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Valentino only vaguely remembers what his mother’s wedding ring looked like, the image as fleeting as the memory itself. Fuzzy around the edges, blurred and distorted with time; like a photograph kept hidden in a drawer too long or a jewelry box long stuffed in a cabinet out of sight.
Simple band. Clean-cut diamond. An “l’unica” engraving on the inside which was funny because Valentino knew from the moment he could walk there were several other ‘una’s’ in Graziano’s life lingering here and there. His father never making an effort to truly hide his tamer conquests in front of Valentino. Too much of a hassle possibly, considering most of them were house staff anyways. Some nights Valentino wonders if his mother knew. Certainly not if she still kept the ring. Valentino also wonders where it was now, along the handful of others she collected over the years.
The only one he knows is no longer in her possession was the one Massimo gave her. A promise of their unity – to withstand hardships together even without the necessary documents and the headache of a wedding. Massimo’s words- not Valentino’s or Steffi’s. It’s a good choice Valentino thinks. They saved a lot of money without bothering with the nuisance of a wedding for a union that would last only a couple measly years. But then again, so much for ‘unity’.
Don’t get it twisted however; Valentino never held any bitterness to Massimo for it, no. He was a good father: a decent, loving, affection one – could afford to be a one without the weight of a legacy clinging to his back – was sufficiently decorous to him and his mother while Vale still lived under his roof, and was more of a present father than Graziano could dream to be. It makes sense why Luca would want his father’s ring for his own engagement. A sentimental object of value, signifying the importance of family.
Vale tries not to think too hard about the fact his house lacks remembrance of either parents if he can. It’s a difficult feat with Luca around, but Valentino manages to ignore the simpler schmaltzy gestures dished out carelessly.
The ring, though, is something that refuses to leave his mind.
“Do you still have the ring Graziano gave you?”
His mother no longer startles at his questions. Valentino knew at one point she had found it unnerving. Now she just chucks it up as him being eccentric. Now, she doesn’t even falter as she folds the clothing, smoothing down the lines like one would pet a cat. Thoughtful. Contemplative.
“Should be around the safe somewhere.” Her fingers drum on the fabric, even as her mind is elsewhere, lost in thought. “I kept all your fathers belongings that he gave me if you ever wanted them.”
That is new news to Valentino. “Really?”
“A boy ought to have some things about his father to remember him by.”
Valentino does point out that he is no longer that a boy. That he has grown so much he towers over both her and Graziano and that he sits across her in crumpled clothes, tinkering with a watch worth more than all of Grazianos’s assets he left behind combined, in a house far too big for him without her company and those he deemed dear. His father not being one of them.
Much like how she does not question why he inquires. “I’ll bring some things over the next time for you to see. We should sell off the rest.”
“Is that what you want?” To forget?
“Best not to let the bitter memories cling.” She smiled sordidly to herself, embittered in ways she rarely allowed herself to be. “They’re just trinkets worth a pretty penny now, nothing for me to keep around.”
Valentino had a feeling she was talking about more than just the ring.
“And get the boy something nice and shiny. Not this old piece of lousy metal.”
At one point, there had been an appeal to getting married.
Once he passed ‘girls have cooties’ age, then the ‘I’d rather just ride my bike my entire life’ phase, and finally the ‘I cannot like boys, I cannot be a faggot’ dilemma, there had been something beguiling about spending the rest of your life specifically with the special someone poets raved about in their poetry.
Valentino too had wondered once upon a time what it’d be like to get married. Hard as it was to believe about a little snot like him. There was a point where Valentino wondered what it meant to love another so much you’d want to have ties to them forever, to share a last name, to have evidence of their union forged in ink and sealed under God’s name even though Valentino had long stopped believing in a God.
There was something enchanting about vowing to love one another against all odds, all highs and lows, all the obstacles in their way.
But then the multitude of snipped relations, switching of partners, moving houses and introduction of new partners along with suffocating, rancid tension, extinguished that idea. A dream snuffed out. A longing forcibly quenched.
