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Chapter Text

Venice is nice in May; it's not too hot, nor is it too cold. Goffredo loves the spring weather. His vestments aren't weighing him down as they were back in February, and he now has this pep in his step that scares the new seminarians. Spring was starting on a high note. This day in particular was the most joyful; he was finally able to wear his brand-new Marian vestments, the fabric practically glistened as he said mass. Of course, whenever he gives his homily, it garners mixed reactions. As any good clergy member knows, the best homilies make your congregation think. He finds it weird, though, he's toned down a great deal since last year. Hell, he even voted for Innocent. Maybe that's not enough, he's not going to go full on Liberal, but he is starting to teeter on moderate. His social views have been in the media quite recently, mainly when he started to use less extremist language and topics. Traditionals have started to abandon him, and moderate Catholics have yet to even acknowledge him, so at this moment, he was stuck between two ideologies. Not extreme enough for the traditionalists and not mellow enough for the centrists. If this is what purgatory feels like, just send him somewhere else at that point. Is that heretical, most likely, but Goffredo doesn't have time to deal with that right now; he must get ready for bed. 

“Gloria, Manchi tu nell-” Tedesco’s phone begins to sing, it's a good song, but not a good ringtone. 

“Hello?” The Patriarch begins, it was an odd time to be calling someone, as the sun had already set. 

“Zio!” A voice cried out over the speaker, Santino Maria Tedesco was calling him right before he was to sleep. Santino was the youngest son of Luisa, Goffredo’s sister. He moved to America when he was 21 to pursue a career in law and hasn't looked back since. Goffredo will say this about his nephew: he is incredibly determined and never backs down from a challenge, while it is an annoying trait in anyone, Goffredo finds it admirable that someone so close to him has the gall to have such strong opinions. 

Goffredo laughs a bit, “Santino, how is my favorite nephew?” Yes, it is a bit of a lie; Goffredo doesn't have a favorite niece or nephew. He doesn't know them well enough to have favorites. 

A slightly distorted chuckle comes in response, “I've been well, how is everything?” Goffredo is left with two options: lie and say that everything is perfect and everybody loves him in Venice, or tell the truth. Mah, the truth would be too much for his nephew to handle. 

“I've been well,” Goffredo pauses for a split second, thinking of what to say next. “What is the matter? Why are you calling me?” Goffredo hopes it doesn't come off as rude. Santonio is family after all. 

No sound comes from his speaker; if it weren't for his screen displaying in emboldened letters “SANTINO TEDESCO: NEPHEW,” he would've thought the line was cut. 

“Chiara will be graduating from school soon, and I was wondering if she could stay with you for a bit?” Santino’s voice sounded different, almost meek; that was odd. Santino continues, “She’s never been outside of New York, and we want her to see her family before she goes off to college,” Santino explains.

You see, Goffredo is stumped; for one, he doesn't want to spend more than three hours near anyone younger than thirty, let alone a few months. It makes him want to yell into his phone and say no. But this is family his talking about, a branch from the same grand tree. Maybe a handful of months wouldn't be so bad, oh, who is he kidding, it would be hell. Goffredo has seen the way the younger members of his congregation act, and he doesn't want to be near that. 

Despite his better judgment, Goffredo opens his mouth. “I will see what arrangements can be made for her. My best guess is that she’ll end up living with me for the time being.” Oh wow, that physically hurt to say. Goffredo thinks he may have just developed gallstones after that sentence. Perhaps the lack of sleep was affecting his cognition, yes, that was it. 

“Thank you so much, Zio!” Santino exclaims. It's as if someone had just told him that he had won the lottery. "I am so sorry this call was late. When would be a better time to clarify everything?” 

If it were the old Goffredo, he would've hung up the phone by now, but he's a changed man. 

“Ehh, maybe around 13:00 my time?” Goffredo replies, ready to just shut this stupid device off and sleep. 

“Perfect, I love you, Zio,” Santino says. Maybe Goffredo is just sleep deprived, but it sounds as though he means it. 

“I love you as well, mio nipote, God bless you.” Goffredo was so ready to just hang up the phone at this point. 

Santino finally ends the call with one line, “Goodnight, may God bless you as well!” The line cuts. 

Goffredo runs his hands down his face, stretching his lips into a frown. “Fuck.” 

-

“I’m sorry?” Chiara’s eyes practically bulged out from her skull. “You want me to do what over the summer?” She sits up in her bed, absolutely gobsmacked. 

Chiara’s mother, Elena (Sanchez) Tedesco, crosses her arms as she leans against her daughter's bedroom door. “You will be staying with your Great-uncle in Italy over the summer.” She says this as if this isn't the worst thing to ever happen to Chiara. 

It was already social suicide to have the same last name as a high-profile Cardinal, but for that Cardinal to have such extremist views AND be related to her felt like karmic punishment at best. But now, there's a chance people will find out that Chiara Tedesco, outspoken critic of many things, but not limited to the way immigrants are treated in this country, gentrification, and many other subjects, is related to Cardinal Goffredo Tedesco, Patriarch of Venice, who is literally insane. Yeah, this has to be some sort of punishment from God himself. 

“Why?” Chiara practically screamed, “I hardly know the guy, and now you're shipping me off to live with him? You're insane, Mama!” She prays to God that this doesn't look like a total temper tantrum, knowing damn well it is. Who could blame her? The only access she has to him is via the Archbishop of New York and what people are saying on the news and the internet, and it's never positive. 

Her mother sighs, “Your father wants you to be more in touch with your Italian side.” She walks over to her daughter, “I get it, it's nerve-wracking, believe me!” She moves to comfort her daughter. “Think of it like when we sent you to be with my parents last year. You were so nervous at first, but you ended up loving it!” She beams. 

“Baba and Abuela aren't in the news for saying weird shit like once a week,” Chiara argues, “And besides, that was national travel!” She slumps into her bed. “Why can't I just experience my Italian side in New York? It's basically the second capital of Italy anyway.” 

Her mother lets out a hearty laugh, “Your father would have a coniption if he heard that, make sure you don't repeat that to him?” She looks down at her daughter. “Think about it this way, you've always wanted to speak more Italian outside the house, this is your chance to do so.” 

Still, Chiara is wary of meeting her great-uncle. Meeting is a stretch, they've already met thirteen years prior when he was in town for a conference. She doesn't remember anything from this initial introduction to him because, duh, it was thirteen years ago. 

Chiara lets out a sigh of defeat, “Fine, I'll go to Venice.” Her mother's eyes light up like fireworks. “On one condition,” Chiara continues, “we better explore that damn city.”

It almost seemed impossible, and yet it was happening; her mother's face became even more gleeful. 

Elena pulled her into a crushing hug, “You'll love it, sweetie!” smothering her head and cheeks in pecks. 

Chiara sure hopes so. 

Chapter Text

It’s not that far of a walk to St. Patrick's Cathedral from her apartment. Chiara actually finds it quite nice. The view of these gargantuan buildings almost closing in on her is oddly comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. 

She opted to change out of her lounge wear of a shirt and shorts with the word, PINK, lining the sides, and decided to wear a slightly nicer top and basic jeans. Look, she's not going to go meet Pope Innocent XIV today, she's just visiting the Archbishop of New York. Cardinal Jeffery Davis was a kind man, in his late sixties, with a slender body. Her mother jokes that if he were soaking wet with rainboots on and a wool coat, he’d barely weigh 100 pounds. Chiara doesn't think he's THAT slim, it's just his weight distribution. 

When she finally arrives at the Cathedral, she walks straight up to the Cardinal’s residence. There's one positive of having a name every single member of Catholic clergy can recognize: it gets you places. Chiara decides to just knock on the door; she can hear some shuffling from behind the door before it opens. 

“Oh hello, Chiara!” The Cardinal gives her a light smile, “Is there a particular reason why you're here?” Chiara gives him her usual look when she wants to talk about her great-uncle. Understanding washes over Cardinal Davis’ face as he lets her inside. 

Chiara walks over to the burgundy couch, petting it slightly as his cat waddles over to her. Archbishop Jeffery was like the uncle she never had; he's a close friend to her parents and her godfather, so it wasn't unusual to see her in his residence. She beckons his cat, Mary, to sit on her lap. 

“Did your great-uncle say something again?” He places a cup of tea on the coffee table. “I think I would've heard about it by now.” 

Chiara lets out a dry laugh. “No, he hasn't done anything.” She pauses for a moment. “It's just that my parents want me to spend some time with him.” She slumps back into the couch, still petting Mary. 

Cardinal Davis lets out a hum of understanding. “Any particular reason why they want you to stay with him?” He brings his mug of tea up to his lips, sipping slowly. 

“They want me to visit family, and since he has a pretty nice place, they decided to dump me on him.” Archbishop Davis laughs at that. 

“Maybe you'll get something good out of it?” Archbishop Davis says. 

Maybe one can only hope. 

-

Goffredo was spiraling. How will he ever care for an insolent teenage girl? Perhaps he should ask for the intercession of Blessed Chiara Badano or Saint Catherine of Alexandria? They're teenage girls; they would understand. Or maybe he should ask Saint Anna how she raised her children. The Venerable Ralph Miller would definitely know what to do! 

Nobody should ever expect a Cardinal to be good with children; Pope Innocent XIV was an exception. A vile thought popped into his head. 

“Ask Vincent for Advice”

He would rather throw his body into the Venetian Canals than do such a thing; even then, he was way better with kids than Goffredo was. During visits, children would wrangle themselves loose from their parents' tight grip and run up onto the altar. Vincent would, of course, welcome these children with open arms and hold them until the mass concluded. 

It has gotten to the point that he has set forth a rule for all the masses he celebrates. “Let the children roam free and worship the Lord in the way they best understand!” Vincent exclaimed into a microphone one cold January morning. 

Goffredo never understood such an idea; the children should be disciplined and stay in the pews. He's not a complete monster, though; he actually prefers to hear a child's cry or yell because that's proof the Church is alive. 

Goffredo would be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit jealous of Vincent's natural inclination with children. Whenever he performs baptisms or first communions, the children are always scared of him. Perhaps it is his vestments or his face. Sometimes he wishes he were different, warm even, because then the kids wouldn't be terrified of him. 

Little did Goffredo know, his face was scaring people, but they're grown adults. On the way to his residence, there is a seminary. 

“Did you see Eminence Tedesco this morning? He looks insane?” One seminarian whispers. 

“SHH!” His friend exclaims, “he might hear you!” 

Goffredo did not hear the two seminarians, nor did he hear any of the several calls to his phone. All he could think of was Chiara. The last time he saw her was thirteen years ago. A tiny five-year-old, clutching her father’s pant leg in pure fear, practically glaring at Goffredo. In her defense, he was (is) pretty scary. To a small child, a man standing at 178 cm with blood-red robes would keep them up at night. 

Goffredo knows, and won't admit, that no one’ll ever like him. Only feared, and he’s okay with that. 

-

Chiara walks home feeling relieved, talking to her Godfather eased her nerves. That progress is immediately obliterated the moment she gets home. 

“Chiara!” Her mother exclaims from the living room, “Come here!” 

She rolls her eyes and reluctantly trudges over to the couch. 

“Yes, Mama?” She asks with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice, receiving a look from her mom. She already knows that whatever comes out of her mom’s mouth will not be good news; she doesn't even know why she acted like that. 

Chiara lets out a meek “Sorry.” 

“It's alright, but we need to talk when your dad gets home.” Elena, her mom, says. 

Oh no, that spells trouble. She fully expected her mom to say whatever was on her mind, but now her dad’s getting involved? Is she unable to graduate and didn't know? These thoughts torpedoed through her brain as she walked to her room. 

Honestly, she didn't do anything as she waited for her dad to get home. Grabbing fistfuls of her dark brown hair, all she can do is internally scream. 

“God, please don't make me go to my great-uncle’s over the summer!”

Chiara had no idea how much time had passed since she’d first sat down, apparently enough as she heard knocking from the outside of her door. 

“Chiara?” Her father called out, “You alive?” 

“I wish I weren't, then I wouldn't have to go to Venice!” Her internal thoughts betrayed her. 

Chiara responded, “Last time I checked!” She heard a hearty laugh escape from her father’s lips. 

“That's good!” Her father responded, “Can I come in?” 

“Sure,” Chiara groans out. 

Her door opens up to reveal her dad, still dressed in his ‘lucky suit’ that he wears every case. It’s quite normal, but the tie he wore today was absolutely gaudy. The tie was bright yellow with blood oranges on it. 

Chiara couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. “Nice tie.” 

Her father rolls his eyes and smiles. “Mah, let’s not talk about my tie, we need to discuss your summer plans.” 

Chiara wishes an anvil would come crashing through her roof and crush her body into mush; if she had to talk about her summer again, she might just explode. 

“Ugh.” She slumps back down into her bed. “Why, I'm already going, what else do I need to know? Am I also staying with the Pope?” Her voice grew louder after each word. 

“Chiara-” Her father starts before being cut off. 

“Yaknow what, just give me his number, I want to talk to him directly!” Chiara spits out, hands covering her face out of embarrassment. 

“What the hell am I thinking? Give me his number, are you stupid, Chiara!?” 

Slowly looking up, she looks at her dad. His face was beaming, eyes sparkling like citrine stones, and a smile growing upon his face. “Really?” He says, almost whispering. 

-

DING

What is with his phone and going off at weird hours? He should've never gotten that stupid secular device. Groaning, he turned to look at what the notification was about. 

212-XXX-XXXX

Hi Uncle Goffredo, this is Chiara. I wanted to give you my number so we can better know each other better. Text me back when you can!

Goffredo couldn't believe it; this girl had no manners! She hadn't even bothered to check what time it would be for him. Goddamn teenagers, they can barely email let alone send an appropriate text! Goffredo was seething, and smoke was practically spouting out of his ears. In his anger, he responded. 

212-XXX-XXXX

Hi Uncle Goffredo, this is Chiara. I wanted to give you my number so we can better know each other better. Text me back when you can!

+31 41-XXX-XXXX

Chiara, next time, check what time it is for me. Teenagers and their self-obsessions, ugh! Your generation has no preparation for the real world, just you wait, try to get a job texting your boss at times like this! 

Perfect, Goffredo can finally sleep. 

212-XXX-XXXX

Hi Uncle Goffredo, this is Chiara. I wanted to give you my number so we can better know each other better. Text me back when you can!

+31 41-XXX-XXXX

Chiara, next time, check what time it is for me. Teenagers and their self-obsessions, ugh! Your generation has no preparation for the real world, just you wait, try to get a job texting your boss at times like this! 

+31 41-XXX-XXXX

Chiara, how do I turn my phone off when I sleep?

Chapter Text

This guy cannot be real, is he manic or something? 

Chiara stares down at her phone, in complete and utter awe. This guy seriously thought it was okay to berate her and then ask for a favor after the fact. He's a coward, a demented coward. She shakes with rage; she can't believe it. 

“What an asshole,” Chiara whispers to herself. 

212-XXX-XXXX

Look it up yourself, Google is free. 

She places her phone down and runs her hands across her face. At this rate, she’ll look 100 at 20. Chiara doesn't even know how she’ll survive 12 weeks with her great-uncle enemy, she needs a damn cigarette. She doesn't even smoke, but the slow release of nicotine into her system might calm her, or at the very least, some  Nicorette gum. Maybe some Lorazepam?

DING

212-XXX-XXXX

Look it up yourself, Google is free. 

+31 41-XXX-XXXX

But I am asking you, no? Not Google. 

+31 41-XXX-XXXX

That website is a liar. Atheists lie. 

Every single word that he texts her makes it feel like her brain cells are being boiled alive and sucked out of her by a turkey baster. She tried to envision him typing these texts up, hunched over and bathed in red cloth, giggling as his fingers danced across his cracked phone screen. Chiara resisted the urge to yell and scream at him, ultimately succumbing to this desire. 

212-XXX-XXXX

Look it up yourself, Google is free. 

+31 41-XXX-XXXX

But I am asking you, no? Not Google. 

+31 41-XXX-XXXX

That website is a liar. Atheists lie. 

212-XXX-XXXX

First of all, it's a search engine dipshit!

Secondly, every religion contributes to the World Wide Web. Atheists aren't as prevalent as you like to think. 

Taking a deep breath in, Chiara calms herself down. 

“This is so stupid, I'm arguing with a 72-year-old man! What am I doing with my life?” She thinks to herself. Honestly, it was more depressing on his end. He's arguing with a teenager over text. They're both sad, they're both dumb, and they both won't back down from a fight. 

“ I'm gonna be your bub- ” Chiara’s phone brings her back to reality. Her great-uncle is calling her. 

“Fuck my life.” 

—

Goffredo had a fantastic plan, and Chiara had the higher ground when it came to text-based arguments. But by the grace and mercy of God the Father, he was blessed with being one of the best oral debaters in the Holy See. 

She picked up the phone. Thank you, Lord! 

“Chiara!” Goffredo's voice boomed into his phone’s microphone. “I am not using that pagan, witchcraft, demonic application! You will tell me how to silence my phone at night!” 

He heard a sigh come from the phone. He silently prays that she answers him and doesn't fight back. He’ll have a talk with her father in the morning about her disrespecting her elders. 

“Do you realize how stupid you sound right now?” A heavily American-accented voice came through his speakers. So that's what Chiara sounds like now. Time is a weird thing. He could vividly remember how she sounded at age 5, barely talking over a whisper and mumbling all her words. Now, she's projecting. He couldn't help but be a bit proud of her, even if he didn't like her at this moment, she was still his grandniece. 

“I don't sound stupid! Your father should never have gone to America. That's why you're liberal!” He exclaimed, at this point he was just talking out of his ass. He was good at that, making the other person feel like an idiot even if they knew they were right. 

“Ugh,” Chiara groaned in response. “Just-” She pauses, “go to the settings app and click focus, it's under the notifications tab.” She said dryly, clearly wanting this interaction to just be over with. “There should be a button that says sleep, click on that, and put in the time you want to wake up. It basically silences all notifications at night.” Chiara concluded. 

Goffredo beamed in delight, silently cheering at this little victory over her. 

Goffredo opened his mouth, which was never a good sign. “Now, was that so hard?” he said in the slimiest voice possible. 

As soon as he said that, Chiara responded. “I would rather remove my eyes with a rusty scalpel and no anesthetic than do that again.” Straightforward, he weirdly felt bad, but only for a split second. 

“Well, I won. You caved!” He said with glee. 

The line went dead. Chiara hung up the phone. 

“Bah!” Goffredo threw his phone across his bedroom, and it hit the wall with a loud thunk. At this rate, he might need a new phone by the end of the month. This girl is going to give him an aneurysm. He needed his little red friend. 

Standing outside on his Venetian balcony, he breathed in the cherry-flavored vapor. Crackling, like his lungs. Vaping, and by extension smoking, was a habit he's seemingly always had. In his youth, when he was starving and hungry, cigarettes were his only comfort. They provided him a meal, a way to stay satiated throughout the week, and not feel the effects of hunger on his body. Yes, it was horrible for him; he knew that just as well as any other person. But it wasn't something he could quit; smoking was a part of him. If he couldn't smoke, he would die; the comforting vapor clouds consume him as he looks down upon the canals. 

—

Walking through the streets of Manhattan has always been a challenge, with tourists and people who don't know their left foot from their right arm walking around it was a clusterfuck of conflicting personalities all condensed into one city.  Even then, it was comforting to see all the different kinds of people who either live in the Big Apple or are just visiting. It soothed her. 

