone. So I went right up to the duke and asked in all earnest why his wife wanted to undress one of the guards."

Lorenzo's face twisted, lips struggling for a second before a tiny laugh escaped him. "You didn't. In front of the duke?"

Alessandro scratched the back of his neck. "How was I supposed to know that was supposed to be a secret? I was a kid," he defended himself. "I thought he knew!"

"Why would he know?" Lorenzo stared at him as if he had grown donkey ears.

"It seemed obvious to me. I was just curious," Alessandro said. "They should be glad I didn't ask more. There was more."

"You're terrible!"

Alessandro felt a lot prouder than he should for Lorenzo's small smile. Cut it out. "I wasn't allowed to anymore events until I was fifteen," Alessandro chuckled.