Who cared about a costly ring when another could be forged? What did signing under the court mean when you simply redact it upon hardship? What use were the vows if they could be repeated over and over again? Who said anything about marriage guaranteeing faithfulness? How could a certificate possibly bind you from inviting another body into your martial bed?
The idea of a marriage had long since turned into a sham by the time Luca popped into his life, and while he was glad his brother had not experienced the same circumstances as he had, he had always considered Luca a fraction bit ‘ignorant’ for choosing to settle down in the span of a few years.
But then again; what did even Vale know?
Him and Marta had been together prior to marriage – in fact longer than any marriage either of Valentino’s parents had been in – and in love for years, possibly before they even before they got together, before they ultimately made the decision to tie the knot.
Their decision, at least, had not been a heat of the moment thing, but rather one thought out and cultivated over many years. The longing for one another only burning brighter with every passing year. At least, whenever Luca looked at her, Valentino knew there was certainly no one else in his eyes except for his wife and, as of recent, their daughter.
Nowadays, looking at his brother sometimes made Valentino wonder if perhaps marriage wasn’t a totally worthless cause.
There is a happiness to Luca unlike anything since the time came for him to wed. A glow – bright and rampant – one that infects anyone around him, that refused to leave years after settling down. Even now, his brother still gets misty eyed whenever he would catch note of the ring in his hand, cherished and well-cared for.
It had never been a factor of envy. Naturally, he’d been happy for Luca, vices and concern aside, and it was impossible not to share that joy. Had clutched Luca close all night and laughed when Luca sobbed into his jacket, fraught with overwhelming emotions.
Never would he admit that he waited months for the other shoe to drop.
To see the lines of stress creep up on Luca’s shoulders, to watch him getting irate with the thought of returning home, to hear him complain about what awaited him when he got back.
Those fears, mercifully never made it to see the light. Forever left slumbering in the hollow cavern in Valentino’s chest, stringed with fear and bitterness like decorative cob webs, out of sight.
Luca only seemed to grow more content with each day that passed and Valentino kept a tight lid on his stream of thoughts, smiling pleasantly whenever Luca looked at him for too long, a certain question in mind that he never voice aloud.
Everyone knew what Valentino’s stance on marriage was. He respected the decision to commit, understood that it was something many craved – considering the majority of the population looked forward to it, there certainly had to be appeals and benefits – but it was not something he longed for. Not anymore, not after it became apparent that most of it was a bogus affair where people spent thousands to fulfill this wishy-washy childhood dream crafted to appear as this life-altering moment.
None of that allured Valentino. Surely.
He’d been against it for so long. Probably couldn’t even cough up a good reason to propose to a partner even if it promised him a tenth champion if he did.
“And get the boy something nice and shiny. Not this old piece of lousy metal.”
Surely.
At night, the main house in the ranch could sometimes get uncomfortably quiet without the bustling noise of the boys around, more so when the workers left.
Growing up surrounded by neighbors and the general bustle of town life, the silence that came with a secluded house as big as the ranch was not something Valentino kept in mind when he first constructed the villa. Slipping from his thoughts as Valentino grew busy: occupied with the idea of making it the perfect house for himself along with the intention of making it a riders paradise.
By the time they had come too far along to change anything, it had entirely vanished from his head. Why wouldn’t it? The house was everything he wanted, everything he dreamt of. It was absolutely perfect in his eyes. Perfect for his boys to stay over, perfect for him, and perfect for his aging body too.
Lush and spacious, located at the edge of the townscape near the mountain and valleys, plenty of fresh air and the trees to keep him company. It was just close enough for convenience but remote enough to grant Valentino the privacy he was stripped off for as long as he could recall.
He had stolen a lot of inspiration from Massimo’s lodgings since he never had much of his own, considering Valentino’s own childhood house had been a constant switch up between the empty Victorian styled house Valentino and Steffi used to live in or the crowded caravan his father used for races. Except his had been a whole lot bigger – required an entire deck of hands to keep the place neat and tidy – even when the idea of it made Valentino’s skin crawl at times.