She had run out of her door after her confrontation with her great-uncle, grunkle? Whatever, he irritated her. Chiara needed this physical escape from the stuffy apartment she resided in with her parents. The walls are adorned with crucifixes, fish, icons, and photos from her confirmation and first communion. In the main walkway, they had a wall shrine with photos of Saint John Paul II, Blessed Carlos Manuel Rodriguez Santiago, La Virgencita de Guadalupe, Saint Francis of Assisi, and a little photo of Pope Innocent XIV next to his predecessor. A perfect illustration of her heritage. She was the most stereotypical New Yorker, Puerto Rican-Italian Catholic from Manhattan. 

And yet, she felt inadequate when it came to all aspects of her identity. The summer before this one, when she was with her grandparents, they stayed in their home in Bayamón barrio-pueblo in Puerto Rico. She loved it there, but she never felt whole. The townsfolk would whisper when she walked the streets with her grandparents, stuff about her skin and name. All she wanted to do was disappear into the ground. It was clear that her grandparents, may God bless their hearts, felt sorry for her and knew that she was avoiding public ridicule. Chiara Allegra Tedesco would and will never be fully something, and she's okay with that. Isn't that what America was for? 

Taking a deep breath in, she walked up the steps of the New York Public Library and made her way to the foreign languages section. Her Italian was basic; she could get through a conversation just fine, but anything other than small talk tripped her up. It's not that her Spanish was any better; she just spoke it more. Chiara decided to check out “Interpretazioni: Italian language and culture through film” to better prepare her for the upcoming trip to Hell. Thank God for Cristina Pausini and Carmen Merolla. 

After getting home, Chiara opened up her laptop to Facebook. She doesn't actually use the site, preferring applications like Instagram and Twitter. Facebook was the place where she could cyber-stalk all her relatives, scrolling for hours on the personal pages of her cousins, aunts, and uncles. It was fun and sad at the same time. While she enjoyed seeing what they liked, she also felt awful that she couldn't physically be with them in key moments of their life. Take her cousin Guilia, she was technically her father’s cousin, but that's not the point, she recently had a baby, which caused the entire Tedesco “clan” to flock to the hospital to care for both her and the newborn. All but Chiara and her parents. Even that asshole Goffredo went and baptized the damn babe and then gifted Guilia an icon of the holy family. 

Or her cousin Filippo, Zia Patrizia’s son, was hospitalized with Pneumonia last year, and again, the entirety of the Tedescos, except for Santino’s family, came to comfort them. It was maddening, feeling so disconnected from family and only being able to watch their life through pictures. It was the worst when her nonna died; Luisa Manna (Tedesco) was her name, and her father was the only one able to attend the funeral. It was torture; a woman she cared so deeply for was dead, and she wasn't able to celebrate her life. Chiara was practically green with envy at the fact that Goffredo takes this for granted; he only ever visits family when it serves him. Not out of the kindness of his heart, but out of self-preservation. He so desperately wants to portray the traditionalist ideal of a man providing for his family, even as a priest. It all comes off as performative, like a shitty drag show. 

—

Has Goffredo gone insane? Possibly, but now is not the time to dwell on that thought. He had hopped on the earliest train to Rome as soon as he woke up. He knew someone who could relate to Chiara, much to his dismay. 

“Goffredo, why are you here? Should I alert the Swiss Guard that you plan on seeing Pope Innocent?” Said Secretary of State Aldo Bellini, the “Liberal Lion” of the Holy See. He was utterly infuriated. Goffredo could never call him by his name as it caused him physical pain to do so. Yet, here he was seeking out help from the American. 

Goffredo grinned in response, “Why must you ask so many questions? Is it unimaginable that I could just be here for a nice visit?” Goffredo and Aldo both knew that was a complete and utter lie. 

Aldo says in response, “Yes, it is unimaginable. Can you answer my question? Why are you here?” 

Goffredo stills for a moment, debating what to say. Several interactions could occur: he could get the door slammed on his face, or he could get actual advice. He sighs in defeat and mumbles, “My grandniece is coming to visit over the summer and I need advice on connecting with her.” He looks away, almost bashfully. This was a humiliation ritual. 

Aldo stares blankly, then says, “Why would you ask me, of all people? Thomas has younger relatives that he's close with, and the Pope is great with kids.” He tries to reason with Goffredo, not knowing of his inner turmoil. 

“I refuse to talk to Tommasso or Innocent about this matter, I almost flung myself out the door of my taxi ride here!” Goffredo sputters out. “She's American!” He exclaims. 

Aldo grimaces, “Is that why you came crawling here? To ask someone you refuse to acknowledge outside of an argument for advice?” His face was glowing with anger. “Are you mental?” 

Perhaps Goffredo was mentally ill, and this was a sign of his cognitive decline. Bah! He would never admit that! He was as strong as a bull, even with his aging body, and a brain free from fog. 

Despite his better judgment, Goffredo begs. “Please, Aldo, I’ll do anything!” He's pathetic; if his fellow conservatives were to find him begging on the steps of Aldo Bellini's apartment, he'd be done for. A shunned cardinal, the worst kind. 

Aldo cocks his eyebrow, “Anything? Do you know what you're saying?” He sounded amused, relishing in his rival’s anguish. 

“Yes, anything.” Goffredo lets out a sob. Well, it's decided, he has gone insane. Lock him in a straitjacket and throw him into the loony bin while you're at it! Hook him up to the damn radiator why don't ya!

Aldo peers down at the sad excuse for a cardinal and huffs. “Just this once, and on one condition.” He says. “You need to start referring to me by my name.” 

Goffredo blinks, just that? He was expecting something like “excommunicate yourself and die.” He can do this. Goffredo grabs Aldo and brings him into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, Aldo,” he whispers into the Secretary's ear. The high and mighty Aldo Bellini shudders in his arms before he peels himself from the Patriarch’s grasp. 

“Okay, come inside and tell me everything. I will try my best to give you advice.” Aldo says with furrowed eyebrows. 

Goffredo smiles at the comment and walks into the Secretary’s residence. 

It was a fulfilling conversation; they had talked without tearing at each other's throats for once. Goffredo told Aldo everything, from the call with Santino to what he said to Chiara on the phone. Aldo listened; he let Goffredo work out his thoughts and feelings by himself, never once did he try to argue, nor did he interject, he simply listened. That was the beauty of the whole ordeal: Goffredo spoke freely, and Aldo listened. When Goffredo was done ranting, Aldo got up and placed his hand on the other's lap as a sign of understanding. 

Goffredo’s cheeks burned after speaking nonstop for what felt like an eternity. Aldo looked content as he placed his hand over Goffredo’s. They stayed like this for a moment, and Aldo decided to speak first. 

“Teenagers are quite tricky. When my nephew was 16, he tried to run away and stay with me.” He laughs, “I couldn't imagine why he thought a Catholic cardinal would be a better parent than his mother, but I digress. I talked to him and asked him if he knew what he was doing, and he said he just wanted to breathe. I understood, I called my sister and let her know that he was safe and with me, she was terrified for him and almost fainted when I called her. He went back home after staying the night, but from that moment on, I remained a person he could go to for comfort.” Aldo meets Goffredo’s gaze. “Be Chiara’s comfort, no matter how hard it may be. You never know how much she may need it.” With that, Aldo gets up, knees cracking, and walks over to the kitchen, leaving Goffredo to process what he had said. 

Be Chiara’s comfort, huh? He could try. Goffredo hated that Aldo Bellini, the thorn in his side, was correct. Damn him and his brilliant ideas! 

—

Chiara stared at her reflection in the mirror; her curly hair was defined with mouse and styling pomade, and her face was painted with makeup. It hardly looked like her; she couldn't believe it. She was going to graduate from high school today; the robes, cords, and hat solidified this key moment in a person's life. Nervousness surged through her body as she stuffed herself into her father’s car; it remained even as she was seated for the ceremony, as she walked across the stage and received her diploma, and it finally dissipated when she got home. It was like she was on autopilot, not registering what had truly just happened. 

“We are so proud of you, sweetheart!” Her mother cooed as she beckoned her into a hug, peppering Chiara’s face with kisses in the process. 

Her father cut in, “Hey, what am I chopped liver?” he said in between bits of laughter, joining in on the hug. 

They looked perfect in this moment, parents and child embracing one another on a joyous day. But it made Chiara realize that she was closer to the inevitable than she had noticed. In 3 days, she would go onto a plane and arrive in Venice only to be greeted by the antichrist himself. Antichrist was an exaggeration, more like a heretic. A loud and argumentative heretic, she was unfortunately related to. 

Shit, she has to start packing. 

Chapter Text

Packing for a 12-week trip was stressful; Chiara had to consider that she would likely buy a lot of souvenirs and clothes while abroad. It took two different suitcases to fit all of her clothes, makeup, toiletries, and electronics. 

She would be leaving for Venice, Italy, in the morning. Her stomach kept clenching as she tried to ignore how nervous she was for the trip. Her past verbal altercations with her great-uncle weighed heavily on her conscience, which caused her to begin scrolling on her phone in an attempt to lull herself to sleep. 

“POPE INNOCENT XIV REITERATES HIS CALLS FOR PEACE”

One headline read, Chiara decided to read it in hopes that it would be boring enough to make her go to sleep.

VATICAN CITY (AP) — Pope Innocent XIV called for peace this Wednesday during a general audience held in St. Peter's Square. Reiterating his first message to the Catholic Church last year during his installation mass. Stating that “peace is the true message of Christ, I pray that the horrors I have witnessed alongside the Catholics of Kabul, Baghdad, and Congo will never occur again. It's heartbreaking to see the toll and total disregard for human life.” 

 

The Vatican reported an estimated 35,000 attendees to the general audience. An increase since his last audience, which boasted a total number of 20,000 attendees. 

 

Innocent, formerly known as Cardinal Archbishop Vincent Benitez of Guadalajara, began the audience as he always does. He rode through the piazza in the popemobile and stopped to bless babies, the elderly, the sick, and anyone who came nonverbally asking for a blessing. While greeting the several groups of pilgrims, Innocent spoke his native Spanish alongside Arabic and the traditional Italian of the Papacy. 

 

“I pray, not just for the Christians of the Middle East and other affected areas, but for all peoples. I continue my calling to protect all people from persecution, and I renew my message of peace and warmth that I promise the Catholic church will reinvigorate in the spirit of its faithful,” he said. 

 

Innocent continues the tradition of a general audience held on Wednesday, practiced for decades by many different popes. The general audience is intended to allow ordinary faithful an opportunity to be face-to-face with the supreme pontiff of the Catholic church. It consists of the pope delivering a reflection on a theme or a passage of scripture, with summaries provided to others in different languages and messages from the pope to various faith groups. 

 

That didnt do the trick, now she actually wanted to watch the damn live stream. Curse you, Pope Innocent and your way with words! The hope that she’ll be able to witness an audience in St. Peter’s Square drifts her off to sleep. Dreaming of a private audience with the Pope, asking the Holy Father his opinions on several topics, and watching her great-uncle's face contort into disgust as the Bishop of Rome agrees with her. 

—

Walking down the hallway to his spare bedroom was a waking nightmare, constantly checking to see if the bed was made, even though he had gone back and forth five times already. The words of Aldo Bellini ate away at him ever since their meeting a week ago. 

“Be Chiara’s comfort,” He's trying alright! Do you know how many motherhood blogs he's viewed in the past couple of days? Far too many! Goffredo couldn't even recognize himself anymore; he was a nervous wreck. In what the seminarians dubbed “Hurricane Tedesco,” he had a jewelry maker create a smaller replica necklace of his pectoral cross. It was a gold-filled monstrosity, with ruby accents; it looked as if he was trying to claim her as his kin. He was going insane; she wasn't his daughter, she was his niece. 

Maybe in another life, a younger one, and in a reality where he didn't carry this shame with him. He could have a family. 

—

“Are you shitting me?” 

Chiara’s flight into Venice Marco Polo Airport from JFK was being held up due to inclement weather and some asshole child had the bright idea to entertain the other passengers. Well, maybe it isn't the child's fault, but they're still an accomplice. Singing out of tune, publicly, was already a crime in of itself, but singing beloved children's movie songs out of key was definitely a mortal sin. 

Chiara prays for this poor child’s soul. God knows they're doing it out of love, but sometimes that love shouldn't be expressed. She guesses that her fellow passengers had already complained enough for the flight attendants to stop the poor girl. Alas, the damage was already done and Chiara, alongside her fellow Venitan summer hopefuls were royally pissed. Her summer was already going to be a bust, so why not add on to it? She thinks to herself. 

The weather eventually cleared, and they were FINALLY off the ground, and without the incessant screeching of a certain child. Chiara decided that it would be best to sleep on the plane to avoid jet lag; unfortunately for her, she was flying economy, and her body felt like a slimy yet dry sardine. Picking a movie in hopes of it soothing her to sleep, she puts on The Lizzie McGuire Movie. She isn't like Lizzie McGuire by any means, but they're both teenage girls going to Italy, so there is some similarity. 

Her eyes felt crusty, her head felt stuffy, and she was relieved to hear the following words. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to land. Please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened and your tray tables are stowed.” 

THANK YOU, LORD! Yes, Chiara felt relieved about arriving in Venice. In a twisted way, she would prefer spending time around her bigoted great-uncle than spending another hour on this aircraft. Fastening her seatbelt, she had a giddy smile etched onto her face. The passenger next to her probably thought she was insane, and maybe she was, but at least she can sing on key. 

The final words of the pilot comforted her. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Venice, Italy.”

—

He was so predictable, a bright red Fiat Panda. Even as a recognizable cardinal, he still enjoyed driving and choosing his transportation. Goffredo hoped that Chiara wouldn't be deterred by his appearance. He wasn't wearing his usual ferrailo, opting for something casual and inconspicuous. Stepping outside his car wearing a clerical shirt and a red cardigan with his pectoral cross on full display, he made his way over to the arrival center for VCE. 

Goffredo waited alongside, assumed, parents and loved ones of the same flight Chiara was on. He was downright nervous; he had never had to interact with a teenage girl as an authority figure. Yes, he handled confirmations, but that was quick, like ripping off a band-aid, but actively caring for one was terrifying. Goffedo tried to think back to his older sisters and how they acted as teenagers, granted, they were all hungry and fought each other for a lick of stew, but that was besides the point. He remembers how annoying they were, talking about the cute boys in town and how badly they wanted to date them. He can't even remember if any of his sisters went on to marry their respective “boys.” 

Well, not entirely. Luisa, his middle sister, married Orazio. He was thin and tall, and for some odd reason, that set Luisa off. She had practically stalked him in their youth, for a reason unbeknownst to him, Orazio liked that. 

His cheeks became wet, like rainfall. Fuck, he missed her. Goffredo was the one who said Luisa’s funeral two years prior; they didn't part on the best of terms. I guess that was his fault; whenever he was with his siblings, he regressed into this little annoying gnat that wouldn't leave them alone. During the service, he tried to remain as neutral as possible, but the thorns around his neck restricting his vocal cords gave way, and he broke down on the altar. His homily was a mess, and Goffredo’s face was covered in snot and tears as he tried to reflect on both the Gospel and his sister’s life. 

Snapping him out of his thoughts was Chiara, off in the distance. She had grown, her dark curls had passed her shoulders, and she was much taller now. She was wearing a baby-blue hoodie with grey sweatpants and an awful pair of white tennis shoes. Behind her were her two grey suitcases, a bold choice considering she had a backpack that practically dwarfed her. Chiara looked annoyed, tired, and most of all hungry. Sluggishly, she made her way toward him, looking around for any sign of her great-uncle. 

“Chiara!” He shouted, directing her eyes toward him. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as if she was checking to see if he was real. 

As soon as Chiara got to him, she started talking, “I’m surprised you'd even want to meet me here, I thought your entourage would get me.”

Goffredo went slack-jawed. She really was insufferable. May the Blessed Virgin Mary pray for him in these coming weeks. 

“As I expected, a teenager who refuses to respect her elders.” He felt his face go as scarlet as his socks. “Bah, your generation needs proper manners!” 

Chiara rolled her eyes at him, deflating as he continued his ramblings. At this point, he didn't even know what he was talking about anymore; he was just angry. When he noticed her expression, he stopped arguing. 

Goffredo let out a meek, “Would you like to go set your things down?” Chiara looked at him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Please, show me to your car.” She said in a faux-posh accent. Now it was his time to roll his eyes. He turned on his heel and called out, “Come along then!” 

—

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't this—a meek, red car. Goffredo had already run ahead and unlocked the trunk, so she could place her bags inside. Chiara was expecting something grander, fitting his personality. Granted, it was also scarlet, so it kind of signaled his position in the Church. 

He gestured for Chiara to put her luggage in the trunk, and she happily obliged. All she wanted to do was take a shower and change out of this abhorrent outfit. Both she and Goffredo get into the car and begin their drive to his apartment just outside Saint Mark’s Basilica. 

The radio abruptly turns on, and ABBA fills the car. 

“ Yes, I’ve been brokenhearted

Blue since the day we parted

Why, why did I ever let you go?” 

Chiara turns to her great-uncle, and as she looks at him, he seems content. Bobbing his head to the beat and humming along. He begins to sing along, almost forgetting Chiara was even there. As if pushed by the prayers of Saint Celcila on her behalf, she joins in. 

Maybe, just maybe, this Summer wouldn't be horrible. She can manage singing ABBA if it means they didn't argue.

Chapter Text

When Chiara said she was optimistic about her summer, she had no clue what was in store for her. As soon as they got to Goffredo’s apartment, he began acting “normal” again. She was hastily shown her barren room and was left to her own devices. She set her luggage on the bed and started to unpack. By the time she was done, she felt sort of at home. A quiet “meow” brought Chiara out of her daze. A grey maine coon waddled into her room and began to sniff around. Chiara crouches down to pet the visitor. 

“Hey little guy,” she coos. The feline rubbed its face against the palm of her hand, asking for more pets. The cat was huge, not just in terms of fluff but also in terms of length. If Chiara had to guess, she would say the cat was around 13 inches tall and covered in a thick coat of fur. The cat’s ears made it look like an elf. 

Just as Chiara is cuddling this furry creature, a repetitive booming noise treks down the hallway. 

“Marco!” Goffredo practically screams out, as he approaches Chiara’s door, he looks frantically side to side. When he notices Chiara and the cat she now knows as Marco, he lets out a deep breath. 

“Oh, thank God!” he exclaims, “I thought you had run off!” He says as he tries to crouch down and grab the cat. Marco mewls out in defiance, and Goffredo sulks in response. 

“Fine, be that way. Your sister will just get all the food then.” Not even bothering to acknowledge Chiara as he argues with a cat. Holy shit is he weird. 

Marco, the cat, sensing a real threat of starvation, leaps out of Chiara’s arms and scurries down the hall. Goffredo, the human, watches him in adoration. Chiara wonders how the poster boy of Opus Dei could have a heart. 

Goffredo, finally noticing Chiara's gaze, grimaces a bit before turning on his heel and walking away. 

So that's how it's going to be: Chiara was sent to Italy just to be ignored by the one person she knows in an unknown country. Great, just great! She hastily gets up and chases Goffredo down the halls, yelling at him to stop. 

“What?” He spits out as he turns to face her, a look of annoyance painting his face. 

