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A couple of months had passed, and Aldo was yet to decide what to do with his discovery. The flowers kept appearing every time Tedesco visited the Vatican, reaching the number of 12 by that point. Each and every one was different from the last, be it by colour, size, or technique. It was undeniable that Tedesco was highly skilled at making paper flowers, and that he had been getting better and better. Some of the newer ones were practically indistinguishable from a natural rose unless touched or examined closely.
Aldo thought about the 12 flowers on his shelf, deep in thought while he walked back to his office. He would have a meeting with Tedesco in a couple of minutes and, as usual, he pondered on the possibility of telling him he knew.
It wouldn’t be easy. Ever since Aldo found out about Tedesco’s feelings for him, he had started to notice a lot of moments in which said feelings surfaced without him knowing. A slight blush when he walked by. A shift in posture. Pupils blown when facing him directly. The differences between his tone while talking to him alone and with company. Ever so subtle, and yet so obvious once knowing. But, just as Aldo could notice signs of Tedesco’s inclinations, he could tell he was conflicted about them. The blush was always accompanied by a frown. The posture changes, with a muted scoff. His stares were always cut short by force, and the note of softness in his voice was always suffocated the moment he noticed it.
Yes, between Tedesco’s insistence on avoiding the topic of homosexuality in the Church (previously an issue he pressed as highly urgent) and all those signs, it was clear he was struggling with his own feelings.
That and… well, Aldo being gay was not exactly a secret. Even as “rivals”, he could just… tell him. But instead he had chosen to keep giving him paper flowers and make vague comments about them whenever they met. Aldo never lied, he would always say outright that he was thankful for the gifts, and that he deeply admired the skill and patience needed to make such beautiful flowers from paper.
Yet another sign: the satisfied smirk and blush Tedesco would have after hearing him say that, lasting just a blink before being suffocated once more.
As Aldo walked into his office, he found within himself a resistance to tell him. One that had been growing and growing ever since he found out. At first, he thought it was just the shock of knowing Goffredo Tedesco, of all people, was queer and attracted to him. Then, he thought it was awkwardness, not knowing how to breach the topic. He had written various versions of what he could say at that moment, without ever feeling fully comfortable with the result. Now he was starting to believe there might be another reason why. Mainly… that if he confronted Tedesco about the flowers, he would most likely stop.
And Aldo didn’t want him to stop.
He sat down, and while setting his things on his desk, he noticed two small items right in front of him. Carefully, he picked both up.
The first one was normal at this point, albeit even more beautiful and delicate than usual. A small bouquet, barely bigger than his thumb. 7 tiny roses, made with glossy paper, were held together by a cone of brown paper, tied with a red bow.
The other one was a heart.
A chocolate heart, if the tag over the metallic red wrapping was telling the truth.
“Le Delizie di S. Valentino”
Right! It was February 14th. Valentine’s Day.
—This person is getting bolder, Bellini. You have indulged their delusions for far too long.
He didn’t even hear Tedesco walk in. He was frowning, but the blush on his cheeks was unmistakable.
—Perhaps.
—It is improper for a high ranking member of the Church.
—Maybe.
He slowly stood up and took both gifts to the shelf. Tedesco followed closely.
—Abriola.
—Hm?
—Il cioccolato. É di Abriola. Lo dice nella etichetta.
—Ever been there?
—Sì, é… vicino alla mia città natale.
—Saint Valentine is the Patron Saint of that town, isn’t it?
A soft assenting hum answered that question. Aldo set up the bouquet against the chocolate heart.
—Why haven’t you made this person stop, Bellini?
—You speak as if I knew who is doing this.
—But you could do other things. Not keep the flowers. Ask your assistant to let the staff know you don’t wish to get them anymore. Cose così. Why haven’t you?
—Because I’m selfish, Goffredo.
A small gasp. Aldo refused to look at the stunned man next to him, which he had never referred to by his first name before. He kept his eyes on the flowers instead.
—Selfish?
—Yes, selfish.
He reached at the bouquet, and softly caressed the tiny roses.
—Look at this… it must have taken so long. I doubt human fingers can fold paper with such precision, maybe he used tweezers… the cuts are so precise too. It’s beautiful.
Aldo let a sigh out. At his age, he shouldn’t be dealing with a situation like this.
With feelings like these.
—I am selfish, Goffredo. I do not want to stop receiving these flowers. I will accept them for as long as this person wishes to gift them to me, and if he ever wishes to come forward and confess, I shall listen with an open heart.
A moment of silence.
—We should focus on the meeting. There’s work to do.
—Right.
He.
“—…I doubt human fingers can fold paper with such precision, maybe he used tweezers…”
He.
“—…and if he ever wishes to come forward and confess, I shall listen with an open heart.”
He.
Goffredo never said anything about a “he”. And, before that moment, Aldo had never used “he” to refer to the mysterious person that gifted him flowers.
“He…”
Back in his room, Goffredo covered his face, as red as his vestments. It was an awful idea to give him the chocolate. But he had gone back to Matera lately to visit his family and his traitorous heart had taken him to Abriola, knowing he would meet Aldo Bellini on February 14th.
“He… knows.”
Bellini knew. Bellini knew it was him.
“—I am selfish, Goffredo. I do not want to stop receiving these flowers...”
And if he knew… and said that…
“—…I will accept them for as long as this person wishes to gift them to me, and if he ever wishes to come forward and confess, I shall listen with an open heart.”
Could that mean…?
A sob escaped Goffredo’s chest. It was still unnatural, sinful. Love like this was still not allowed, both because they were both men and because they were both priests. But if he had said that… if… if he meant it beyond just accepting him… if that “selfishness”, that desire to keep receiving the flowers meant…
“Dio mio… Dio mio… dammi un segno. Lui… mi ama anche lui?”