Valentino never quite liked the idea of keeping house staff around the villa on a twenty four hour rotation, not since he had last stayed with Graziono and caught him once again with another maid in his bed. Valentino liked his house void of people as soon as the job was done, which was why why he made a point to construct a separate quarters for them to live at the foot of the property, near the fence, and only hired locals who knew to make themselves scarce.
It’s a simple routine. The last shift of staff members make him dinner then leave on the dot to head back to their own quarters. Then Valentino will deposit his plates and cutlery for the morning shift to clean up when they arrive.
However, this also meant that during the window of time between night to dawn, silence would reign over the house, empty with only a sole residence and the animals.
Come dusk, the rooms will ring with a quiet unmatched, not a whisper of a soul traversing through the halls and corridors. Even the watch guards positioned near the fence would be stationed too far down for their boisterous chattering to reach the upmost hill of the ranch, leaving only silence to govern the empty space.
Once upon a time, it had unnerved him greatly. The lack of noise fed into his ever-present paranoia and Uccio would more often than not sleep in the spare mattress at the foot of his bed, and later in the guest bedroom in the western wing of the second floor, until Valentino found comfort in the white noises of the rustling leaves and stray night critters.
Uccio doesn’t stop by as much anymore. Not with his own family to look after. He hadn’t slept over in a long time on his own.
Yet when he hears noise from the main hall downstairs, Valentino does not as much as flinch, even when he can say with confidence that the cause of the ruckus was not his oldest and closest friend.
Instead he wrings the wet towel off his shoulders, ignoring the wet droplets in his hair that dripped onto the floorboards, and allows it to hang limply by his side. Intent on throwing it to the bin on his way down.
Valentino, of course, forgets everything he wants to say when he enters the foyer. One of the many effects Pecco had on him. Valentino seemed to lose his wits more often near him than anywhere else. It’s the only explanation he has considering the things that had been occupying his mind as of recent. At least his tongue was spared. “Bit late for baking, no?”
“It’s just a batch of cookies. Should be done by the time I get out of the showers.”
For someone so quiet and kempt, it was impressive how congenial the house could get whenever Pecco was here. Even something as simple as baking cookies seemed to spread warmth across the foundation and walls, and bathed the bottom floor with a golden sort of light Valentino never knew his rusty bulb could emit. Or maybe that was just the stupid love sickness playing tricks on him.
Whatever it was, no one could blame Valentino, slave to earthly desires, for slinking into that bubble of warmth, akin to moths near flame. Not when Pecco was standing there in front of him, finally back home after weeks of being continents apart.
Pecco barely blinks when arms wrap around him, working his way around with the additional weight of Valentino plastered to his back, face buried in the crook of his neck where the sweater neckline left his neck exposed for Valentino’s lips to map. Valentino had missed the weight of him between his arms more than he cared to admit; and he hopes to make the sentiment apparent with the way his hands dig tightly into Pecco’s arm.
Pecco, on his part, only spares Valentino an amused huff and continues to separate the kneaded balls into small, manageable sections. Sometimes it baffled Valentino how easily Pecco took his affection in stride – comfortable enough to shrug it off when he liked. Such as now. “You’re cold. Dry your hair.”
“Dry it for me.” Vale mumbles. Whines. A little petulant when Pecco doesn’t spare him any attention.
He no longer cared what had been his original purpose in coming downstairs. Not when Pecco smelled so good, like sugar, cinnamon and everything warm and nice – which was funny because Valentino never had much of a sweet tooth himself. Not when there was nothing of greater importance than getting Pecco to notice him. To think there had been a time where it had been the opposite. Had it been so long since then?
“You’ll have to wait a while.” Pecco informs him, even as Valentino adds flashes of teeth to his kisses along the back of his nap; intent on finishing his task. “I’m not washing my hands until I am done.”
Valentino harrumphs under his breathe, displeased but abiding. He makes no move to let go of Pecco, even so, more than content to stay glued to his back.