“You can't just ignore me, are you just gonna treat me like a ghost for the next month?” Chiara asks as she straightens out her back. 

Rolling his eyes, he gestures to the kitchen table, “Sit down and we’ll talk about it.” 

The chairs were made of tan wood, with red cushions and golden accents. They creaked as she sat down, waiting for her great-uncle to do the same. He groans a bit as he lowers himself into the chair opposite her. 

“Alright, first of all, you will be attending mass every Sunday.” Goffredo starts. Chiara supposes that it would be easy enough; she's been doing that already for 18 years. He continues, “But, it will be a traditional Latin mass that I say and you will veil.” His face was as hard as stone as he said that. 

Chiara rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she mumbled. His eyes widened in response. 

“Whatever?” he raised his voice, “Whatever? Do you have any respect for the church, for her traditions?” His face grew hotter and hotter as he continued. “It's bad enough your father tainted his Italian blood by having you, but the blatant disrespect of the mother church is worse.” He huffs out. 

All Chiara can do is stare; she doesn't have the energy to fight him. All she wants to do is crawl into bed and wake up when summer is over. 

A silence falls over them, nobody daring to speak, let alone move. Chiara, after some time, decided to break the silence. 

“I don't own a veil and I don't attend Latin mass.” 

—

Goffredo couldn't believe his ears, someone related to him had never attended the traditional mass? Absurd! 

He shot out of the seat; he'd feel that in a few hours, but now was not the time. 

“We need to get you a veil then, get up!” He said as he gestured for Chiara to get up. “Get your shoes on, we're going.” 

Chiara’s face morphed into one of pure shock, jaw dropping slightly before she quickly regained her composure. “Like, right now?” She said, stressing each word. 

“Yes, right now!” Goffredo exclaimed, sitting down and tying the laces of his black dress shoes. “Hurry, or I’ll end up picking one out for you!” He gets up from his seat, knees cracking as he makes his way over to the table to grab his wallet. 

Chiara’s face blanches as she runs into her room to grab her shoes. Goffredo feels like he's won, turning more young people to tradition. He gave himself a pat on the back for that win. 

After a while, Chiara finally emerges with a pair of bright white trainers and a small baguette-style purse. She looked like a tourist. 

“Of course, you look so American!” Goffredo spits out upon seeing her outfit. Chiara looks down at what she's wearing, then looks back up to meet his gaze. She shrugs in response and makes her way over to the door. 

“Are you going to keep dilly-dallying or are we going?” She states, with a smug look. She knew exactly how to grind his gears, and he hated it. He hated how similar she was to him at this age, acting like she knows it all. How annoying! 

The sky outside was painted a gorgeous amber color, contrasting perfectly with the cerulean Venetian canals. To say the scene before them is beautiful would be an understatement. Everything about the city at dusk was perfect, from the smell emitted from nighttime food vendors to the mixing of church service and club music. Children running home as fast as their legs could move because they forgot about their curfew, and couples walking hand in hand before they retire to bed, still embracing one another. But, at this very moment, Goffredo must ignore these scenes as he was on a mission, a mission to return his family to tradition. 

Eventually, they make their way to a little store, about to close down for the night. Goffredo bursts through the little wooden door and meets the fragile figure of an elderly woman. 

“Miss Evelina, I apologize for coming on such short notice, but my niece needs a veil. May we please shop around for a bit?” Goffredo pleads, debating whether or not he should go to his knees. 

Miss Evelina just smiles, eyes crinkling, and her cheeks turning a slight rosy color. “Of course, Your Eminence, I would be delighted to help you and your niece here.” She peers around Goffredo to look at Chiara. “And what is your name, dear?” Chiara’s eyes widened a bit, “Chiara, ma’am. Thank you again for doing this.” She responds earnestly. 

Miss Evelina turns her back on them both, then gestures for Chiara to follow her, “Come on, dear.” Chiara trekked behind her like a little lamb following a shepherd. Goffredo decided to find a seat and wait for her. Getting his phone out, he decided to scroll through social media. He wasn't the most tech-savvy person alive, that was a given, but he knew his way around the internet. Scrolling mindlessly through videos made by Jesuits, to reposting tweets made by young “tradcaths”. Of course, he's smart enough not to repost these tweets on his official page; he reserves these opinions for his private account that has a small yet dedicated following. Funnily enough, he does follow Aldo Bellini on this account, for research purposes, obviously, definitely not out of jealousy. 

“What do you think?” Chiara says, snapping Goffredo out of his doom-scrolling. She stands, arms stretched out, wearing the equivalent of a coffee filter on her head. 

He grimaces, “No niece of mine will wear that small piece of fabric on her head and call that a veil, go change!” He waves his hand, signaling her to go away. 

Chiara rolls her eyes, “First of all, it's a valid veil, and secondly, it's called a “Circular head veil,” not a small piece of fabric. Honestly, I would think you'd be more educated on this topic, Mr. Patriarch.” She then walks off, leaving Goffredo to sink back into his seat. 

“This girl is going to be the death of me,” Goffredo says in his head, "She's too argumentative!

The Devil seemingly whispers in his ear, “Why don't you talk to Aldo? he already helped you out before, why not now?” Goffredo groans in response. He doesn't want to talk to that naked mole rat at all! Sure, he had good advice, but he shouldn't be the guy he always goes to for these situations. 

Chiara called out again, “How about now?” A black piece of lace loops around her face, covering her head and a bit of her shoulders in a continuous strip. 

“Ehhh,” He says, “I wish it covered more.” 

Chiara practically deflates, “Seriously, is anything acceptable?” she says, tired. 

Gofredo stifles a laugh. “No, I want you covered head to toe.” He decides to get up; he was definitely taking a Tylenol when he got home. “Want me to look with you?” he asks. 

“Please.” Chiara whispers, “She keeps on making me look like a babuska.” She giggles out, teeth on full display. Maybe he won't need Bellini’s help anymore; that's a relief. 

He ushers her back to Miss Evelina and her wall of veils. She had every style and every color imaginable; it was like looking at a multicolored mural of lace. 

Miss Evelina looked shocked to see him back there. “Eminence Tedesco?” She asks. He brings up his hand to shush her, “Chiara asked for my opinion, so I am here to assist her.” He grins; the old ladies always love his smile. This was him, of course, ignoring his old age. Miss Evelina sweetly smirks in response, “Of course, Your Eminence.” She makes her way back to the front, but not before whispering into his ear. “You have a nice girl, your Eminence. If God hadn't called you to the priesthood, I think you would've made a fantastic father.” Goffredo’s heart sinks at that statement. As a child, he’d always dream of starting a family, forcing himself to imagine a life married to one of the girls in his town, all the other boys fancied, but it never felt right. Their faces would always contort into a more masculine one, jolting him from his daydream. A sinful action, he knew that better than anybody, but to not only envision another man by his side but also a family with him was blasphemy. He was a wretched sinner, a dirty soul in need of saving. That's why he had joined the priesthood in the first place; it was a distraction from himself and his lustful ways, for that is what was expected of homosexuals; they either became nuns and priests or left the church and continued their life of debauchery. He wasn't stupid either, he knew of the actions of his brother cardinals, hiring men and women of the night, how distasteful. 

Chiara brought him out of his train of thought. “What do you think of this one? I don't mind it.” Goffredo glares at Chiara before softening his gaze; it looked quite nice. She wore a black, lace, triangular-style veil atop her head. She was smiling, waiting for his response. 

“You look beautiful, like a nice traditional girl.” Her face dropped at his remark. “You really know how to complement, don't you?” She said bluntly. 

Chiara turns to look at herself in a mirror, smoothing the veil down. “Whatever, I’ll ask the Holy Father what he thinks of the veil when I eventually meet him.” 

Goffredo stops at that. “What?” 

She doesn't stop looking at herself when she replies. “When we see the Pope?” A silence overtakes both of them. Chiara swifty turns to look at her great-uncle, “Are we seriously not going to see Pope Innocent?” Her voice peaking with anxiety. 

Goffredo, stupidly, keeps opening and closing his mouth like a fish dying of suffocation before he can muster out an answer. “I haven't set up a meeting if that’s what you're asking.” She just gawks at him, “Whatever, let's just check out.” She says as she removes the veil from her head. 

“Did you enjoy everything, Your Eminence?” Miss Evelina asks. Goffredo just smiles in response, “Of course, Miss Evelina, we got what we were looking for, didn't we, Chiara?” He looks over at his grand-niece. “Huh, oh yeah, I quite like this veil, it's very pretty.” She says, clearly wanting to leave. 

“Oh, Miss Evelina, the price seems to be a bit weird. Were you having a sale?” Chiara asks, looking at the register. “Ah, no, sweetheart, I give out discounts to clergy. This is actually my first time using this discount on a priest; most of the time, Deacons come in with their wives or daughters, so this is an exciting experience for me!” She gleefully replies. 

Goffredo pays and grabs the bag, waving at Miss Evelina, “Goodbye, God bless you and have a nice night!” He calls out as he walks out. The door closed before he could hear her reply. 

As they walk back to the Patriarch’s home, Chiara laughs a bit. “I’m surprised she didn't ask you to bless her.” Goffredo just smiles, “Mah, it happens all the time, so I've gotten used to ignoring it or getting out before they can ask.” 

“That’s a dick move.” Goffredo’s face turns scarlet. “Watch your language, young lady, have you forgotten who you're next to?” He practically screams out. The sun had already set at this point, so there was nobody around to witness the Patriarch of Venice screaming at a young woman. “Your generation is too focused on the internet to respect your elders; never use that language around me!” He was panting at this point; the yelling had taken a toll on his body. 

Chiara’s face was stone cold. “Sorry.” 

Goffredo puffed in response. “Don’t bother me when we get home, okay, I have work to do.” He says, stomping off. 

—

Chiara knew he didn't have work to do; she knew about her great-uncle's little habit. The man was practically a chimney with the amount he smoked. He reeked of cherries! 

When they eventually got back to the apartment, Chiara grabbed the bag from Goffredo and marched to her room. If he wanted space, she’ll give it to him. When she got to her room, she was met by Marco and a smaller cat, this one had striking turquoise eyes and a silver short-haired coat. She assumed this was Marco’s “sister,” so she crept up over to her. 

“Hello there, I’m Chiara,” She whispered, getting a mewel in response from the feline. “What’s your name?” She looked at the nametag, which was Tiffany blue and shaped like a heart. Damn, these cats were spoiled. “Luce, that's a beautiful name for a beautiful cat.” Chiara began to pet her new friend Luce, beckoning for Marco to join her. She decided to stay like that for a minute before getting up and grabbing her clothes for bed. “Sorry guys, I need to get ready for bed. I hope you understand.” She frowns, looking at them, “I promise I’ll be back in a minute!” 

She grabbed her toiletries as well and made her way to the bathroom. She did her nightly routine. 

1. Floss
2. Brush teeth
3. Pop in retainers
4. Contemplate going to bed without washing your face
5. Put hair into two braids
6. Stare at yourself for a minute
7. Wash face with acne cleanser
8. Use glycolic acid toner
9. Apply hyaluronic acid, niacinamide, and salicylic acid serums
10. Put on moisturizer
11. Apply lip mask 
12. Stare at yourself for another minute
13. All Done!

She gathered her things and walked back to her room. She finally had some time to admire the decorations on the mahogany walls. Crucifixes and icons adorned the walls alongside photos from Goffredo’s youth and pictures of family. The image right outside her bedroom stopped her in her tracks. It was a younger Goffredo, he had to be around 20 years old in the photo, smushing his cheek against her nonna’s. She was practically cheesing in the photo, her eyes were shut, and all her teeth were visible. It looked like she and Goffredo were laughing when this was taken. Chiara couldn't help but tear up a bit, not only in mourning for the life of her nonna but also for the Goffredo that never was. Maybe, in another life, he was nicer. She shook herself from those thoughts and made her way back into the room. Placing her clothes into a laundry basket and patting the bed for the cats to join her as she slept.

Chiara began to drift off to sleep, her body becoming less and less tense as each muscle relaxed. 

An abhorrent noise awoke her from her slumber; it sounded like a freight train. She didn't know if freight trains even passed through Venice, let alone this part, but she knew they weren't that close to any tracks. 

"ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww- zZZzzzZZ . . ."

There it was again! That sound couldn't have possibly been made by a human; there's no way. Chiara carefully slipped out of bed, creeping towards the door into the main hallway. Only then did the noise get louder. 

She slowly made her way to Goffredo’s door, the sound getting louder and louder with each step she took in that direction. With the sheer number of Benedictine crucifixes in the house, she would be surprised if he were possessed. Chiara peeked her head into her great-uncle's room, peering at his sleeping form. 

That wretched noise was definitely coming from him; it sounded like a beached whale repeatedly being stabbed by a large rusty nail. She definitely needed to buy some earplugs tomorrow if she were to survive the summer here. 

Creeping back to her bed, she opened up her phone and looked up “excessive snoring” to get to the bottom of whatever Goffredo was experiencing at the moment. 

She clicked on a link from the Mayo Clinic. 

Symtoms

Snoring is often associated with a sleep disorder called obstructive sleep apnea (OSA). Not all snorers have OSA, but if snoring is accompanied by any of the following symptoms, it may be an indication to see a doctor for further evaluation for OSA:

 

• Witnessed breathing pauses during sleep
• Excessive daytime sleepiness
• Difficulty concentrating
• Morning headaches
• Sore throat upon awakening
• Restless sleep
• Gasping or choking at night
• High blood pressure
• Chest pain at night
• Your snoring is so loud it's disrupting your partner's sleep
• In children, poor attention span, behavioral issues or poor performance in school

OSA often is characterized by loud snoring followed by periods of silence when breathing stops or nearly stops. Eventually, this reduction or pause in breathing may signal you to wake up, and you may awaken with a loud snort or gasping sound.

 

You may sleep lightly due to disrupted sleep. This pattern of breathing pauses may be repeated many times during the night.

 

People with obstructive sleep apnea usually experience periods when breathing slows or stops at least five times during every hour of sleep.

She’s definitely going to talk to him about this in the morning; now is not the time. Covering her head with her pillow, she successfully muffled the snoring she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

“What's that on your face?” 

It was a Saturday night, and Goffredo and Chiara had grown into a routine. They would eat breakfast in relative silence, then depart to go into town. Usually, Chiara would follow her great-uncle as he attended to his duties as Patriarch. At night, they would eat dinner, go to their separate rooms, and sleep. Chiara learned after her first night in the apartment to wear noise-canceling earplugs. 

Goffredo gestured to Chiara, “Why do you have paint on your face?” he asked. 

Chiara was getting ready for bed and wanted to say goodnight to Marco and Luce, alas, her great-uncle was still awake and hastily typing on his computer. 

“It's a face mask,” Chiara answered. “Do you want to put it on?” She doesn't know what possessed her to ask such a stupid question. Perhaps it was because her father always did them with her? 

Goffredo basically blue-screened at the proposition, mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. 

Eventually, he sputters out, “What, no! Do I look like a female to you?” Face reddening at each word. 

At this point, Chiara has gotten used to the Cardinal’s outbursts. She had grown accustomed to them, just like one would get used to ambulances at 3 A.M. in a major city. 

“Do you want me to be honest?” She muses that it was so easy to rile him up. “Kidding.” She puffs out after noticing that his face has miraculously gotten even redder. 

She continues to search around the apartment for Marco and Luce. Marco was much easier to find; he was a big cat and left a trail of fluff behind him like he wanted you to come and get him.  Luce was harder; she was much smaller than her brother and slimmer, so she slipped through the cracks. Eventually, Chiara was able to wish them a good night and went to wash off her face. She caught a glimpse of Goffredo, still madly typing away. She wondered what he was writing; perhaps it was a report or maybe a strongly worded email. Whatever it was, she hoped he would stop soon; he was already cranky enough, and she didn't want to ever experience a sleep-deprived Goffredo. 

She crawled her way into bed, popping in her earplugs. She decided to doom scroll for a bit before she went off and slept. Her feed was filled with her friend’s summer vacations, she was jealous, how couldn't she be? She was stuck with a stuffy old man and didn't even get to do touristy things because, and she quotes Goffredo, “Eh? I wouldn't be caught dead doing any tourist activities. You are representing me here, no relative of mine will be seen doing anything of that sort!” It was antagonizing. Her Instagram was so dry, she had a post dedicated to her Nonna and a post from her graduation, that's it. She doesn't even have any highlights! 

A treacherous thought crept up on her: why don't you look for your great-uncle’s page? Oh hell no, she didn't even want to know what kind of shit show she would witness looking at his page! 

Maybe just this once? Just a peek and then she’ll go to bed. 

The words “ Goffredo Tedesco ” were typed into the search bar. Several Instagram accounts pop up, mainly fan accounts for him. Chiara wondered how a 72-year-old could even garner a fanbase, let alone one that would make social media posts for him. Never mind that, Chiara was on a mission; she had to quell her curiosity!

@CardTedesco_Venezia

He was verified, as expected, with his profile displaying his coat of arms. His posts were pretty average; photos of the Basilica San Marco, a post dedicated to congratulating Pope Innocent, Catholic “memes” that he definitely stole off of Facebook, selfies from poor angles, and the run of the mill Cardinal related posts. Overall, a pretty normal account a member of clergy would have. 

Chiara should've stopped there, alas, she was hooked! She needed to see more. That was his story. Oh, how insane it was! Photos of windows with the caption “I love these windows!” were followed by a story that turned into a rant about the Holy Father upholding Fiducia supplicans. Of course, Chiara had seen the news; anyone who's Catholic has seen the news, but their reactions varied. She was happy, which showed that the Church was progressing in accepting all of God’s children. Her great–uncle, on the other hand, had a much more extreme reaction. 

“Degeneracy,” He wrote, “We are allowing sodomites to be blessed instead of urging them to repent? We must fight back!” 

Chiara feels a headache coming on; that's her signal to go to bed. However, Chiara couldn't shake the feeling that these, albeit heinous, statements weren't coming from an honest place. Whatever, it wasn't any of her business. 

She wakes up bright and early, eyes puffy and hair messy. It felt like a mountain of bricks fell on her head. Today was Sunday. The Lord’s day, the day of her personal reckoning! 

She has nothing against the Latin mass, don't get her wrong, but the people that attend are utterly insufferable! They're either new-age converts who only converted because they're rightwing nutjobs who fell down the red-pill rabbit hole, or they are long-term trad-caths who refuse even to acknowledge Vatican II and hate on any progress. Chiara wonders if any of them have meditated on what the Gospels say, what Jesus truly meant in his words and actions. All she wants to do is scream at them and say that having a mass in only one language, a dead language at that, is disrespectful to the true acts of Christ. Do they not remember Pentecost, how the disciples started to speak in different languages, how they are so stuck on tradition that they don't realize mass in different languages is what God intended for us. For the Catholic church to truly be universal, we must acknowledge each other in the ways we can best be understood. How can the church expand if we revert to only Latin? 

Alas, these people lack any substantial brain cells to even refute her arguments properly. They'd call her a heretic for these opinions, if they think that's heretical, she can't wait until they hear her stance on abortion. 

Of course, Chiara recognizes there are people out there who attend the Latin liturgy because they genuinely love the Mass. She respects these people, as they are not putting on a costume of righteousness. Online “Trad-caths” don't understand the error of their ways, and she prays that God forgives them in their final hours. 

