Work Text:
“You will be staying with your Aunt this summer.”
Pinocchio had just swallowed a spoonful of soup, when his father had shared the news. The brisk undertone in the man’s voice boomed against the ebony wood of the dining table, rattling his spoon between his teeth. An impressive spread of dishes lined the table that evening, prepared with the finest ingredients, fitting for the lavish estate of Sir Giuseppe Geppetto.
But from across the table – as miniscule as it was – Pinocchio’s eyes spotted a twitch in his twin brother, Carlo’s, left shoulder, as he buttered a fresh slice of bread. A smile touched the corner of the other boy’s mouth, as he replied, “Yes, Papà.”
The old man gave a stern nod. “I will be away on important business for the next two weeks. Pulcinella has packed your things, and the coachman will be taking you to Antonia’s estate, first thing in the morning.” He gripped the knife in his hand with militant precision, as he sliced a piece of baked fish on his plate. “I trust that you both will be well-behaved?”
That smile on Carlo’s face grew bigger, stretching into a pleasing grin. “Of course, Papà. Always.”
Pinocchio said nothing, as he lifted his napkin and carefully wiped at his mouth.
***
It had become a standard routine for them. In autumn, winter, and spring, they would attend the prestigious Monad House Academy, a high-ranked all-boys boarding school, where they were instructed in the finer arts, Latin, and arithmetic. Then during the balmy summer, they would spend their days at the charming estate of their Aunt, Lady Antonia Cerasani.
The Cerasani family were one of the founding families of Krat, and Antonia had been married to the twins’ Uncle, the late Sir Polendina Cerasani. According to their understanding, Polendina was their mother’s eldest sibling, and he would always welcome them to the estate with warm hugs – and even warmer cups of cocoa. They had incredibly fond memories of their dear Zio*, whilst their mother smiled at them through photographs. The boys were barely four-years-old when she had succumbed to a grave illness – but their Uncle would lovingly tell them how closely they resembled her. “My sister was a joy. An absolute delight! And I see her in each of you. She smiles upon you both, I’m sure.”
Pinocchio had always looked forward to seeing their Zia* Antonia. Much like her late husband, Antonia was welcoming and hospitable – a much-adored member of Krat’s high society. She was known to host opulent galas, entertaining the upper classes with her sparkling wit and love of the piano. Every year, Pinocchio would eagerly watch as the dusting of snow began to melt along the roads, and the birds and butterflies would start to flock towards the trees. A flush of excitement would colour his freckled cheeks, as he felt the summer heat on his skin.
But the twins’ visit last summer was quite different.
“Romeo!” Antonia had called out during breakfast, one morning, steaming cups of cappuccino wafting under their noses. “Oh, where is that boy? Romeo, dear, come here for a moment, please!”
In that next instant, a young man had rushed into the room, appearing somewhat flustered, smoothing back stray strands of golden blond hair and fixing his apron. He straightened his posture, elongating his height, and with a genial smile, he asked, “Yes, Lady?”
“Romeo, my dear, please make sure that there is enough necci* for our guests this afternoon,” she instructed. “I do not want to hear it from that Lorenzini.”
The young man, Romeo, gave a courteous bow of his head. “Right away, Lady.”
“Wonderful. Oh! And before you go...” The woman waved a bejeweled hand towards the twins. “These are my nephews – I’m sure you know Sir Giuseppe? His boys will be staying with me for the rest of the summer.”
Immediately, Romeo shifted his attention onto the other two at the table – and was struck by their astounding resemblance. One had short, wavy dark hair while the other’s dark locks brushed along his shoulders, partly hiding his freckled face. Quickly, Romeo dipped into a respectful bow. “It’s very good to meet you, Sirs!”
Antonia smiled, warmly, at him. “Now, hurry along, Romeo!” She then glanced at her nephews, sunny crinkles lining her eyes. “My boys and I have much to catch up on, don’t we?”
For the remainder of that day, Pinocchio had noticed a bizarre sort of energy buzzing around his brother. It prickled on his skin, drummed along his fingers, and fidgeted in his feet. Every now and then, Carlo would run a restless hand through his wavy locks, his fingernails scratching, skittishly, at his scalp. Pinocchio frowned at his brother’s odd behaviour, raising a brow in response. He then chose to dismiss it, deciding instead to flip through a chaptered book.
Later that evening, they had retired to their shared bedroom, a massive chamber on the upper floor. Pinocchio was lying on his bed, fully engrossed in the pages of his book, while Carlo stared at him from across the room. There was a cheeky look on the boy’s face, lighting the brown of his eyes with mischief; and he propped himself up on his elbow, his fingers tracing idle circles atop the plush bedding.
“Hey, Pino?”
“What?” Pinocchio had responded, offhandedly, his blue eyes darting from word to word.
“What do you think of Romeo?”
At this, Pinocchio’s gaze wandered from the book in his hands to his brother – and his sloppy grin – at the opposite wall. He scrunched his brow, as he recalled breakfast, earlier that morning. “The kitchen boy?”
“The Adonis,” Carlo swooned, falling back onto the pillows.
Pinocchio looked on at his brother, wholly amused by his actions. And a jesting smirk curled at his mouth. “I think you need to relax.”
“Uh, how can I?” Carlo stated, matter-of-factly, before turning his head to peer at his brother. “Don’t you have eyes? He’s gorgeous.”