It’s not a fun thing to remain half naked in the late season of winter, not when the chill raises goose bumps on his skin, and the risk of catching a cold was high, but Valentino cannot find it in himself to move and slide away. He carves a space for himself instead in the quiet bubble of Pecco’s alone time- sliding a chin over a shoulder to oversee the task that was stealing Pecco’s attention meant for him – like he used to during the rare days his mother felt maternal enough to bake them cookies and Valentino would linger close by to steal peaks of the woman bustling around their kitchen wearing his mothers face.
With Pecco it feels less foreign - less strange, but no less nostalgic. Even though it's a new thing Valentino had come to discover only after stepping foot into this relationship - that Pecco liked to bake, cook, whatever.
The domesticity of the situation once would have made his skin crawled. Would have suffocated him from the inside, like a bubble that refused to pop. Would have made Valentino find a room to find refuge in – away from all the uncomfortable feelings he refused to address.
Co-existing with Pecco was somehow easy.
Perhaps it had been because Valentino had long learned to live with his presence, had gotten sufficient time to accept the reality of having Pecco by his side, of living with Pecco by his side, before he had come to accept that he wanted to live with Pecco by his side.
Preferably for the rest of his life.
A thought that sounded dangerously close to the lines of marriage.
Maybe he should think of something else. “When did you get home?”
“I landed in Tavullia around noon.” Half the dough was gone by now, arranged in three neat stacks. Valentino leaned closer, pressing his wet curls against the side of Pecco’s jaw to peer better, and noted that only half of them were filled to the brim with chocolate bits. The other half remained barren – just how Valentino liked them. It only a little frightening to know how Pecco knew him well enough to always be so considerate of him. “Went to see your mother first before I came here. My mother sends her love to you, but she had physical trinkets for your mother.”
The implications only promised to choke Vale even more, so he steered courses once again. “Hmm, she say anything?”
“Only that I haven’t been eating enough.” Vale shook with pecco’s small laugh, and the sound ignited more warmth in him. Valentino wanted nothing more than to sink closer to the source of it. Bottle it forever, keep it as a keepsake, and lock it so that no one but him could hear the tinkling melody that was Pecco’s laugh. “Her containers are in the fridge, I’ll heat them up later if you still haven’t had dinner.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, with your mother. You?”
“I did.” Valentino lied, pressing a kiss to the back of his ear and then again to his nape. Pecco smelled like the new laundry detergent his mother liked to use and the perfume he had taken to stealing from Valentino, every part of him smelling like home now. “I want to go to bed.”
“I’m almost done.” Pecco says instead of something along the lines of ‘You head up first’. “Can you preheat the oven for me?”
Vale could. But he didn’t want to. Not if it meant separating from Pecco.
“It’ll be quicker.” Pecco proposes, perhaps already catching hint of the childish petulance in the way Valentino’s arms tightened where they were wrapped across his stomach. “They’ll bake, I’ll finish my shower. We can take them up for a late night snack instead of a dinner and we’ll dry your hair.”
Tempting. But no. “I can wait.” Vale nuzzled closer and ignored the shiver it incited from Pecco when more water droplets dripped onto his skin.
“Vale.”
Valentino tightened his arms impossibly more. “You’re going to make me move?”
“It would be easier if you did.” Pecco pushed back.
“When did we like things easy?”
“When indeed.”
The conversation tapers off once more to silence. Valentino had long learned not to mind it. It was just one of those things he’d learn to live with. That quiet didn’t always meant anger.
Instead there was comfort to be found from the sound of dough placed on wrapper, the clink of a bowl and most importantly the gentle humming from Francesco. Some melody he heard Bezzecchi hum too, probably from some new show the two of them started watching again.
Valentino should ask to watch it with him sometime. Soon – once they had time to spare with no championship fight in the way. They had all the time to catch up after the season after all, as well as the rest of their life. Or whatever remainder was left of it. Valentino wasn’t going to get any younger any time sooner if they wanted to get married, the sooner they did, the better.
Fucking hell. There were those thoughts again.
The very limited time Valentino had left if he did want to spend their lives together with him growing wearier by the day. Creating a routine that didn’t have to make sense to anyone but them. Thoughts and flashes of a grand wedding – somewhere near the beach because Valentino grew up near it – and with a church too – because Pecco was a good, little Christian boy at the end of the day – with their families – although not all of them.