Chiara begins to get ready for mass; she changes into a long black dress and a nice cardigan over it, some Mary Jane Dr. Martens, and puts on her jewelry. Then comes the fun part, her hair, she must moisturize it, style it, and pray the humidity doesn't mess it up and cause her hair to become a frizzy mess. After that whole ordeal is done, she begins to apply makeup; it's relatively basic, just some complexion products (skin tint, bronzer, blush, and a small amount of highlighter), mascara, and lip gloss. Finally, she was ready for mass! 

“Eh? Chiara, where is your veil?” Goffredo asks as he is already in his clerical shirt and ready to go. 

“Shit!” Chiara thinks to herself, “Oh, right. Let me grab it really quick!” She calls out as she runs into her bedroom. She's flinging everything about and praying to St. Anthony. 

“Something is lost and must be found!” She exclaims, finally clutching the lacey black veil crumpled into her palm. She lays the veil atop her head and runs out of the room, directly into her great-uncle's line of vision. 

“Are you ready to go?” She pants. 

Goffredo replies, annoyed. “I have been ready for the past 10 minutes, let's go!” 

Miraculously, they make it to the Basilica without injury or confrontation. Goffredo liked to arrive at the Basilica 30 minutes before his assigned mass; unfortunately, that meant she had nothing to do for 30 minutes. 

“Do you want any help setting up the Altar?” She asks innocently. 

Goffredo’s face morphs into one of pure disgust, “No, because you're not an altar server here.” 

That wasn't the response she was expecting; she thought he would go on this misogynistic rampage, and begin going on and on about how “women actually do have a lot of power in the church!” and proceed to describe a secretary. 

“Oh, can I go look around then?” Chiara replies. Thankfully, Goffredo just shooed her off. 

“Get back here in 20 minutes, I don't want you skipping mass!” He calls as she exits the sacristy. 

Chiara finally gets a good look at what the interior looks like; to put it simply, it's gorgeous. 

The walls are a golden honey color, with paintings of angels and scenes from the bible pasted on the ceiling. The statues are well crafted, depicting the holy family and saints. Relics adorn the walls leading up to the Altar, and she stops and prays. Chiara doesn't know who she's asking for help from, but boy, does she need all the help she can get. 

She continues to explore, praying in the chapels held within the Basilica. Praying before statues and altars dedicated to holy men and women. 

Shit  

Chiara checks her watch; she needs to book it to get back to the sacristy. She begins, albeit carefully, running through the walls of the Basilica. She can feel the judgmental stares of the tourists, and truthfully, she doesn't care! 

She finally makes it outside and begins sprinting towards the sacristy. Her feet and lungs are on fire, but if she stops moving, she fears she might collapse. 

Thunk

Her body is sent crashing to the ground. What the hell just happened? 

“Are you okay?” A panicked voice asks. Chiara doesn't know how to respond, so she sits up. If she's covered in dust, she can't bring herself to care at the moment. 

She brings her gaze up to the person she bumped into. He looked like a monk, a young one, but still a monk. This monk wore black sneakers, a bright white habit, and a dark cape. He looked terrified, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. Another unfortunate part of this whole ordeal, he was handsome. The Dominican friar wore thick-rimmed square glasses, which only enhanced his big, almost black eyes. His hair was midnight black and curled at the top, with thick eyebrows to match. He stood out, like a sapphire in a sea of pearls. Friar-what-a-waste. 

Chiara eventually snapped out of her trance and stood up, brushed off her dress, and checked to see if her veil was still on her head. She let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding in. Thank God her veil didn't go flying off her head! The nasty Cardinal, she calls her great-uncle, would kill her! 

“I am so sorry, are you okay?” She finally says. He looks taken aback at her response. 

“Ah, yes, I am okay. You're the one who ended up on the ground, though.” Chiara let out a giggle at that. 

“Chiara!” Goffredo screamed, despite being 100 feet away, it felt like he yelled directly into her ear. 

She turns back to the friar and gives him an apologetic look, “Guess I gotta leave now, I'm still sorry about running into you…” She trails off, not knowing his name. 

He quickly replies, “Brother Raphael Louis.” 

“Brother Raphael Louis,” she says back, “It was nice meeting you.” She begins walking towards the sacristy. 

“Have a nice day, Chiara!” Brother Raphael yells. She can't help but giggle a bit. It was nice seeing someone who wasn't a literal dinosaur, and also someone cute. This isn't Fleabag, and she isn't Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s character. 

She finally arrived at the sacristy and was met by her great-uncle, and oh dear, was he pissed. 

“Who was that?” He questioned, not unlike a police officer who would interrogate a witness. 

“The guy I ran into?” Goffredo sternly nodded, “Brother Raphael, why?” Chiara responds. 

Goffredo looks stumped for a moment before responding, “I don’t want you talking to any of the younger friars; they haven't taken their vows yet.” Chiara knew exactly what he was insinuating. 

She decided to joke a bit, “I, Chiara Allegra Tedesco, promise to never talk to or engage in conversation with any of the young friars who walk the streets of Venice.” She says as she puts her hand over her heart. 

Goffredo stares at her for a moment, she's worried he may explode and call her a smart ass. “Good, now go back to the Basilica for mass.” 

She huffs, What is this guy’s problem?

The mass itself wasn't anything special; she didn't feel any more holy than when she attended the Novus Ordo mass. The one thing she found out of the ordinary was how poor Goffredo’s Latin was. 

It sounded as though you asked someone raised on a remote island, never exposed to Latin, to chant Gloria in excelsis Deo. His Gloria Patri was even worse; his pronunciation of “et in sæcula sæculorum” made her skin crawl. For someone who wants to bring glory to Rome and reinstate the Latin mass, he wasn't doing an outstanding job at it. 

Chiara shot out of her seat and made her way to where Goffredo stood outside the main entrance of the Basilica. He began to greet all the people who attended Mass. Chiara simply stood next to him, waiting to be acknowledged. 

“Oh, who is this, your Eminence?” A frail old lady asked Goffredo. 

“That would be my grand niece, she's staying with me for the summer.” The old lady simply nodded and smiled, turning her attention to Chiara. 

“And what is your name, dear?” She asked, voice wavering with age. 

“Chiara, ma’am, it is nice to meet you.” The old lady giggled at this, turning her attention back to Goffredo. 

A knowing smile grows onto her face, “She’s quite beautiful, keep her away from the seminarians, we don't want her tempting them away from the Church, do we?” 

Chiara gives a tight-lipped smile in return. “Trust me, she is kept far away from them!” Goffredo’s loud laugh booms out. 

Is that all a woman is, a grand pasture tempting a sheep to stray from its flock?  According to her great-uncle and other church leaders, yes! That and they're good for labor, child rearing, or otherwise. Why would God damn women to a life being called “half a rib” when women are whole beings worthy of respect? 

“I’m going to wait back in the sacristy.” She tells her great-uncle, hoping to free herself from this conversation. 

“Okay, be safe!” He lets out a laugh. Is he mocking her for falling? He is an overweight, sad manchild disguised as a Cardinal. 

The walk back to Goffredo’s apartment was silent; all attempts at a conversation made by Goffredo were met with grunts or one-word reactions. When they finally arrived back, Goffredo blocked Chiara from entering. 

“What’s going on? Are you depressed or something?” Goffredo asks. 

“What? No!” Chiara exclaims, “I’m just tired, let me get inside, please.” 

Goffredo isn't buying it; he whips out a bottle of holy water and flicks it at her. A fat glob of holy water shoots into her eye. 

“What the fuck?” Chiara yells, covering her eyes, “Why would you do that, you asshole!” 

“I didn't know it would go into your eye!”

“Still! Why the hell would you spray holy water on me?” 

Goffredo stays silent before mumbling something. “Speak up!” Chiara barks. 

“It was a blessing!” He exclaims. “Get in the house before my neighbors call the cops.” He ushers Chiara inside. 

They both sit down at the kitchen table, Chiara still recovering from the holy eye drops, starts the conversation. “What do you want?”

“We're going down to Basilicata for the week.” 

Chiara looks at him with pure awe, “Are you bipolar or something?” 

Goffredo sputters out, “What, do I look mentally ill?” in response. 

“To some, maybe.” She continues, “You're just so erratic, you literally sprayed holy water in my eye and then, not even five minutes later, you tell me we're going to visit family!” Chiara huffs. “You're insane.” 

—

Insane, eh? Goffredo can show her insane! 

“We're leaving tomorrow!” Goffredo blurts out. 

Chiara shoots out of her seat, the chair sliding across the floor, leaving marks. “This is what I mean, you tell me shit and then I have no time to react properly.” She leaves to go to her room, now without yelling behind her shoulder. “You’re fucking psychotic, I hope you know that.” 

Goffredo can't help but let out a hearty laugh. Psychotic is a strong word. He knew he wasn't the best person alive, but what Chiara said about him was a bit too harsh. Never mind that. He must pack!

Several clerical shirts, red cardigans, linen button-ups, slacks, and many undergarments later, he was packed. Two, fully stuffed, luggage bags filled to the brim with clothing and gifts for relatives ranging from cheeses to icons, Goffredo knew they would love it. 

“Marco?” The cat rubs against his calf, caressing it with its cheek. “Are you hungry? I thought I just fed you?” Goffredo crouches down to speak directly to the cat. “Or, do you just want cuddles?” That seemed to set Marco off, and he started purring. Goffredo knew his pets well; for instance, Marco liked to be touched, whereas Luce preferred to be watched. They're both attention seekers in their unique ways. That reminds Goffredo. 

“Chiara!” He knocks on her door. She was clearly acting out for attention, and he would give it to her. 

No answer. 

“Chiara, please open the door,” Goffredo says, lips caressing the cold wood of the door. His crooked nose was pressed up against it, having been broken many years ago. He couldn't recall any of the pain, just the blood dripping down his face and eyes beginning to close up from the bruising. 

Finally, she opened the door. 

“What?” She spat out with more venom than an Inland Taipan bite. 

“I wanted to check on your progress. Have you packed up everything?” He paused, contemplating what to say next. “Check the forecast, it'll be quite humid!” 

“I've already done that, could you tell me when we will be leaving and who we will be staying with?” Chiara asks, voice dripping with malice. 

Goffredo stills, how dare she speak to him like that! He was a well-respected man, and yet here he was being reduced to a layman in his own home, by his own blood no less! 

Goffredo holds up a finger, “First of all, watch your tone! Second, we will leave at 7 A.M. Third, we will stay with your Zia Mariacarla and her son Biagio.” Ending, holding up three fingers. 

“Fine, can you leave me alone now?” She says, starting to close her door. Goffredo blocks any attempts by his grand-niece to shut it. 

“No,” A sly smile creeps up on his face. “I wanted to say goodnight as well.”

“Okay, goodnight then.” She says, finally closing the door. 

CHIARA:0 GOFFREDO: 2

He must pat himself on the back for that one! 

Goffredo goes to bed happy that night, wistfully dreaming of his childhood in Montescaglioso. Running up and down the roads with his siblings, at least the ones he was closest in age to. His young, painless hands grazed across the aged walls that seemingly cradled him. The Benedictine monks who waved as he ran to school, and all the churches, created a welcoming atmosphere that truly loved him just as he loved them. He dreamt of that fateful night, sitting atop a hill watching the sun go down alongside a friend. Alas, he had been mistaken that night as he leaned into a kiss, and he was then ambushed by the other boy. Kicking and punching him, leaving him a bloody and bruised mess, blood streaming down his nose, creating a river that surely drowned the ants underneath him. 

Goffredo jolts awake, clutching his nose in his hands. He was fine now, far away from that “friend” of his. Glancing over at his bedside clock, he decided it was a fine time to begin getting ready for today. 

In about 13 hours, he would be reunited with his loved ones! 

He gave breakfast to Luce and Marco, petting them for the final time this week. He had, thankfully, remembered to order a sitter for them. It was one of the seminarians; he figured that taking care of the Cardinals' cats would be easier than classes.  

Nevertheless, he continued down the hall and knocked on Chiara’s door. 

“Chiara,” he said softly, “It’s time to get up!” He heard the soft pattering of feet from beyond the door. It opened on a very tired Chiara. Her hair was frizzy and unruly, and her eyes were squinted from the light pouring into them. 

“It’s 5:30?” She yawned, arms stretching above her head. 

“I know that, have you forgotten that we leave at 7?” He responded. 

“Really?” She said sleepily, “That early?”

“Yes, that early. It'll be nightfall by the time we arrive!” 

“Oh dear.” She slinked back into her room. Goffredo supposed it would be best to let her get ready without him imposing on her. 

He waltzed into the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast. Getting out jams, bread, and cheese and setting them out on a spread. Goffredo stood in front of his stove, eyes focused on what Chiara lovingly calls a Greca. After the coffee was done, he poured himself and Chiara cups and set them on the table. At last, breakfast was served! A myriad of fruits, jams, breads, cheeses, and coffee adorned the table, creating a whirlwind of scents that implanted itself into his brain. Was it a basic breakfast? Sure! But was it comforting? Absolutely. 

Chiara finally emerged from her room, hair brushed and eyes now filled with energy. She sat down at the small round table and said grace before eating. Goffredo, shockingly, wasn't expecting any thank you from her; rather, he wanted her fed. 

He sat down opposite her and began to eat, looking up, he met Chiara’s confused gaze. 

“What?” He responded, mouth full of bread smothered in peach jam. 

“Nothing,” She pauses, “You just eat weird, that's all.” 

Goffredo deflects, “I don't eat weird, you eat weird!” 

Chiara snorts, “You eat like I’m going to grab your food away from you! Look.” She begins to demonstrate. Hunching over her back, eyes darting around the room like a maniac, and stuffing her face like a woman starved of fresh food for a lifetime. 

Goffredo’s face turned scarlet, smoke practically billowing out of his ears. 

“You look like that!” She exclaims, face stuffed with cheese and fig spread. 

“Enough of the demonstration!” He exclaimed, hands slamming into the wooden table beneath him. Chiara jolted from the noise, swallowing before she let out a sigh. 

They continued to eat in silence before both of them grabbed their bags. Goffredo looked over at Chiara as she placed a kiss on both the cats' heads; they looked just as sad to see her go as she did when leaving them. 

The train ride was uneventful; Chiara either napped or scrolled on her phone. Goffredo, on the other hand, read a book titled “Values in a Time of Upheaval” by Pope Benedict XVI. It was an interesting read; he had always liked Benedict's theology and writings, having idolized his thought process. Ratzinger was truly one of a kind, an educated man, not unlike himself, and proud of his views. 

After 11 hours of being stuck on the train, they finally arrived in Montescaglioso. The air there was different from that in Venice, more salty and fresher. They both hurried off the train platform with their luggage in tow. 

“Zio Goffredo.” Ah, Mariacarla. The woman sprinted up towards them, enveloping both of them in a bone-crushing hug. 

“You must be Chiara, it's so nice to meet you finally!” She chirps. Her hair was a dark brown mess of waves, with some grey hairs starting to form near her temples. Eyes closing as she smiled freely, crows' feet becoming more prominent with age. 

Mariacarla was Lorenzo’s daughter. Oh, how he tormented Goffredo in their youth; he was child number 8 and moved out as soon as he could. Alas, he couldn't run away from his fate of joining a trade and becoming a butcher just like their father. He had died 5 years ago, not of age but rather in a car crash. Much like Luisa, he had done his funeral as he had promised them when he entered into the priesthood. It was a sick fate, he knew that more than anyone, but he'd much rather wish them away than a random one. 

He looked over at Chiara, eyes shining under the night lights that adorn the streets. She was grinning like a madwoman, and he couldn't help but smile at that. 

Mariacarla entertained both of them as she drove them to her house, discussing their week ahead and telling Chiara stories of her father and their childhood together. The roads became rougher as they approached Mariacarla’s residence. Outside the white complex stood a young man, around Chiara’s age. 

“Biagio, say hello to your uncle and cousin!” Mariacarla yelled out of the car window. Despite the darkness, Goffredo could make out him rolling his eyes under the illumination of the moon. He continued to step closer to the vehicle. 

“Hi.” He said, clearly tired. Goffredo couldn't blame him; he was exhausted from their travels. He heard a light snoring from behind him. Chiara was slumped at the waist, hair covering her face. How darling. 

“Chiara,” he said, not wanting to startle her, “we’re here.” She began to stir. 

“Five more minutes.” She groaned out. He couldn't help but laugh at that. 

“You will get your five minutes if you get out of the car and greet your cousin.” He told her. That woke her up. Chiara’s eyes shot open and met Biagio’s. 

“Oh, hi!” She said nervously, getting out of the car. 

“Mom told me you're from America, what's that like?” Biagio asked, clearly excited at the prospect of an American cousin. 

“Um, it's very hectic. I live in a large city, New York specifically.” She responds. 

“New York!” He exclaims, practically jumping up and down, “Do you know any celebrities? Have you been to Disney?” 

“The closest thing to a celebrity that I know, personally, would be our great-uncle.” She giggles a bit, “But, I did see Hugh Grant in the Subway once.” 

Goffredo turned his attention to Mariacarla. “How have you been, my niece?” enveloping her in a hug. 

“I could be better. How have you been?” Goffredo snorts at that. 

“I've been taking care of a teenager, put two and two together.” That made Mariacarla erupt into a fit of laughter; he almost thought she would pass out from how hard she was laughing. 

When the laughter died down, she wiped away her tears. “I get that. Let's get you guys inside. We all need sleep.” 

The house was warm and inviting, and he was shown to his room. Unfortunately, he would be sharing with Chiara. It was a very large room with two beds on opposite sides; he just didn't realize they would be so short on space. 

Alas, they needed sleep; he'd fight this battle in the morning. 

He brushed his teeth and hair, got into his pajamas, and slipped into bed. Fully prepared to go to bed. 

“Hey,” Chiara said from the other side of the room. Sitting up in bed, he met her gaze. 

“What is it?” He asked, clearly wanting to go to sleep. 

“Why didn't you defend me on Sunday, when that lady said to keep me away from the seminarians so I don't tempt them?” 

“Are we really having this conversation now?” He said, annoyed. 

“Yes, I need an answer. Why didn't you defend me?” 

Goffredo lets out a huff, “She wasn't completely wrong, I have already given the seminarians a talk before you arrived.” He thought back to that day, yelling at them that his grand-niece was coming, so they better be on their best behavior around her or else. 

A silence overcame them; if he wasn't directly looking at Chiara, he would've thought she had just given up and gone to sleep. 

“Is that all I am, a temptation?” She said, finally breaking the silence. 

That sentence struck a chord in Goffredo, he felt ill. Obviously she wasn't a temptress, she was a respectful young woman. Yes, she was loud and opinionated but she was still modest and most importantly his grand-niece. 

“No, it's just that young men see any woman and immediately turn into dogs.” He snorted out. Chiara remained silent. 

“Are women just supposed to pay the price then, fend off these lustful beasts, and get blamed for their actions?” Voice raising.

“No! Where did you get that idea?” He was afraid their argument would wake up the whole house. 

“From you! You just said that women must keep themselves away from seminarians so as not to tempt them! Are you speaking from experience, uncle? ” She said that last word with so much anger, he thought she might get up and run out of the house. 

“No!” He exclaimed, “I never looked at women that way, but I wish I did!” His face paled. Had he just said that, the only people who know of this affliction are God, himself, and the boy he tried to kiss in his childhood. 