To that, Pinocchio could only shrug. “If that’s what you’re into,” he commented, his focus drifting back to his book.
The other boy scoffed in return. “It’s ‘cause you’ve never been in love.”
Pinocchio let out an unceremonious snort. “What do you know about love?”
Carlo smiled, a wistfulness breezing over his face. “I know that it’s tall,” he began, dreamily, “blond... and has really nice lips.”
A hearty chuckle sounded from Pinocchio. He then shook his head and flipped to the next page. “You’re hopeless.”
***
The carriage had finally reached its destination, pulling into the sprawling Cerasani estate, where a group of butlers and servants awaited their arrival. They wasted no time in shuffling the boys’ belongings into the villa, escorting them to their Aunt. Antonia greeted them with open arms, her lush gown sweeping across the marble floor, doting upon them with kisses and coos of “Oh, how handsome my boys are!”
They sat down to an extravagant luncheon that afternoon, with Carlo sneaking glances at Romeo, who would duck his head, a shy smile toying at his lips. Then the day turned into night, and the evening candles were lit, casting a warm glow along the walls. And the twins had, once more, retired to their bedroom, eager for a night’s rest.
It had only been a few hours, when Pinocchio’s body had begun to stir. Still bleary from sleep, his eyes slowly blinked open, and he could see the flickering light of the candles wavering against the ceiling. Unluckily for him, he had drank a fair bit of wine that evening – and the pressure in his bladder was unbearable. With a drowsy groan, he pushed the covers off of his body, and dragged himself into an upright position.
Yet just as he was about to step onto the finely embroidered rug, he noticed that Carlo’s bed was empty. The quilts and duvet were rumpled in haste, and his brother was nowhere to be found.
Although this was strange to the blue-eyed boy, he chose to ignore it, for the moment, as there were more urgent matters at hand. So he trodded towards the door and set out into the shadowed hallway.
A peculiar noise, however, halted his footsteps, causing his ears to perk up in alarm. As he ventured further into the hall, it grew louder – and it was coming from one of the rooms up ahead.
Gingerly, he tiptoed closer to the door, his breath seized in his chest. He leaned in – and the colour instantly drained from his face.
He could hear the lewd sounds of two voices, breathless and panting – and one of them, unmistakably, belonged to Carlo. Pinocchio was quite certain of who the other voice belonged to.
With a disgruntled sigh, he backed away from the door and trudged his way to the bathroom.
***
“Pino, where’s Zia Antonia?”
Carlo burst into the parlour the next afternoon, an anxiousness fluttering over his features, effectively disrupting Pinocchio’s melody on the piano. Fear flashed in the boy’s brown eyes, and Romeo tumbled in, soon after, the taller male appearing equally as distraught – and Pinocchio was terribly confused.
“She’s... in the garden.” Pinocchio’s words were slow and careful, his eyes studying both his brother and the blond. They looked strangely agitated – but after hearing Pinocchio’s answer, the tension lodged in Carlo’s shoulders began to dissipate, and he exhaled an audible sigh of relief.
“Perfect,” he breathed out. “You didn’t see anything, okay? If anyone asks, I’m in our room.” Here, he turned to Romeo and took his hand before turning to leave. “Come on—”
“Wait – where are you going?” Pinocchio stood up from the piano stool, his body facing his brother, a concerned frown creasing into his forehead.
There was a reluctance weighing down Carlo’s feet, a heavy hunch in his shoulders, as he turned back around. “Nowhere. We’re just going out for a bit.”
“Yeah, but how long are you gonna be gone?” A tinge of apprehension shaded the other boy’s tone, his eyes flitting between his twin and Romeo. “What if someone sees you two?”
Carlo gave a nonchalant shrug in response. “No one’s gonna see us—”
“You don’t know that, though!”
“What – are you gonna tell someone?” Carlo quipped, a taunting challenge in his brown eyes. “You gonna tell Papà?”
“I’m not, but...” Pinocchio could feel his words shriveling on the tip of his tongue. There was a bleak sense of worry gnawing at him, burrowing into the pit of his stomach. Between the two of them, Carlo had always been the reckless one. He would fearlessly dance along the edge, never afraid of the fall below. That fear, it seemed, was Pinocchio’s to carry. Never Carlo’s.
Yet, in that moment, as those brown eyes looked into his blue ones, Pinocchio could see a glimmer of understanding shining within them. And the fiery taunt had snuffed itself out. It was eerie, at times, how they could seemingly sense what the other was feeling. It was as if they shared the same heart.
Carlo released a soft sigh then spoke to his brother, his tone gentle and mild. “Look, we’ll be back before anyone even notices we’re gone. I promise,” he assured him. “Just... please don’t say anything. Okay?”
Something within Carlo’s voice seemed to calm Pinocchio, placating the uneasiness – at least, for the time being. And he gave his brother an affirmative, though hesitant, nod. “Okay.”
With that, Carlo tugged on Romeo’s hand, signalling for him to follow, and they turned to leave the parlour. But before they walked out the door, Romeo looked over his shoulder at Pinocchio, his face brightened with a sincere smile. “See you later, P!”
Pinocchio returned the smile, listening to the hurried sounds of their footsteps echoing through the hall. A distressed groan seeped through the boy’s lips, as he sat back down at the piano and carded through the sheet music.
It was going to be a long summer.