It was as if those were the only things Valentino was capable of thinking these days.
When he saw the spare shoes on the outer yard even when the rest of the academy had left, lined haphazardly beside his. When he passed by the jar of candied fruits and fresh fruits sitting in a bowl on his countertop because Pecco was sensitive to the cold and could not stand anything mildly chill. How there were leathers and gloves and protective jocks in sizes too big or sometimes too small lying in the garage – torrid red instead of the familiar blue and green.
Little tidbits of daily life incidents that somehow meant more to him than he was capable of explaining, that made him yearn to stay trapped in this cycle of domesticity for years to come. Yearning that only grew in moments like these: when Valentino was treated to the sight of Pecco coming home and baking cookies upon arrival, simply because he felt like it.
The urge to profess his love – even with no ring present - had been so incredibly strong at that moment, Valentino had to physically cross the room and grab a hold of Pecco to prevent any embarrassing slip ups.
Even so the proximity had done little to lessen his urge to profess his longing – instead somehow having served to enhance the need to bend down on a knee with Pecco near vicinity, humming to his own merry tune and smelling everything nostalgic and divine. Maybe Valentino should just –
“What are your thoughts on marriage?”
Blurting it out hadn’t been on his agenda. In fact, the idea was supposed to forever stay intact within him where not even a wisp of light could reach. There had been no plans to ruin this perfectly fine night with mentions of a topic everyone around Valentino’s life had learned to skirt around. Including Pecco, having gone ram-rod still in Valentino’s arms, dropping the bowl in hand.
The humming had come to a sudden stop; swarming the room with a sudden hush, eclipsing every bit of warmth present moments prior and leaving behind a staunch, lingering quietness in its place that wasn’t present until Vale had popped the question.
Maybe Valentino should redact his earlier statement. Perhaps silence wasn’t always a blessing. Not when it made the clattering of the glass bowl against the counter all the more prominent.
Vale winced at the noise produced, and more so when Pecco’s body further stiffened underneath him. Like it always did when his mind started working overtime to make sense of a situation – rushing to play out every possible outcome.
Already Valentino could feel the tendrils of regret slither and curl underneath his ribs for asking. What made him think it was a good idea to dangle an unattainable, impossible prospect in front of them? Where was the tact when he needed it the most? “Never mind, let’s move on. How long do I have to preheat–”
“Do you mean it?” Pecco whispered. Strained. Eyes glued to where the bowl had clambered, doing his best not to look back at Valentino.
It still Valentino breathless at times with how young Pecco looked at moments like this. More akin to the boy with the frizzy curls and no tattoos marring his skin, eager to share a track with his idol, than the man who shared a bed with Vale on most nights, not minding being treated as a pillowcase or heater at worst. How unsure he could still be regarding where and how much he could push his luck.
Had it been anyone else, Valentino would have found a way to insert a joke or even side-lined the topic by now – doing anything to change the course of the conversation. To push it aside for light hearted matters, to forget how his lack of control had ruined their entire night possibly.
Pecco’s fragile voice and even more fragile composure was the only thing stopping him from dodging the question entirely that kept Valentino rooted in place. To not jest and flit away from uncomfortable situations, even when that was all Valentino knew to do.
There was a part of him that undoubtedly knew that if he were to circumvent this conversation today, there was a good chance it would be ever brought up again. No matter how badly Valentino wanted to revisit it, or Pecco himself wanted the notion to be brought up again. Never again would they be able to look back on the subject and say what they truly meant.
And the thought of that filled him with greater fear than any possibility of marriage could. “Yes.”
The shuddering exhale Pecco breathes out sounds dangerously wet. Valentino waits patiently as the sound recedes to make room for Pecco’s voice, shaky as it is. “Okay. Okay.”
At the sound of it, Valentino can’t help but gain the courage to cling a little closer, plastering himself impossibly closer to Pecco’s back while Pecco inhaled audibly some more, perhaps to buy some time to compose himself.