The world seemingly stopped; all Goffredo could hear was his heartbeat. Chiara would probably start telling people that the great Patriarch of Venice was an old gay man. Oh, how the Liberals would love that, an excuse to isolate him from allies. The conservatives would be worse; they'd slander his name in the papers and say things like how they'd always expected this of him. Worse of all, he could be defrocked. 

Chiara finally broke the silence. “You're gay?” she said, without any malice behind her voice; instead, she sounded sympathetic as if he had just told her he broke his ankle. 

“Yes,” He whispered-screamed, “I am a homosexual! Are you happy now, you can finally destroy me?” 

Chiara calmly got out of her bed and made her way over to Goffredo, leaning down to embrace him. 

“Destroy you?” She said calmly, “I wouldn't dare, I may hate you at times, but you're still family.” Goffredo's arms slowly reached up to hug her back, crying into her shoulder. 

“You're not mad?” He said in between choked sobs. 

“Why would I be? You're gay, not a serial killer.” Goffredo laughed at that, still a bit sniffly from crying. 

“Agh, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” Chiara asked, “Being yourself? Crying?” 

“No, for letting you see me like this.” Goffredo released himself from her hug, finally facing his grand-niece. Her face was soft, mouth slightly downturned. She looked more upset than he, like she was the one feeling this way. 

“Do you mind if I sit on the bed?” She asked, gesturing next to him. He scooched over and patted next to him. She just smiled in return. 

“When my parents first told me I had to stay with you this summer, I freaked out. I had this vision of you, shaped by what I saw on the news. In my head, you were this mean old man who hated any form of progress and who wanted us all to speak only Latin.” She paused, thinking. “While some of this is true, I saw another side of you. You're not a bad person, Zio. You're human, you have these two lovely cats, and you clearly love the Church more than any normal person ever could. What I’m trying to say is, you're many things already, being gay isn't going to change my view on you, it'll just give me a better perspective to look at you from.” 

When Goffredo looked at Chiara, he felt different; she really was his sister's granddaughter. Luisa had always been this attentive to his needs, comforting him when he scratched his knee or when he got a bad grade on an assignment. He knows Luisa would be so proud of her beloved grandchild, more than Chiara could ever understand. At this moment, Goffredo thinks God has blessed him by giving him someone reminiscent of his late sister, and at this moment, he is at peace.

Chapter Text

Sleep came naturally to both of them quickly. Goffredo was happy to get that off his chest. Truthfully, he thought that he would die before anyone found out about his secret. To look into Chiara’s eyes and see his sister made him feel a whirlwind of emotions he hadn't experienced in what felt like a millennium, and it helped him understand why he loved his sister so dearly. Luisa understood him better than anyone, except God, of course. She was the only one who didn't oppose him joining the priesthood; she accepted it and helped him pack for the seminary. Luisia was the one who kissed his forehead before he turned his back on a normal life. The rest of his family protested like no other; they tried to stop him multiple times by reminding him that he was a farmer just like the rest of them. 

He was never ashamed of becoming a priest, he was never ashamed of his loyalty to the church, and he could never turn his back on her. 

That night, he dreamed. Goffredo dreamed of a life he didn't have, and he was okay with it. Usually, when he thinks of all he missed out on, he is filled with shame. When he was much younger, he would fast because of his subconscious mind and the visions it would create. Nowadays, his age can only permit so much. 

Sunlight kissed his face as he woke up, warmth spreading across his face. His face felt dry. Goffredo slowly sat up in bed and looked across the room to where Chiara was sleeping. Without his glasses, he could make out a lump on the bed. He slowly slipped out of bed and put on his glasses; he needed to see where he was going after all. Shuffling out of the room, he walked down the hallway and made it to the bathroom. There, he showered, brushed his teeth, and got dressed for the day ahead of him. 

His pectoral cross adorned his neck, tucked underneath a slightly transparent linen button-up. He pulled up a pair of loose tan pants and secured them tightly with a thick black belt. Goffredo looked like every other grandfather that he saw around the canals. Lifting his right sleeve, he applied a nicotine patch. During Chiara’s stay with him, she had expressed her discomfort with him smoking indoors, and unfortunately for him, he couldn't bring himself to betray her like that. They've helped a little, but the need for something to occupy his mouth was driving him crazy. Goffredo had taken up chewing gum to occupy his mouth; he had to be going through a pack a day at the least. 

His face reflected in the mirror was a sad image. His face was red and puffy, his eyes slightly swollen from the night before. Yet, a weight felt as though it was lifted off of him. He had told someone his deepest and most heinous secret. His same sex attraction was not something he was comfortable with, and yet expressing it out loud made him feel the realities that came with it.  

Goffredo knew what canon law stated; his attraction wasn't sinful, for God granted this onto him; rather, he should avoid any form of sexual promiscuity like the plague. Moreover, he wasn't dumb; he knew his fellow clergymen felt the same sex attraction, and many of them engaged in such behaviours. Despite the Careful Selection and Training of Candidates stating otherwise, men dealing with homosexuality still flocked to the church as an escape, Goffredo being one of them. It wasn't until 2005 when Instruction Concerning the Criteria for the Discernment of Vocations was released that he let out a sigh of relief; only those with “deep-seated” homosexual attraction were not permitted to become clergy. They must remain chaste for three years during their transition from Deacon to Priest. 

In 2018, he was on high alert, for a fellow Cardinal had written a 1,200-page report that exposed 40 priests, deacons, and seminarians as sodomites with the help of a male prostitute, nonetheless. He wasn't in the report; he had remained chaste his entire life, no matter how many of his fellow men might try to hit on him. However, knowing that there were people he knew who were actively looking for his destruction scared him in more ways than one. All he could think of was whether anyone knew, whether it was the way he walked or the way he talked. Goffredo had ramped up his anti-gay sentiments during this time, hoping and praying that what he was saying would ward off any potential rats looking to demolish his career. 

Now, he had told someone. That someone is his great-niece. Sure, she had promised that she would keep this new information to herself, but—

“Are you gonna keep hogging the bathroom, or can I brush my teeth?” Chiara’s voice cut through the silence. 

Goffredo turned to look at her, wide-eyed. 

“Ah, yes, I'll get out of here.” He replied, pushing past her. “Sorry.” He stopped himself, “Oh, also, we're going down to the beach this morning, remember to bring a swimsuit.” With that, Goffredo left to eat breakfast with Mariacarla. 

“Ah, good morning, Zio!” Mariacarla’s cheery voice called out to him as he wandered into the dining room. It was a comforting space, with the warm sunlight seeping through the orange blinds. Wooden cabinets that match the dinner table, contrasting perfectly with the quartz countertops. 

Goffredo simply smiled in response, grabbing a plate and the toasted bread on the stove top, along with some of the cheese left in the fridge. He pulls up a chair to sit across from his niece. 

“Good morning, thank you for the food,” he says quietly, voice still raspy from the night before. Goffredo continues, “Would you like me to bless breakfast?” Mariacarla’s face lit up, head nodding erratically. He gets up, knees cracking, to catch up with the speed at which he stands. 

In

Out

“ Gloria al Padre e al Figlio e allo Spirito Santo. Come era nel principio, ora e sempre, nei secoli dei secoli. Amen. ” 

It was a simple prayer, one recited by his parents before every meal and thus ingrained into his brain since the beginning of his life. Yet, it felt right in that moment to say his grace the way his family had for years before him. 

He ended by making the sign of the cross, a poignant reminder of his family's faith. 

“Thank you, Zio,” His niece said politely, eyes wandering towards her fork before consuming her breakfast. Goffredo, however, looked down at his plate and simply stared at the assortment that greeted him. A slice of toasted bread, fig jam, cheese, and some bright orange slices picked from the garden outside Mariacarla’s house. To the average person, this would be more than enough to satisfy their appetite, but Goffredo is not the average person. He needed to eat copious amounts of food because if he didn't, he'd become increasingly more irritated and ultimately lightheaded throughout the day. It was a reminder of his childhood, nights of going to bed hungry because his sibling stole all the food, and as the youngest, he was last, and this got the scraps nobody wanted. 

Now, he was older and wiser than he had been when he was cooped up in a bed too small for two bodies to fit in. Goffredo hasn't thought much about his youth; funnily enough, he'd rather ignore that portion of his life. Youngest of twelve kids, constantly feminized, wearing both his older brothers and older sisters' clothes to school and being made fun of for it, and on top of that being a young homosexual man in Southern Italy. 

Alas, his hunger overtook him, and he took to devouring his food like a madman. His hands dug into the bread like one would cling to the jacket of a loved one going to war. Goffredo brought the food to his mouth and shoved it in there, hoping he wouldn't choke on it. 

God bless him, and may Saint Maximillian Kolbe pray for him as he continues to deal with these tribulations. Goffredo has a history of not savoring his food; he often ate until his stomach physically couldn't handle it anymore. It was torture; he often wept while asking God to rid him of this horrific sin of greed, and yet he hasn't answered. Was God punishing him for his homosexuality, possibly, or was he upset at something else? Goffredo didn't know; all he knew was that God watched as the sin of greed ravaged his body like a parasite. 

As Chiara would put it, it sucks. 

He hated what he had become; it was as though his body was forever in starvation mode. Goffredo couldn't even go a day without thinking about his next meal. He refused to talk about it as well, as speaking up about these greedy thoughts may make him a sinner. 

Mariacarla’s voice cut through his thinking, “-io, Zio?”

Goffredo looked up to meet her gaze, cocking his head to the side. 

“Are you alright? If you aren't feeling well, we can go to the beach without you.” She asked, eyes showing just how worried she was for her uncle. 

He colored a bit; had he been staring off into space for that long? “Ah, no need to worry!” He said, putting on a smile, “I was just thinking about work, being an Archbishop is both a job and a lifestyle after all!” He laughed a bit, getting one in return from Mariacarla. 

The beach, he hadn't thought that much about it. What would he wear? Would others judge the way most of his weight settles in his midsection? Would they even care? 

Just then, he heard bickering. 

“No, I'm just saying I don't understand why people on the internet think that the pope is attractive! Like, yes, he's objectively good looking and I would love to have a conversation with him, don't get me wrong, but wanting to do him?” Chiara whisper-yelled at Biagio. 

Goffredo couldn't help but stifle a laugh. Had people begun to lust over the Holy Father? While not attracted to Pope Innocent in that way, he can admit to himself that the man had some charm, too. He held himself with such grace and dignity that it was hard not to appreciate it. Seeing in real time the demise of Vincent Benitez, Archbishop of Kabul, and the birth of Pope Innocent XIV, successor of Saint Peter, was surreal. Even Goffredo had to admit he felt the fire of the Holy Spirit erupt within him as the current pope spoke in that auditorium. 

His great-nephew, Biagio, laughed at his cousin. “But you must look at it from their perspective, he is a relatively young pope! He's only 55, the last pope was in his mid-seventies when he was elected!” 

Chiara groaned, “These people have no respect for the position of the pope! He's also a spiritual leader, and outside of that, he influences so much, even non Catholics feel the effects of what he does!” She says, standing on the last step, “What’s next? They start shipping him and Cardinal Lawrence, too?” She says, comedically slapping her hands down on her thighs. 

Biagio erupts into a fit of laughter, making his mother stare daggers at him. Alas, that doesn't deter his fit of unbridled laughter. 

“Chiara, you have no idea!” He says, in between giggles. That makes Chiara quirk an eyebrow up in confusion. The pair eventually makes it to the food laid out in the kitchen, each grabbing a brightly colored plate and filling each with a little bit of everything. Biagio pulls his chair up to the table. 

Goffredo begins, “What is shipping and why does Chiara have no idea?” He continues, “Is my job at risk?” 

Both Biagio and Chiara whip their heads around to look at their great-uncle, faces burning red and eyes practically bulging out of their heads. 

“Uhhh,” Chiara says, mouth agape before composing herself, “Shipping is basically when you think two individuals would make a nice couple.” She cringes, shrinking in her seat.

Biagio continues her thought, “People on the internet think that the Holy Father and Cardinal Lawrence would make a cute pair, they even call them Lawrenitez!” 

Goffredo couldn't believe what he was hearing: people thinking Thomas and Pope Innocent would look nice together? Blasphemous, heretical even! To insinuate either man wouldn't be able to keep their vows of celibacy would be a crime in and of itself, and to then spread your thinking with like-minded people is horrific and should not be tolerated! 

He opens his mouth to speak, before being cut off by Biagio. 

“Get this, people are even shipping Zio Goffredo and Cardinal Bellini, isn't that crazy!” His face contorts into one of disgust, “Zio, do you guys even like each other?” 

Oh dear, he was being put on the spot. Chiara was looking at him knowingly. 

“I don't think Zio Goffredo would like to hear about that,” She says, nervously shifting in her seat. 

“Ah, there's no need to defend me.” Goffredo laughs a bit, “Yes, Cardinal Bellini and I are friendly to one another; we may have our differences, but we are still members of the Church.” 

That seemed to quell any discussions of that shipping nonsense. Surely, others in the curia must know about this! Right? 

Tedesco

Bellini, have you been on social media at all in the past months? I have been informed of some concerning content related to the Holy Father. 

Bellini

Oh? 

I have been on social media, but I have yet to come across anything out of the ordinary in regards to the pope. Are people threatening him? 

Tedesco

Eh, no. Thankfully!

My grand-nephew told me he came down the stairs, talking with Chiara about how people find his Holiness attractive, and even going as far as to publicly proclaim how they wish for him to couple up with Thomas!

What depravity! 

Goffredo’s phone began to buzz, and as he excused himself from the table, he walked outside to answer the call. Aldo’s voice came through his speakers. 

“So let me get this straight, you overheard your grand-nephew and niece talking about how people on social media find the pope hot?” He sounded a bit out of breath. Was he as surprised as Goffredo was? 

“Yes, and that people are allegedly shipping them.” He said, exasperated. 

“Not to be crass, but what the hell is shipping?” Bellini replied, voice picking up at each word. 

Goffredo lets out a groan, “Essentially, they think the Holy Father and Thomas would look good together.” 

At this point, he had begun to think the line went dead, and suddenly a muffled scream could be heard through the speakers. 

Goffredo laughed a bit, “Yes, that was my reaction as well! Now I am in hysterics, these people have no class, None!” 

“I, ugh, are they mentioning any other members of the Curia or just them?” Aldo asked innocently, and at that comment, Goffredo blanched. He was conflicted, should he let him know or should he await the firestorm that awaited him if he didn't. 

“Ah,” He laughed into his phone microphone, “They um, apparently people think we would make a good pair.” 

“This is not a time for jokes, Tedesco,” Aldo replied. Goffredo could hear fast typing in the background. Surely Aldo wasn't checking social media for such depravity himself, was he? 

Goffredo yelled into the microphone, “I am not joking, why would I joke about something like that! I don't even like men!” That was a lie, but Aldo didn't need to know that. 

Aldo let out the smallest of laughs, something that could barely be considered a breath. “I would hope not, we are supposed to remain chaste after all,” Goffredo smiled at that, at least Aldo and he could agree on something, “Anyways, I just checked Twitter for any mention of this shipping thing you've been told of and you aren't lying.” 

“I told you!” Goffredo said loudly, hoping his family couldn't hear this conversation, “What did you find?” 

“I’d rather not say,” Aldo said meekly, “It’s really weird.”

Weird? The situation was already weird enough; what else could worsen it?

“Ah, just spit it out, Bellini!” Goffredo shouts into the microphone. 

Aldo lets out a sigh, “They are making art of both our likenesses alongside His Holiness and Thomas.” 

Bah, such depravity! 

“Can you send them to me?” 

Goffredo can imagine Aldo gawking in Rome, “What! I’m not going to do that!” 

“Please, I want to see the so-called art out of morbid curiosity!” Goffredo exclaimed. 

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” Aldo said, defeated. 

The text came immediately, his phone buzzing with each text Aldo sent him. Each photo was getting worse and worse as the messages rolled in. The first photo was pretty normal; it was a drawing of when Pope Innocent received the Annulus Piscatoris. Thomas was the one given the honor of placing it on his finger. Truthfully, it was a nice image; the way the artist portrayed both of them was honestly quite nice. It was rendered nicely, but the comments were positively abysmal! 

“OMG! This is such a beautiful drawing! Don't you think it's like a wedding, exchanging rings and all that?” One comment read, the reply was worse, if that was even possible. 

“ I know! Do you think they'll exchange pectoral crosses next, or maybe they'll get matching ones? ” 

Utter secular depravity, Goffredo couldn't stomach any more of this utter nonsense. 

The next image Aldo sent him was of them both embracing. Goffredo’s heart stills. What the hell is happening to him? Sure, he's come to find Aldo charming in his odd liberal way, and he can admit that he wasn't ugly by any means, but this art is stirring a reaction out of him that was worrisome. Surely, this wasn't a sign for anything. 

“Tedesco?” Aldo’s voice rang out; Goffredo hadn't noticed that he had gone quiet for that long. 

“Aldo.” 

“I know, it's all so weird! Although I am happy more young people are getting into the Church, I wish it weren't in this way.” 

Goffredo let out a dry laugh, “Maybe you could pitch to the Dicastery for Evangelization an art contest?”

Aldo stilled for a moment, “You know what, I don't hate that idea.” 

Against better judgment, Goffredo smiled. 

“It's community engagement. If you decide to go through with this, give me proper credit, okay?”

“Okay, Goffredo,” Aldo laughed, “Goodbye.”

“Yeah, bye, Aldo.” 

—

Chiara is upset, and rightfully so! They were going to the beach, and Goffredo hadn't come back inside to pack a bag. 

“Zio Goffredo,” she yelled out the slightly cracked open door, “Come inside, please!” 

Goffredo whipped his head around to stare at her, face flushed and eyes widened in shock. 

“Ah, hello, Chiara!” He squeaked, “Yeah, I’ll come in, just- give me a few.”

Chiara couldn't believe what she was seeing; her great uncle, nervous. She had to find out why. 

“So,” She said, cocking her head to the side, “Who were you on the phone with?” 

“Nobody!” Goffredo said, defensively, “Give me a few minutes and I’ll come back inside!” His hands waved around erratically. 

“Okay,” She snorted out, “Whatever you say!” Chirara turned on her heel and walked back indoors, closing the door behind her. 

“Zia Mariacarla, I'm gonna head upstairs and collect my things for the beach!” Chiara called while walking up the stairs. 

When she made it to the shared room, she immediately grabbed her tote bag, sunglasses, sunscreen, and flip flops. Of course, she couldn't forget body moisturizer and some leave-in conditioner. After all her packing ceased, she grabbed her bathing suit, which was quite basic. She slipped the black one-piece on and pulled up some shorts to cover herself on the car ride there. 

When she got downstairs, she sat down on the couch next to Biagio. 

“You know,” She began, “when I went outside to call Zio Goffredo in, he looked odd.” 

Her cousin turned to look at her, “What do you mean?” 

She gestured with her hands, “You know when you realize you like someone, but you're too scared to even tell them?” Biagio nodded, “That's what he looked like.” 

Biagio’s eyes widened in surprise, “I don't even think Zio Goffredo likes anyone outside the family in a purely platonic way, let alone romantically!” he exclaimed. 

“That's what I'm saying!” Chiara says as she holds her head in her hands, “It’s all so odd.” 

Their conversation was cut off by some yelling. 

“Kids!” Mariacarla proclaimed, “We’re leaving now, make sure you have everything!” 

Chiara and Biagio both looked into their bags before getting off the couch, shuffling behind Mariacarla into the car. Goffredo came slightly later than the others and settled into his seat in front. 

The sights that encompassed them bewitched Chiara, the bright blue sky and the sandy ground that they drove on. If her memory was as good as she hoped, she would definitely paint the scene before her. 

Eventually, the beach came into view, and Chiara noticed the number of cars parked around the area. She knew her family was big, but seeing it in real life was another monster. These were people she had only seen in photos or behind video screens. Today, she would meet them in person. Her stomach churned at the thought. What if they didn't like her? Chiara didn't think she could live with herself if that were the case. 

Suddenly, the car stopped. They were at the beach, and Chiara was about to meet her family for the first time. No pressure, she’ll be okay! She forced herself to get out of the car, and suddenly she was ambushed by a small child clinging to her leg. 

“Hello!” The young boy chirped, he had to be at least 3, “I’m Paolo, what’s your name?” 

“Uh, I’m Chiara, it's nice to meet you.” By this time, she had managed to wrangle him off her leg and crouch down to his level. She didn't know what else to say. I mean, what do you talk about with a three-year-old? 

“Do you know where your mom is?” She asked, crouching down to eye level. The little boy, now known as Paolo to her, pointed behind his back to a young woman. Chiara followed his hand, he was pointing at Guilia. She held a baby in her arms, rocking it slightly while discussing something with another family member. 

She looked perfect, like the ideal young Catholic woman. She was married with children, went to church regularly, and even went to adoration. Goffredo was so proud of her, he would routinely comment on her Facebook saying such. Chiara knew she would never live up to such expectations. 

Speaking of Goffredo, Chiara had no idea where that old man was. Eh, it wasn't any of her business; she had to walk her cousin Paolo over to his mom. 

She shuffled over to her cousin, now making eye contact with Chiara. 

“Ah, hello!” She chirped out, “I see you've met Paolo?” Her eyes drifted downwards to her son. 

“Yeah, I’m Chiara, by the way!” 

“I know,” Guilia said, still smiling, “What's it like staying with our lovely uncle?” 

Chiara shrugged, “He's an old man who loves his cats more than humans, what's more to say?” She laughed. 

“Has he said anything weird to you?” Guilia asked, obviously, she would say this. The man was in the news like every other week; it sucked having the same last name as him. Why did her dad change his name from Manna to Tedesco? 

“Other than the usual, ‘it's a shame you're not Italian!’ and ‘You hardly look related to me!’ he's been alright; though, he has been a tough nut to crack!” Chiara chortled. 

“I bet he's always been a bit of a recluse. We didn't even know where he lived until I begged him so I could send him a baby shower invite!” Guilia joked back.

“Shut up, no, he didn't!” 

“Oh yes, he did!” 

The two cousins broke out in unadulterated laughter, keeling over, and their faces turning bright red. Chiara wiped a tear from her eye. 

“Well, I gotta say hi to other people!” She said as she walked away, waving goodbye to Paolo and Guilia. 

Chiara bounced around different family members, cheeks getting redder and redder each rotation. She couldn't even remember half of their names if she were to be honest, there are a billion of them! Tedesco and Co. could surpass the Chana family in terms of the number of people directly related to one another. 

After all that mingling and borderline assault on her face with the amount of lipstick marks that adorn her cheeks, and the inevitable bruising she’ll wake up with tomorrow morning, she was finally able to rest. She grabbed her tote bag, filled with sunscreen, a towel, sunglasses, and a hat, and carried it over to the sand, setting it down next to Goffredo. He looked scared, zoned out, and not responding to any outside stimulation. Had she been in this situation before yesterday, she wouldn't care hell, she wouldn't even sit next to him, and yet here she was. Goffredo wore short, dark red swim trunks, and his linen shirt was unbuttoned, yet he held his shirt together and close to his chest as though he was concealing something. 

“You good?” Chiara said as she lowered herself to the ground. 

He turned his head at the sudden intrusion, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her. 

“Mah,” He said, lips smacking together, “nobody is ever good at my age!” Goffredo tightened his grip on his top. 

“I’m sure the water would help?” Chiara offered, “It would be good for your joints.” 

That seemed to agitate him more, if that was even possible; he rounded his shoulders and seemingly protected his torso from anyone else. 

“I would rather be defrocked than go in the water around people.” Mumbled Goffredo. 

“Oh.” She hadn't thought that the simple comment, made in anger, would cause him such anguish. It was hotter than the surface of the sun, and he’s refusing to go into the water because of some stupid comment Chiara made. She put her arm around his shoulders, bringing him into a side hug. 

“I’m sorry.”

Goffredo snorted, “It’s not your fault, it's a culmination of things at the moment.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Asked Chiara

“I'd rather not discuss such personal matters with a loved one!”

Chiara tore herself from the side hug and pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Ah ha! You consider me family!” 

Goffredo grimaced, “I’ve always considered you family, just not Italian.” 

Of course, she knew the reason why. It was a mix of things, mainly that she's American and half Puerto Rican; anyone who isn't born and raised in Italy isn't Italian to her uncle. She wonders if she had been born here, he would consider her differently; she would still not be a full Italian in his eyes, but at least she’d have the connection to the land. 

Chiara rolled her eyes, “Whatever, I’m going into the water.” She took her shorts off and ran off into the waves. As she let the waves flow over her body like a robe, she thought of Our Lady. The shining Star of the Sea, the woman crowned queen of Heaven. 

Ave maris stella, Dei Mater alma atque semper Virgo, felix caeli porta. 

She floated on her back, letting the movement of the sea caress her. 

Sumens illud Ave Gabrielis ore, funda nos in pace, mutans Hevae nomen. 

Chiara hoped that the remainder of this trip would be uneventful, that her great-uncle would fully accept her as one of his own. She could feel their relationship grow and better itself, but it was still weak, and one wrong move could wreck the foundation of their love for one another. 

Solve vincula reis, profer lumen caecis mala nostra pelle, bona cuncta posce. 

Maybe, just maybe, when they go to Rome, Chiara can meet with the Holy Father and talk about everything. She enjoyed his theological opinions and hoped he would publish a book soon, maybe even work with a filmmaker and create a documentary of his life. Although from what she's seen, he doesn't seem like the type to do that. It took him five months to move from the Casa Santa Marta to the Apostolic Palace; apparently, it was because he found out it would be easier for the guards if he lived there. 

Monstra te esse matrem: sumat per te preces, qui pro nobis natus, tulit esse tus. 

Speaking of Rome, she saved up quite a bit of money over the school year to buy her mom intricate icons. Elena was a woman of the arts, so naturally, she had to comply. Chiara’s earliest memories were in museums, surrounded by Christian imagery. Elena was a museum curator who specialized in early Christian art, specifically from the Middle East. Byzantine iconography was commonplace in her house, situated next to family portraits and a select few copies of Renaissance paintings. 

Virgo singularis, inter omnes mites, nos culpis solutos, mites fac et castos. 

Chiara realized she hadn't talked about university at all with Goffredo, and she hated it. He didn't even know she was majoring in THRS with a concentration in Christian Theology at Georgetown University. He wasn't aware that he was the inspiration behind it, granted it wasn't for a positive reason, but he was the reason nonetheless. 

Vitam praesta puram, iter para tutum: ut videntes Iesum semper collaetemur. 

She had considered becoming a Canon Lawyer, getting her Master's degree from the Angelicum, and residing in Rome for the rest of her days. She envisioned the arguments she could get into with her great-uncle, Canon Lawyer versus Catholic Cardinal. However, she now thought of the more polite discussions surrounding theology and canon law. 

Sit laus Deo Patri, summo Christo decus, Spiritui Sancto, tribus honor unus. 

Maybe one day she could make her family proud. 

Amen. 

Chiara got out of the water and walked back over to her towel. Goffredo was still there, gazing off into the distance. 

“You really should go into the water,” Chiara said, breaking the silence between them, “It’ll help you clear your head.” 

Goffredo just turned his head to look at her, then turned to look back at the water. 

A beat passes over them before Goffredo opens his mouth, “You’ll have to help me up; if I try by myself, I think I might fall over.” 

Chiara laughed a bit before stretching her arms out for him to latch onto. She used all her leg strength to pull him up. Miraculously, they were successful in their attempt to get him off the ground. Before he left to get into the water, Chiara stopped him, asking one simple question. 

“When will we go to Rome?”

Chapter Text

The simple question hung over both their heads. Chiara’s hair stuck to her back in clumps, water dripping off her nose in small droplets. Her great-uncle stared blankly back at her. 

“Ah, that.” He said poignantly, turning to look at the water, “Must we talk about it right now?” 

Chiara waited for a moment before responding, “No, it just popped into my head. I’ll remind you when we get back.” 

At that, Goffredo smiled, teeth and all, and ran (to the best of his ability) into the water, joining loved ones. Chiara watched on, deciding it would be better to pass her time with her cousins. 

“Hey,” She said, walking over to Biagio, “Wanna play soccer?”

His head whipped around, eyes bulging out of his head as he screamed, “Soccer?” 

Chiara’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She had forgotten another word, crap! Her brain blanked; she knew it was called football, and yet here she was, calling it soccer. 

“My bad.” She said bluntly, “Do you want to play football?” 

At that, Chiara swore she saw all the cousins her age snap their heads around, eyes ignited with a fire she didn't believe even existed. They all began screaming over one another, yelling about God knows what. In this chaos, Turi, her cousin from Bologna, grabbed a ball and ran to an empty part of the beach and exclaimed, “Everyone! We will split into two separate teams, Chiara and Biagio will be captains!”

She realizes her family knows nothing about her; she doesn't do team sports in the most traditional sense. Sure, she's on a team, but she doesn't “play” with them. She fences for fucks sake, while the agility will be there, playing football will still be a pain in the ass. 

Biagio and Chiara stand next to each other, facing the wall of cousins. She couldn't help but sweat a bit. How will she ever pick good teammates if she hardly knows them? Whatever, future Chiara can worry about that. 

Biagio goes first, picking tails was never a good option for Chiara. Ultimately, Chiara went with whichever cousin made eye contact with her first or appeared to have played a ball in the past five months. 

Then, the game began. Her team, Dos Santos, gained possession of the ball almost immediately. Her cousin Harold(?) scored their first goal despite being the oldest on the pitch. Inevitably, they became tied during the half. So, Chiara knew what she had to do. Running with the ball at full speed, Saint Jude was apparently on her side as she dribbled the ball to the opposite goal as someone came into her peripheral vision. 

Crunch

White pain coursed through her body as she crumpled to the ground, howling out in pain. She clutched her leg as it throbbed. She couldn't hear or understand her family's frantic speech above her; she squished her eyes together. All she could hear was white noise drowning out anything other than her own breathing. Shit, it was fast; she must have been running a lot. Static overtook her vision anytime she tried to open her eyes; it was like all of her relatives were recorded on a vintage camera and projected into her cornea. Chiara needed everyone to get away from her and allow her space to writhe about and calm down. If she didn't feel like she needed to throw up, she would've told them that, alas, if she even opened her mouth, she worried she might choke on the vomit. 

“Move!” She heard someone say, Has EMS arrived She didn't know anyone had called them. 

Her eyes shot open when she felt a hand pat her head. There, crouched down next to her, was the Patriarch of Venice, still dripping wet and clad in his swimsuit. If she weren't sick from the pain, she would've laughed at him. 

“Don't just stand there, someone call an ambulance!” He yelled behind his back, probably at some family member. His hand never left her head as he began petting her hair as if she were Marco or Luce. 

God, how would her parents react? Would she have to go home early or recover here? She was so worried she didn't even notice the EMT walking up to her. Chiara was rolled onto her back, her arms covering her face as tears stained her cheeks. She was in so much pain, she wasn't even sure she could speak. In all this mayhem, Goffredo never left her side, always having a hand on her head and stroking her hair. 

She was driven to Madonna delle Grazie Hospital with her great-uncle, never leaving her side. It was embarrassing, imagine eating shit and then some in front of family that didn't even know you existed 12 hours ago. It was a nightmare; in addition, she needed to tell her parents and all this other crap. It was torture; if she had more dignity, then she would've been like Saint (whatever their name is) and joked with God about her ailment. 

She sat in her hospital bed, legs still caked in mud, with a bruised ego. They had given her pain relievers to ease her discomfort, but nothing could repair how worthless she felt during that game. Yes, it was a friendly match, but it was still a place for her to prove herself. If she had made that shot, then she wouldn't be the weird American cousin anymore; she would just be Chiara. 

Goffredo was pacing around the room, on the phone with her parents. She could see the look of fear in his eyes as they began to well up with tears. Chiara guesses this is just because he's her caretaker; their relationship isn't there yet for her to assume he would care more than the average Tedesco about her injury. 

Just then, the doctor came into the room. “Chiara?” She said, voice laced with honey, “We got your X-ray results back.” Her eyes looked over at Goffredo. “Would you like him to stay or leave?” 

“Um, he can stay.” She said with a weakened voice. The doctor smiled in response. 

“It appears you have a Bimalleolar Fracture, meaning both your right medial malleolus and lateral malleolus are broken.” Her eyes softened, “Because you are not staying here in Matera, I would recommend putting you in a cast just for the time being until you can get back to Venice.” 

The doctor turned to Goffredo, who was now off the phone. “You are looking after her, correct?” 

He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, “Ah, yes, I am, I swear she will be placed in the best hospital Venice can offer.” He said frantically. 

Eventually, Chiara’s leg was soft cast, and she was given crutches. When Chiara and Goffredo finally hobbled out of the hospital together, it was well into the night, and Mariacarla was there waiting for them. 

“Don't worry, Chiara, Biagio grabbed all of your things; it's back at the house.” Her voice was scratched with sleep, her undereyes were dark and sad. 

“Thank you, Zia Mariacarla,” Chiara replied, “I’m sorry about all this.”

Before Maricarla could respond, Goffredo butted in. “Do not apologize, you didn't purposely get injured.” He was so mad it wasn't funny. If Chiara had the energy, she would've argued with him about it, but for now, she took a nap, letting the rustling of the car lull her to sleep. 

—

This was all his fault; if he hadn't been in the water, none of this would have happened. If he had been watching her, she wouldn't have gotten injured. He was supposed to be taking care of her, not allowing her to be in pain. All of this could have been prevented if he had just talked to her and not been such a wuss and gone swimming. 

All he heard was a loud screech and people crowding around; of course, he had gone to investigate. Hearing the name “Chiara” through the frantic mumbling of his relatives, he had pushed past them in a daze, just wanting to make sure it wasn't his Chiara that was injured. Alas, there she was. Chiara’s body was a mess; she was cradling her leg in her arms as she lay on her side, face scrunched up in pain and teeth bared. Her ankle looked mangled; thankfully, no bone was visible, but he could only imagine what the scan would show. 

“Move!” He yelled, pushing past people and shooing them away from her, “It’s okay, you're going to be okay.” His hand came down to caress her head. He doesn't know what possessed him to do that, but it helped nonetheless. 

He looked down at her trembling form. Chiara looked like an animal clinging to life. Of course, she wasn't going to die; still, a shiver went down his spine. He looked towards his family, face burning with rage, “Don't just stand there, someone call an ambulance!” Thankfully, he saw Mariacarla nodding and running off to call EMS. 

He continued comforting Chiara, whispering affirmations as she continued shaking in pain. Goffredo noticed tears streaming down her cheeks, and he almost reached to wipe her tears and hug her with all his might. Almost. 

Eventually, Emergency Medical Services arrived, running through the crowd of people, parting them like Moses with the Red Sea. The head EMT, he assumes, squatted down right next to Goffredo. 

“Can you please move away?” he said, calm as ever. Goffredo reluctantly agreed, sulking over to stand by Chiara’s head. He miraculously got the okay to continue petting her; he couldn't leave her, not like this. 

They bombarded her with questions, to which all she could do was groan in response. Goffredo felt sick looking at the scene in front of him. His own flesh and blood, crying out in pain. Eventually, EMS determined they couldn't get any answers from Chiara, so they turned to him. 

“Are you her grandfather?” One EMT asked him, to be honest, he was appalled at that comment, he wasn't that old, right?

“No, I’m her uncle,” He responded, “Her name is Chiara, she is 18 years old, I wasn't watching her when this happened.” He was frantic, like a rabbit running away from certain death. 

Biagio stepped in. He really should thank the boy later, “It’s my fault, I was trying to get the ball from her,” he said, regret framing his face. The poor boy looked like he was going to throw up. 

“You couldn't have known, it's not your fault.” Goffredo tried to calm down his great-nephew. 

“But it was!” He yelled, eyes brimming with tears. Mariacarla ran over to hold him, gently petting his back as he sobbed into her shoulder. Goffredo forced himself to tear his eyes away from the scene before him. 

Chiara moved onto her back, chest heaving as she was further evaluated by EMS, wincing and crying out in pain every time they touched around her ankle. If this injury had happened earlier in the trip, he wouldn't have cared that much. Sure, he would've made a bit of an effort to provide her comfort, but in truth, he would've been more worried about her parents. Santino would have found a way to sue him for negligence, and Elena would have stripped the basilica of all its priceless artifacts. Now, he was more worried about Chiara. 

She wailed the entire ride to the hospital; all Goffredo wished was to take the pain in her body and give it to himself. Eventually, Chiara gained enough clarity to understand what was happening. 

“Can I please have some Tylenol?” She said in between choked sobs. 

If Goffredo’s heart hadn't broken into a million pieces already, this might have been the nail in the coffin. 

He continued to pat Chiara’s head, “They'll get you some when we get to the hospital.” Goffredo brought his head up to look at the EMT closest to him, “Right?”

“As soon as we get her checked in, the doctor will decide what kind of pain management is needed.” 

“Asshole.”

The EMS team jumps out of the ambulance and begins taking Chiara’s stretcher into the emergency room.  Goffredo follows behind her, hastily grabbing his phone to call Santino. 

On the fourth ring, Santino picks up.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, is Elena with you?” He asked, “It’s about Chiara.” 

“Oh my God, what happened!” Goffredo could hear a muffled “What?” come from Santino’s end. “Zio Goffredo is calling about Chiara!”

Goffredo swallowed hard, “We’re in Matera at the moment, and decided to meet up with the family at a beach during this trip. Chiara decided to play some football with her cousins, and she injured herself.” 

Santino was silent for a moment before speaking, “Where are you guys now?” 

“At Madonna delle Grazie Hospital, she's getting checked in right now.” 

Elena decided to speak up now, “Is she with you? Can we please speak to her?” 

“Um, let me check with one of the nurses. Give me a moment.” 

Goffredo walked over to the nurse taking Chiara’s vitals. 

“Do you know if my niece could talk to her parents really quickly?” He asked sheepishly. Cheeks slightly burning with embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry, sir. We're wheeling her back to get an X-ray done. I’m sure she could call them afterward?”

Goffredo should've said no to coming down to Matera; he should've never said yes to Chiara staying with him, hell, he should have never even become a priest if it meant avoiding this whole ordeal! 

Elena’s voice snapped him out of his daze, “So what did they say? Can we talk to her?” 

“She's getting an X-ray right now. I'll call you guys back when she gets out.” He hopes they can't hear the shakiness of his voice, nor the cracks near the end. All Goffredo wanted to do was curl into a ball and sleep for God knows how long. 

“Alright, by Goffredo.” Elena says, Santino adds, “Bye, Zio!” before hanging up. 

Goffredo sits in the chair closest to Chiara’s empty hospital bed; he probably looks like shit. Goffredo hoped nobody would recognize him as the Archbishop of Venice; they'd either hound him with questions or berate him. 

His phone buzzed with a notification from Mariacarla. 

+39 0835-XXX-XXXX

Just wanted to check in. 

Biagio grabbed all of Chiara’s stuff by the way, and he feels really bad about the whole thing. 

Everyone is chipping in to buy her something as a get-well-soon gift.

Goffredo shut his phone off. It was a dick move, probably, but he was honestly so stressed. His head throbbed as he held his head in his hands, silently sobbing. 

—

The train ride back to Venice was okay, Chiara assumes. She wouldn't know, as she was tripping balls off of pain meds and sleeping the entire time. 

When they eventually arrived back at the apartment, she hobbled over to the elevator in her crutches and waited for Goffredo. 

“I’m sorry about all this, by the way.” She said, staring straight ahead at the lift doors. 

“Stop saying sorry!” Goffredo exploded, staring at her in pure shock, “It’s not your fault! I am sick of you saying that!”

“I- Alright.” 

Goffredo just patted her head in response. 

“Have you talked to anyone in Rome about our visit to the Vatican?” Chiara asked, peering up slightly to look at her uncle. 

Goffredo blanched a bit, sucking in a breath, “I don't think we’ll be able to go to the Vatican.” 

“What! But you promised?” Chiara yelled. 

“I said we would talk about it! Currently, you are not in a position to travel anywhere!” He screamed back, walking into the elevator. Chiara crutched behind him. 

“Whatever, when are we going to the hospital?” The elevator dings, indicating they've made it to the 8th floor. 

Goffredo holds the lift open for Chiara to exit. “Tomorrow morning, be careful until then, okay?”  

Chiara smiles softly as they walk into his apartment, “Okay, I promise.” 

The next morning was hell on earth. Chiara woke up in her bed with her ankle throbbing. She hopped on one foot over to her makeshift desk to grab the painkillers the doctor down in Matera gave her. She then made her way into the kitchen and was greeted by her uncle, hunched over the stove. 

“Chiara, why are you up? I thought I told you to be careful!” He ran over to her as he got closer, and she noticed his apron. 

Turn me over. I'm done on this side.

Chiara let out a laugh, and Goffredo just cocked an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Your apron, where did you get that?” She asked, cocking her head to the side. 

He looked down at what he was wearing, “You like it?” 

“Yes, I find it funny!” Chiara said, smiling brightly. 

Goffredo beamed, “Ah ha! I can be funny to the youth of the church!” 

Chiara just hobbled over to the kitchen table and waited for food to be served. “We're going to the hospital after breakfast, right?” 

“Of course.” 

Chiara just nodded as she was handed her plate. 

They ate in comfortable silence. Chiara still hasn't gotten used to the way Goffredo eats. It's all so weird; it's only the two of them, and yet he still acts as though a pack of wolves is about to come out and eat his only meal for a week. 

After a while, Goffredo got up, took off his apron, and ushered them out the door. Chiara shoved herself into his cherry red Fiat Panda, much to Goffredo’s dismay. 

They eventually made their way to San Raffaele Arcangelo Hospital and checked in, since Chiara's previous scans were sent to the hospital, this appointment was to determine whether or not she was going to have surgery or not. 

Doctor Lombardi discussed their options, “How long are you staying again?” 

“I stay here for 10 more weeks, sir,” Chiara answered. 

“Alright,” Dr. Lombardi began frantically typing on his computer, “We could schedule you for surgery, it would be a two-day stay here though.” He looked over at Chiara, “but since you are a foreign national, we must also think about the cost.” 

Goffredo cut in, “I’ll pay for it out of pocket, I’m her caretaker, I should take care of her.” 

“However,” Dr. Lombardi continued, “We could also keep you in the soft cast, but I would strongly advise against it as your bones may not heal properly, and it could cause pain and difficulty walking in the future.” 

Chiara remained silent. How could she not? This was a major decision to make; obviously, her top answer would be to go home, but she still wants to stay here. 

“What are the surgery options?” Chiara asked. 

Dr. Lombardi gave her a tight smile, “You would be booked for ORIF surgery, or Open reduction and internal fixation. Basically, we would be surgically placing hardware where the broken bones are to keep them in place, making sure they heal properly.” 

“What would be the recovery time?” 

“Following the procedure, you would need to spend 48 hours in the hospital so we can monitor you and ensure everything looks good.” Dr. Lombardi continued, “The healing process isn't too bad; it can take anywhere from 3 to 12 months, based on where the fracture is and your age. My estimate would be 7 to 8 months until it is fully healed.” 

Chiara nodded her head as she listened. “Would I be able to use crutches immediately after the monitoring period?” 

Dr. Lombardi replied, “Yes, but we might give you a scooter as well, just for areas where you would be walking more.” 

“Alright,” Chiara stilled for a moment, “Do you mind if I call my parents really quick?”

“Go right ahead,” Dr. Lombardi said. 

Chiara crutched out of the exam room and into the hall. 

Elena picked up on the second ring. 

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Elena’s soft voice filled her speaker. She missed her parents, not that she was homesick or anything; it's just that sometimes she wished they were here with her. 

“I feel a little bit better; the shock of everything has worn off.” Chiara let out a dry laugh. What else was she supposed to tell her mom? I tripped balls on my way back to Venice because of the pills they gave me? Hell no, is she saying that! 

“That's good. Do you have anything else to say, or did you just call me because?” Chiara could imagine her mother grinning in New York right now, probably watching reruns of Ugly Betty. 

“Um,” Chiara struggled to think of what to say next, “Because of my injury, I need surgery, it's nothing too bad, I would just stay in the hospital for two days.” Saying it aloud in one big jumbled mess made it sound much worse than what would actually happen. 

Elena went silent for a minute, and Chiara feared what might come next. Was she going to start yelling at her, not that she has ever yelled at her, but she worried today may be the first time. 

“Well,” Elena started, “Would you like to have the surgery now or wait until you get home?” 

“The doctor said it wouldn't heal right if I waited until I got back.” She answered honestly, nobody wants a messed-up foot, and she certainly doesn't want one as she begins her freshman year at college. 

“Ok,” Her mom goes quiet for a second, “would Goffredo pay for it?” 

“Yes, he would.” 

“Alright, we’ll just pay him back as soon as possible, if you decide to get the surgery, of course.” Her mother said hastily. 

“Thank you, I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Mija. Now be safe, alright!” 

“I will, bye.” 

“Bye bye.”

Chiara hung up, thoughts still floating in her brain. This was a big decision after all, her first major medical decision as an adult. She was terrified, mortified even, if this went wrong, what would happen to her? Would she die in Venice and be buried in New York, or would they bury her in the family plot back in Matera? Why is she thinking about death right now? The worst that would happen would be nerve damage, which is still bad but less bad than dying. Oh God, how would this affect her fencing? Would she have to quit? These thoughts swirled in her head until she felt motion sick. Finally, she made her decision. 

When she came back into the room, she met Goffredo’s eyes and smiled. 

“I've decided to have the surgery; the risks without it would be too high.” 

Dr. Lombardi quickly typed into his computer, “Alright then, we can schedule you for Saturday, and you'll be out by Monday. Does that work with you?” 

Chiara nodded, “Yes, thank you.” 

“I'll go grab the nurse to get you checked out. Have a good one.” With that, Dr. Lombardi left the room. 

—

Goffredo knows that his job is taxing; he understands better than anyone, but could he please answer his pho-

“Hello?” Aldo Bellini’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“Good morning, Bellini,” Goffredo said, trying to mask any of his nervousness. 

“It's the afternoon,” Aldo replied dryly.

Goffredo rolled his eyes, so serious. “Whatever, could you do something for me?”

Aldo went quiet on the other end for a split second. “What's in it for me?” 

“Vencie Film festival tickets,” Goffredo answered quickly. 

“Deal, what do you want?”

“My niece has been pestering me for weeks now about going to the Vatican, so I was maybe wondering if I could get a tour and a private audience with the Holy Father?” He really hoped he didn't sound too coy; that would be embarrassing. 

“I’ll have to check Innocent’s schedule first. Are there any days when you can’t come?” Aldo asked, ever so inquisitive. 

Goffredo thought back to what Dr. Lombardi said about the surgery. “This Saturday and Sunday, then next Monday.” 

“Alright,” Goffredo heard loud keyboard clacks, “I sent a message to one of his secretaries, and they should get a hold of you soon.”

“Thank you so much for this, Bellini.” Goffredo went to hang up the phone before he heard Aldo’s voice ring through the speaker. 

“Aldo.”

“Hm?” Goffredo couldn't believe this was happening; he had assumed calling him by his first name was a one-off occurrence, not something he was now obliged to do!

“Call me Aldo.” His voice waivered ever so slightly, you would only ever notice if you were listening intently. 

Goffredo’s face flushed a deep shade of red; he was so happy this was merely an audio call. He hoped and prayed Aldo wouldn't be able to hear the shakiness of his voice. 

Goffredo took a deep breath in, “Okay, thank you, Aldo.” 

“Can't wait to meet your grandniece, Goffredo.”

With that, Aldo Bellini hung up the phone. 

That little shit.

Chapter Text

She couldn't eat anything for damn near 24 hours, and, my god, did it suck. It's surgery on her leg, not her abdomen! She understood why they gave her such detailed instructions, but come on! 

Chiara lay in bed, scrolling through her phone. TikTok after TikTok until she was sure her brain would liquify and drain out her ears. It was an easy distraction from the pain; the prescription-strength Acetaminophen was doing its job sparingly. She knew she had to get up in six hours, but presurgery jitters were hitting; she knew Goffredo wasn't faring any better. She had heard him earlier praying in his poor Latin. 

Luce and Marco were curled up like her two little spoons, lying atop one another and purring into each other's warmth. Chiara decided to hobble out of bed and get ready to sleep. She looked a mess with eye bags as dark as the night sky, with her hair going in different directions. After completing her nighttime routine, she slipped back into bed and fell asleep. 

That morning, she sat at the dining table with a glass of water for breakfast. Goffredo didn't have any food either, a departure from his usual morning routine. His face was stark white, his eyes darting around the room, his chest rising quickly up and down. 

“You okay?” Chiara said, bringing the glass up to her lips. 

“Hm?” Goffredo said, “Oh, I’m doing alright, I should be asking if you're okay.” 

“Other than that, I am a bit hungry, I'm fine.” She said matter-of-factly. 

His fists slammed onto the table. “Why are you not more nervous?” Goffredo exclaimed. “You're going into surgery in a few hours, and you're not scared?” 

Chiara met his eyes, “I don't see what the whole problem is? It's the 21st century.” At that, Goffredo gawked, appalled she would even say such a thing. 

He sputtered, “P-Problem? Of course, there is a problem! This is surgery, so much could go wrong. Do you understand that?” His voice was high-pitched and squeaky. 

“Like I said, it's the 21st century. Modern medicine is amazing.” Chiara responded, taking another sip of her water. 

Goffredo continued to pace around the room, gripping his hair in his hands. “21st century? Do you even know how hard it was? No, so don't tell me there is no problem!” 

Chiara looked up again, confused. “Are you okay? If you're worried about me not receiving communion, I just assumed you would give it to me on Sunday?” 

Goffredo waved her off, “Obviously, I’m a bedside mass. That's- Stop changing the subject!” 

Chiara let it go; if he wanted to express his frustrations clearly, he had every right to do so. He's a grown man; he can handle his emotions without her help. 

Goffredo eventually sat back down, taking a deep breath, and he began. “You need to understand, growing up, we didn't really have access to doctors. It was a miracle that I survived, let alone any of my siblings.” He stopped for a moment, voice breaking ever so slightly. “I remember having measles; my body felt like it was on fire, and my body was covered in these bright red splotches. I felt like a leper; my siblings avoided me until I got better.” 

Chiara brought her hand to cover his, “I’m sorry.” She said, “I didn't know.” 

Goffredo looked defeated, “It’s okay, how could you? Chiara, you don't understand how grateful I am that you live in a world where you can get vaccines and you aren't scared for your life every time you get a cold.” 

Their alarm went off; this was it. Chiara wasn't nervous about the surgery; no, rather, she was anxious for her uncle. He looked like shit, even after confiding in her. His eyes were red from dried-up tears, his hair was a mess, and his glasses were askew on his face. Chiara was lucky he decided to ditch his clerics today, opting for a polo and slacks with the outline of his pectoral cross visible from under his shirt. 

Chiara wore loose sweatpants and a hoodie; if someone has something to say about her outfit, they could say it to her face. So, she grabbed her crutches, said goodbye to Luce and Marco, and got into her uncle's cardinal-red Fiat Panda. 

She was promptly taken back by the nurses and had her vitals assessed. Goffredo was with her the entire time; eventually, they were led to a room. 

The nurse began to explain, “You're going to put your clothes in the bag and put this gown and socks on. We'll be with you shortly to prepare you for surgery.” She then smiled and drew the curtain behind her as she left. 

Goffredo exited the room after a while, “Call for me when you're done.” 

The gown felt scratchy on her skin; she would probably have a bit of contact dermatitis after all of this, but that's the price to pay for health. She then walked outside and caught the attention of her uncle, waving him back into the room. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, slowly sitting down in the chair adjacent to the bed. 

Chiara just shrugged, “I’m fine, more excited if anything.” 

Gpffredo hummed in response, going on his phone, fingers rapidly typing on his screen. Chiara just lay in the bed, curled up in all the blankets. 

“What are you looking at?” She said, sitting up to look at her uncle. 

Goffredo looked up at her like a frightened prairie dog, ears slightly flushed. “Huh?” 

“I said, " What are you looking at?” Chiara responded. 

“Oh, uh, just some emails. Gotta keep the diocese running!” He said, smiling awkwardly. 

Chiara didn't believe it one bit, but she decided not to pry any further. She understood when he didn't want to be instigated; right now was one of those moments. 

Shortly thereafter, a voice was heard on the other side of the partition. “Hi, it's Dr. Picocla. May I come in?” 

Chiara let her in, and Dr. Picocla began talking, “Hi Chiara, how are you this morning?” 

“I've been well, how are you, Doctor?” 

“I've been good, thanks for asking!” Dr. Piccola moves over to the desktop and begins typing, computer keys clacking about. “I see it says you're here for ORIF surgery on your left leg? Can you tell me more about that?” 

Chiara began explaining what happened, from traveling down to Matera to playing football, and eventually getting injured. Goffredo looked uncomfortable during the whole ordeal, like he was the one who had injured her himself. 

Dr. Piccola nodded along to the story, “Well, I am happy that you are here getting help. The nurses should be in here shortly to prepare you for surgery, then I’ll come back in here with the anesthesiologist, and we’ll bring you back to the OR. Do you have any questions?” 

Chiara shook her head no, just as Goffredo’s voice cut through the silence. “I hope I’m not bothering. I’m her uncle, and I was wondering if it would be possible for me to say bedside mass while she's recovering?” 

Dr. Piccola smiled in response, “I’m sure you could talk to our hospital's chaplain, your Eminence.” 

“Thank you, Doctor.” He said, “Do you know who your hospital’s chaplain is?” 

“Ah, Father Ly, your Eminence.” 

At that, Dr. Piccola left, and silence filled the room. 

“Ugh,” Goffredo’s face fell into his hands, “Dominican asshole.”

“What?” Chiara exclaimed. “Do you not like him?” 

“Eh,” Goffredo let out a long sigh, “It’s complicated, we didn't get off on a good foot when he first arrived here.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” Chiara responded, flopping back onto the bed. 

“It was three years ago! We just didn't mesh well!” Goffredo said, trying not to get reprimanded for being too loud. 

“Uh-huh, and you didn't say anything weird?” 

“No, like I said, we just didn't get along. Can we please move on?” Goffredo sounded like an immature boy, she asks herself all the time, but what is his problem? 

They fell into a somewhat comfortable silence, which was later disrupted by the nurse coming in. 

“Hi Chiara, I’m Francesca, your nurse for today. I’m just gonna get started with prepping you if that's okay.” 

Chiara nodded her head, and Francesca began palpating her hand, “I'm just looking for a vein; we need to flush them first before we can administer any of the anesthetics. Ah-ha, I’m going to insert the needle in your hand now. You can look away if you want to.”

Chiara continued to look at her hand. She was zoned out for the most part, but she just wanted to know what it looked like, to see her hand be pierced by a needle. It hurt, obviously, but she couldn't look away. Should she tell her therapist, probably, but now's not the time. 

Francesca let out a small breath, “I’m going to administer the saline now, some patients report tasting a bit of salt during this. If you do tell me, I've never actually seen it before.” 

A clear liquid began to flow through the IV catheter, then there it was. Chiara smacked her lips together, “Yeah, I taste it.” She said, a look of disgust coming onto her face, “Bleh.” 

Goffredo stifled a laugh. The nurse then turned to him. “I’m sorry, sir, but we must ask you to leave as she's about to be taken up for surgery soon. I'll leave you guys alone for a few and then I'll come back in to grab you.” She then left the room. 

His knees cracked as he got up, making his way over to Chiaras' bedside. “You’ll be fine.”

Chiara couldn't help but laugh, “I feel like you're saying that for your own comfort!”

“I am,” He crouched down next to her, “By the way, next week we're going to Rome.” 

Chiara’s eyes lit up, “Seriously?” She exclaimed, “We're going to Rome?” 

Goffredo nodded his head. He then left the room as the nurse came back in. 

Behind Francesca, a man in bright blue scrubs came into the room. “Hello Chiara, I'm Dr. Castro and I’ll be your anesthesiologist.” 

He came around to her side, grabbing vials of unknown medications and drawing from them. “What’s that?” Chiara asked, slightly drowsy. 

“This is ketamine, don't take this.” His face went pale. “Like, don't take this outside of the hospital, it's okay if we give it to you.” Dr. Castro stuttered out.

Chiara laughed, “I promise I won't.” She said lethargically. 

She was then carted out to the OR. Chiara swore she was floating; everything felt light and airy. A nasal tube pushing air into her nose was placed on her face; she felt like Gumby, especially when she was asked to move onto the operating table. 

Everything went dark.  

—

Goffredo’s foot tapped on the ground. The nurse told him the surgery should be around two hours at the most. 

He totally wasn't scared out of his mind, after all, this was all his fault if he hadn't brought her to Matera, then they would probably be in Rome by now. Reality sets in for Goffredo, because if he hadn't brought her to Matera, then they probably wouldn't be talking to each other like relatives and more like advisories. 

He needed to understand that, while Matera was a shit show, Chiara wouldn't have understood or even known how deeply Goffredo cares for her. Hell, he even began thinking of if she was his what if instead of being her great uncle, he was her grandfather. 

There go those thoughts again; he took his vows for a reason. He understood that when he lay on that holy ground, he gave up any hopes of having a family; after all, they were Catholic, not Anglican. 

He had already gone on several medical websites, seeing what problems could arise from this surgery. Obviously, it was an incredibly safe surgery, and he trusted Chiara’s doctor, but still, issues can happen. 

“Oh, most blessed Virgin Mary, Our Lady of Good Health, please pray for Chiara as she not only heals from this surgery, but also that while in this surgery, no problems arise and she is kept safe. I implore you, oh most Blessed Virgin Mary, to intercede for her in this trying time. I entrust her recovery to you, Dear Mary, Mother of God. Please pray for her. Amen,” Goffredo says under his breath. 

He stays there, silent for a moment, simply in thought with his head in his hands. Taking a sharp breath in, he goes on his phone. Bellini had texted him a few minutes ago. Goffredo didn't like it when he texted him; he didn't like the emotions associated with that simple action. 

Aldo

Hey, I just wanted to check up on you about Chiara. Is she doing alright?

Goffredo

She’s in surgery right now. Please pray for her. 

I have been ever since you told me your grand-niece was going to be in your care. 

Gofffredo couldn't help but let out a small laugh at that. Of course, Aldo was praying for someone within proximity of himself. He knew Aldo; he knew that they would never see eye to eye, even as he became less of a reactionary. Goffredo would always be a more conservative person; that's just his nature, but with having these conversations with the Holy Father, Pope Innocent XIV, and now Chiara, he is understanding the other side of the aisle. 

Aldo

How are you, Goffredo? 

Seriously.

Goffredo

As good as I can be, how have you been?

I have been well. I recently watched this movie called “Saving Grace.” I enjoyed it, though it couldn't happen in real life, unfortunately, no matter how badly Innocent may want it to. 

Eh? What’s it about? 

The pope is overwhelmed, so he decides to dress up as a common man and flees to an Italian village. We get to see his humanity and also that he truly just wants to help those around him. 

Is it bad to say that, at times, I am both relieved I am not Pope but I am also sad for the Holy Father. 

No, you were incredibly close; it makes sense that you would have these thoughts. We were all so close to the Chair of St. Peter.

Goffredo had to forcefully tear his eyes away from his phone; he needed to focus on Chiara’s surgery. 

He ultimately decided to take a nap, drifting off into his own dreams. They filled his senses, the warm sun shines on his skin as he lies in healthy green grass. He has never been happier. Perhaps these dreams could have been reality, but alas, they could be real just for this small moment. The air flowing into his nostrils is clean, and he can smell the remnants of freshly picked berries around him. Looking up into the sky, it is without any clouds, showing its perfect bright blue color. 

“-esco, Cardinal Tedesco!” A hand shook him awake. 

Blinking away sleep, he looks up to see who woke him from that peaceful dream. “Hm?” 

“Cardinal Tedesco, your niece is awake. You can go and see her now.” The nurse said to him, and Goffredo’s eyes lit up. She was awake? Excitedly, he bolted out of his seat, following the nurse into Chiara’s hospital room. 

She was groggy, eyes slightly glazed over with sleep. Her left leg was propped up, and she had tubes coming out of her in every which way. 

“Zio Goffredo!” She said, voice scratchy as if she was in a daze. “You're here!” Her arms extended outwards 

“I am!” He extended his arms the same way, walking over to her bedside and hugging her tightly. 

“I missed you.” She said, face squished between his arm and chest. 

“You were in surgery for two hours, it wasn't that long!” He replied, placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head before sitting down on the chair next to her. 

Chiara pouted like an insolent child; the morphine running through her veins mixed with the fading anesthetic caused such a reaction. 

“Can you text my parents and tell them I'm out of surgery, please?” She said, closing her eyes. In a few minutes, she would definitely be out for the night, but right now she was still coherent enough to speak. 

“Sure thing.” He said as he got out his phone, Do you think they would want a photo as well?” 

“Obviously.” She exclaimed, a smile growing towards her ears. 

The photo, albeit poorly taken, was of Chiara lying down in her hospital bed with her blanket pulled up to right below her chin. Her smile was so bright, with all of her teeth visible and her eyes squinted. She looked so happy despite what had occurred less than 12 hours before; she was content with what had happened, she was happy to be with family, and she was happy to be with Goffredo. 

The next few days passed with minimal stress. Sure, going home without Chiara was hard. Goffredo spent most of his time curled up with Marco and Luce, who were confused as to where Chiara was, or doing work concerning the curia, diocese, or the Basilica San Marco if he wasn't at Chiara’s bedside. 

Then, Sunday came. Goffredo packed up the communion bread and wine, alongside anointing oils and holy water. If Chiara were to receive the most holy eucharist in a hospital bed, she would do so in Mass. 

Father Ly, thankfully, had no objections to his celebrating mass in Chiara’s hospital room. All it took was Goffredo apologizing, who knew! 

Anyways, Goffredo got through mass smoothly. During the Anaphora and Communion Rite, however, he began to get choked up a bit. He realized, in that moment, why he had become a priest. He paraded as a man held strong in his convictions, publicly stating that he had always known he was to be a priest, all while ignoring the fact that he chose the religious life to run away from himself. Holding the Body of Christ in that cramped hospital room made him understand his vocation; had he not dedicated his life to God, then his life would not be what it is now. Even with all of these hiccups down the road, he understood why the Holy Spirit had called him to serve in this capacity. 

At the conclusion of this incredibly short mass, he sat down for a moment and decided to talk to Chiara. 

“I just realized something,” he paused, “I don't know what you're going to study.” 

Chiara, now on a lower dose of pain medications, laughed as she answered. “Theology and Religious Studies at Georgetown with a concentration in Christian Theology.” 

Goffredo was stunned for a moment before continuing, “Wow, and what do you plan for your career?” 

“I want to be a Canon Lawyer.” She stated, he swore he could see her eyes light up in that very moment. 

“If you don't mind me asking, why?” 

“Because I wanted to beat you.” Chiara answered, staring straight at him, “I’m not dumb, Zio Goffredo I have seen what you have said in the news and I have read several of your papers, you need to understand that I want to change the Tedesco name for the better for our family to be known for great theological ideas and Canon defenses not for your heinous words.” 

Goffredo shut u; he didn't realize she had felt this strongly about his theology. Sure, he knew a bit of it if he understood her past all their screaming matches, but this was intense. 

“I’m sorry, Chiara.” He said, looking down at his black leather shoes, the ones with G.T. embroidered on them with gold thread. 

"Don't apologize to me; I was hardly hurt by your statements. Sure, they sucked to read, but you've done so much more for people you haven't even laid eyes on.” Chiara said before sucking in a breath, “I hope that before you step down as Patriarch, you understand what you have said.”

Goffredo knew he would send out a massive apology letter after she left for ho;e, he had been working on it on the side. It wasn't a complete 180, of course, just an acknowledgement of all that he has said in his almost 50 years of serving the Church. 

“Well then,” Goffredo said, smiling, “I look forward to our future arguments then, I expect you to be the utmost prepared!”

“I promise,” Chiara replied, matching her uncle's smile. 

A week had passed without any complications. While Chiara had been successfully discharged from the hospital, she was still in quite a bit of pain, so the pharmacy gave her pain meds to take home. 

Goffredo was reasonably scared for next week. I mean, who wasn't a bit nervous when meeting the pope? It definitely wasn't for any other reason. 

—

Chiara woke up in pain, like most days following her surgery. She was thankful, though, for she was given an armless crutch. Goffredo called her “peg leg,” which she hated. 

She slowly hobbled, using a hands-free knee crutch, to grab a glass of water to down her medication. 

“You're up early.” A voice said from the kitchen. 

“Good morning to you as well, Zio Goffredo,” Chiara responded, making her way over to sit with him. 

“Are you aware of what we have to do later today?” Goffredo asked, quivering an eyebrow up.

“Rome!” She said excitedly, "I've already packed, don't worry! I still can't believe we're staying at the Casa Santa Marta!” 

Goffredo grumbled, “I said we should stay at a hotel, but no,” he elongated the o, “Cardinal Bellini said we must stay there.”

“Why?”

He groaned, “Because they provide better disability accommodations, but I think he just wants to keep an eye on me!” 

Chiara laughed, “I wouldn't put it past him.” 

Her uncle gasped as Chiara continued to laugh, “It’s true, though, I would not be surprised if Cardinal Bellini placed us in the Casa Santa Marta to keep tabs on you!”  

Goffredo leapt from his seat, face engulfed in a red, fiery blush as he stopped down the hall into his room. 

“Hey! It’s not my fault the guy has a crush on you!” Chiara exclaimed as a joke, fully unaware of her uncle's inner turmoil. 

Whatever, her uncle's reaction isn't any of her business; after all, she needed to double-check what she packed for their three-day Roman holiday.  

After she was finished, she went back into the living room and lay out on the couch. Marco came strolling up next to her, jumping up to lie next to her. If Marco came, Luce always seemed to follow, and so Luce too jumped up on the couch, cuddling with Marco. 

As if sensing the comfort the three of them were in, Goffredo waltzed into the living room, “Are you ready to go?” 

Chiara hummed in confusion, “I thought we were leaving in an hour?”

“Mah, the trains that go to Rome always take forever. It’s better if we get there early." He responded by urging Chiara to get up. “I’ll grab your bags, no need to worry.” 

So, they left. Both of them shuffled into the Italian speed transit like packed sardines, or at least that's how Chiara felt. The next 5 or so hours were incredibly boring; she mainly looked outside the window at the scenery, but even that became mundane after a while. One can only see so many rolling hills in one lifetime. 

The nap she took to pass the time was average. What can you say about a nap on a train? It was slightly uncomfortable, and if she was being honest, she wished she were in bed. 

“Chiara!” Goffredo said, shaking her awake, “We’re here.” 

Groggily, she got up out of her seat and followed her uncle to the pickup area. He held onto both their bags as a black car pulled up into the lane. 

“Cardinal Tedesco?" The man asked, as his widow finished pulling down, revealing his face, which was concealed for the most part by tinted sunglasses, but Chiara made note of his incredibly strong facial features. 

“Thank you, Friedrich, for picking us up. I apologize for this being on such short notice.” He smiled, grabbed the bags, and placed them in the back of the car. 

“It’s no issue, your Eminence.” The man, now identified as Friedrich, replied. 

The two Tedescos shuffled into the car as it traversed through the iconic city. No emotion could reflect how she felt in that moment, to see such historical monuments in real life was no short of amazing. As they progressed further into the micronation's walls, she took note of the christo-pgan influences of the city's architecture. 

Eventually, they made it to the Casa Santa Marta. It was quite a nice building; she could definitely understand why the former pope had resided here for his pontificate and why Pope Innocent also stayed here for his first five months. 

They were given their respective room keys. Chiara’s room was quite nice; it was definitely a step up from wherever hotel they would've stayed at. 

She flopped back onto the bed, removing her knee crutch in the process, before taking a light nap. 

—

“What do you mean we have to go through the back entrance? We don't even look alike!” Goffredo was pissed; he had decided to call Tommaso about tomorrow’s private audience with Pope Innocen, but then he was bombarded with Tommaso’s rambblings about how the lookalike-related and therefore “bastard child” accusations would arise. 

It was completely unfounded as well, for one, he and Chiara looked nothing alike, secondly, Tommaso didn't even know what Chiara looked like; he had just assumed. He had just made an Ass out of himself and Goffredo!

“Look, Goffredo, it’s a precaution we don't want the media to buzz about a possible Patriarch’s bastard daughter.” Thomas tried to explain. 

“Ah ah ah, I don't want to hear it! I’ll even send a photo proving we look nothing alike! Here, a selfie of us she sent me!” He clicked the bright blue arrow next to the text message, sending his proof to the lovely Dean. 

Thomas went silent for a moment, “Are you kidding me? Goffredo, you guys practically look identical. Honestly, it's quite jarring.” 

Eh? Was he blind, did he need a new prescription, or something?. “No, no Tommaso, you don't understand, we look nothing alike!” 

“Goffredo, I’m looking at the photo you sent me, and she looks just like you if you were a woman, I mean, she is tanner than you and her face is slimmer than yours, but come on!” He exclaimed, Goffredo didn't know the Dean had it in him to be sassy. 

Two can play that game, “Bah! You must be going blind! Has your old age finally caught up to you?”

“Goffredo,” Thomas sighed, “Even if you didn't look like her, I would still recommend using a secret entrance so as not to rile up rumors of you having a mistress.”

Oh, Goffredo gagged, “I would never have a mistress and you know that!”

“Yes, Goffredo, I know anyone who knows you would understand how devoted you are to the Church, but you of all people must understand that the media takes anything and runs with it!” 

He groaned, “Okay, Tommaso, we’ll go through the separate entrance if that helps you sleep at night.”

“It most certainly will, Goffredo.” He says, clearly smiling, if Goffredo knew anything of the man before hanging up. 

He slumped back onto the bed. Tomorrow will be a long day. 

—

Chiara awoke to a knock on the door. When she opened it, a nun in a dark blue habit with intense blue eyes stood before her. 

“Good morning, Sister,” Chiara said awkwardly, hoping the other woman couldn't smell her morning breath. 

“Good morning, I was simply told I was to wake you up. Have a nice day.” She then turned on her heel and walked down the long corridor. 

Odd, but okay? 

Chiara hastily got ready, making sure everything looked perfect, from her hair to her makeup and even her outfit. Finally, she grabbed her veil and stuffed it into her purse. Would she return to wearing a veil when she returns to the United States, probably only for special masses and visits, but it's still good to have just in case. 

She gave herself one last look in the mirror before rushing out the door to the best of her ability. 

The cafeteria was bustling with movement during the breakfast rush. She looked around the vast sea of blues, reds, magentas, and blacks before landing on her Uncle chatting with a fellow Cardinal. Chiara slowly made her way to stand next to Goffredo, hoping he wouldn't accidentally smack her in the face with his eccentric hand movements. 

Thankfully, that didn't happen, and the Cardinal he was talking to noticed Chiara. 

“And, who might this be, Goffredo?” The Bald Cardinal asked coyly. 

“Eh?” He questioned, whipping his head around and making eye contact with his niece, “Oh, Aldo, this is my niece Chiara.” 

She outstretched her hand for the man, now identified as Aldo, to shake it. Wait. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Zio, but...” Pure awe overtook her, “Are you Cardinal Bellini?” She asked, slightly out of breath from shock. 

“Yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you, Chiara. I've heard a lot about you!” His smile was nice, further accentuating his downturned eyes. 

Chiara quickly turned her head to look at Goffredo, who was now avoiding eye contact with her. “You told him about me?” She exclaimed, turning back to look at Cardinal Bellini, “How much did he say?”

Before Aldo could answer, Goffredo cut in, “You don't have to answer that-”

“Oh, please, ignore my uncle!” She butt in, eyes widening. 

Aldo couldn't help but laugh, “It’s nothing bad, he just was nervous when you first came here, and sometimes he’ll update me on your condition. Congratulations on getting into Georgetown, by the way, that's my alma mater.” He said, chest puffing with pride. 

Chiara nodded along happily, eyes shining in pure admiration, “Ya know, you're one of my biggest theological influences. I own several of your books!” She really needed to learn how to shut up; this was getting embarrassing. 

Aldo, however, relished in the praise, “Thank you, Chiara! You remind me of your uncle when he first met Benedict.”

Goffredo, face red with embarrassment, tried to intervene, “Okay, that's enough-”

“He couldn't stop gushing over the man, Chiara. If I'm still working here when you graduate, I would happily take you under my wing.” 

Chiara was beaming, practically shaking, but before she could answer, Goffredo finally got a whole sentence out, “She's my niece, get another protégé.” His eyebrows were furry, and his mouth was downturned. 

Aldo returned this with a smile, “I assume I’ll see both of you later, goodbye.” He waved over his shoulder, making his way towards the tables that covered the meal hall. 

Goffredo shutters, “Well, I think it would be wise of us to get food?” 

“Yeah,” She hobbled her way over to the food line, grabbing fruits and a few slices of bread. If Aldo Bellini weren't so obviously gay, she would totally have a celebrity crush on him. Liturgical crush? She wasn't focusing all that hard on the specific wording. 

Breakfast was relatively uneventful following that conversation with Cardinal Bellini. In truth, she was egging Goffredo on. Yes, she owned almost every book the American cardinal had published, and she looked up to him; rather, she just wanted to annoy her uncle. It's fun in a way, rage baiting a geriatric. 

Finally, they were escorted by two Swiss Guards into a separate entrance into the Papal Apartments, and Chiara wasn't nervous. 

Totally. 

Her pulse definitely wasn't going a million miles a minute. 

Her legs shook as they were led into Pope Innocent’s office. Never in a million years would she ever expect to meet the Pope! 

Pope Innocent greeted them with a handshake each. Being the good Catholic she is, Chiara curtsied and kissed his ring. It was a respectful move for a man deserving of her utmost respect. 

When she came up from her genuflection, Pope Innocent began speaking, “You are Chiara, correct?” 

“Yes, Your Holiness.” She hoped he couldn't tell how nervous she was. 

“Your uncle was telling me about your ankle. I believe your surgery went well?" Pope Innocent asks, eyes gazing into her own. They practically bore into her skull with how intense his gaze is. 

“Yes, Holy Father, thank you for asking,” Chiara responds. 

“Why wouldn't I? Are you not a person? We must care for one another.” He says, with a kind smile on his lips. Truthfully, Chiara believes she has never seen such a kind-looking man. The pope truly lives up to his name, Innocent. 

Pope Innocent continues, “I also heard that you're studying theology in college? If you ever need something on your CV, I would be happy to give you a job during the summer,” he leans closer to whisper into her ear, “or you could work here after graduation, we need more Canon Lawyers after all.” He leaned back into his original standing position. 

Chiara nodded in response, “I promise I will keep my grades up, Holy Father.” 

“Good, now, Goffredo, how have you been?” The Holy Father turned his attention to her uncle, now adorned in his full Cardinal regalia. 

The Patriarch drew in a breath, “I have been well, Holy Father, how have you been?” 

“Quite well, Cardinal Tedesco.” He looks, surprisingly thankful that Goffredo seems subdued in some way. Pope Innocent slowly made his way over to his desk, ushering the two of them to sit as well. “Chiara, I am so glad that you are here today, especially the fact you are here with your uncle. Now, if you don't mind me asking, how did this all come to be?” 

Chiara erupted into a long-winded explanation of all that happened, from her father calling her great-uncle and then all of their arguments leading up to the trip down to Basilicata. She, of course, left Goffredo coming out to him; the Pope didn't need to know he was gay. Then, she detailed their time with family all up until she got her surgery. “Now, we're here, Holy Father, and I cannot thank you enough for this.” 

“Truly, it was no problem.” The Holy Father responded. “I will be praying for your speedy and healthy recovery.” 

“Thank you, Holy Father.” Chiara clasped her hands in her lap. 

The rest of the meeting went smoothly, with both Chiara and Goffredo bouncing off one another when talking to the Pope. It wasn't until much later, when Chiara and Goffredo were walking back to the Casa Santa Marta, that a thought arose in her mind. 

“Do you think the pope is gay?” Goffredo stopped in his tracks, whipping his head to glare at Chiara. 

“No,” he barked, “I will not have you discuss the holy father in this manner!” 

“Oh come on!” Chiara slumped slightly, “Do ya remember the guy he was with, the one with the light blue eyes who looks incredibly sad? ¿El Muchacho De Los Ojos Triste?” She said, gesturing to her face. 

“Yes, Tommaso, what about him?” Goffredo shook his hands about, as if he was trying to rid the air of what Chiara had just said. 

“Do you think he's a little,” She pauses, “Close to the Holy Father?”

Her uncle paused for a moment, the cogs in his brain churning, “Oh my God, Tommaso is doing it with the Pope.” He leans his hands on his knees, “I think I might puke.”