Neither knows when, but sometime during the affair, Valentino’s hand found itself entwined with Pecco’s – stroking across the expanse of his knuckles where the callouses stood out. Valentino distracts himself with the feel of them – rough and uneven but ever so familiar – while Pecco collected himself, using the mundane task of rolling the dough to straighten his mind.
It is not until the glass bowl with the remainder of the dough are pushed aside and the powder is dusted of his hands before Pecco gets the courage to ask, tentative and meek. “Can I ask why? All of a sudden?”
He doesn’t look back as he speaks; still staring at the tray like it required every bit of his attention. “I knew before we got together that marriage had never been a priority. That besides the risk of being public figures, you would… rather not settle down. You’ve never– ”
– ‘been the type’ goes unsaid.
It was no secret that Valentino had avoided every question about marriage thrown his way – be it with reporters, the media pen or even friends and family. Always answering vaguely and with a clipped smile, finding ways to move the conversation along so that he didn’t say more than he had to, ignoring the disappointment that oft left him feeling unexplainably irate.
His partners, too, had learned not to question it. Stay without a ring and a document or leave. Either they understood it, or they parted ways.
(Some less amicably than others. There was a reason Francesca and Linda still got gifts on their birthdays whereas all Gibernau and Marquez got was a blocked contact.)
Pecco’s confusion had been warranted.
Why now?
Why had Valentino suddenly gone back on his principals, had pushed past his life motto, and by extension, his irrational belief regarding marriage, to contemplate the idea of wearing matching wedding bands?
Was it Luca’s recent happiness rubbing off him? Was his age finally catching up to him? Had the shaman his mother been seeing finally succeed in her rituals?
What could Valentino say when he had no idea of the answer himself?
With no response to his half-murmured question Pecco, of course, jumps to his own conclusion. “If it’s just because you feel pressured, there’s no need– ”
And Vale cannot have that. “I do not know.”
It is a sparse answer, one lacking any significance, deficit of substance. It is only the terseness of his tone that does not make the words fall flat, curt as they are.
Pecco falls silent with the scanty admission. Grows stiffer too: shoulders tensing where Vale still has his face pressed through the fuzzy material of Pecco’s sweater. Valentino continues his tirade regardless, unable to stop. Not once letting go of Pecco’s hand in the meantime. It somehow grants him strength to push the words out, words that would have – at one point in his life – to be pulled with clippers and sheers with how adamantly Valentino refused to let the thoughts fester in his mind.
Yet somehow in the kitchen he had designed, in the home he had built, with the man he had chosen to invite to stay forever – the admission falls from his tongue easily, like it had been waiting all this while to be set free.
“You know that I never wished to settle, how I always turned Maro and Steffi down whenever they brought it up. It is not a lifestyle I can see myself living.” Not happily at least. Not until recently “But nowadays, it’s all I can think of when I look at you.”
Pecco still doesn’t look back. Valentino cannot tell if it’s a good or bad thing, so he takes it a sign to continue regardless.
“I do not know why, but I asked Steffi if she still had her ring Graziano gave her the other day while she was over.”
Valentino is only a little startled when Pecco whirls to face him, face painted with incredulity. “You what?”
“Worry not,” Valentino assures him, hand coming to cup a cheek. Pecco leans into it, but still gapes at Valentino like he cannot believe what was happening in front of his very eyes. “She would sooner beat me with a shoe before she let you wear that old thing.”
“That is not– I’m not worried about that–” Valentino laughs to himself when Pecco still keeps on gaping at him, eyes disbelieving and so very pretty. “Vale.”
“But I’ve been thinking,” Valentino tucks a stray curl behind his ear and uses the same hand to pull Pecco closer by the hips, until their fronts were pressed flush. At least this way Vale could give him a good struggle if Pecco were to escape. Funny how once it would have been the opposite case. “That it would not be so bad if we chose rings to wear for the rest of our lives no?”
He takes the same hand he’d been playing with moments prior, several days back even, even before they had got together and brings it up for examination. Pecco had some of the prettiest hands Valentino had ever seen – not just limited to riders. Slender, lean and perfect to hold, with nails kept neat and trim, and callouses any competent rider ought to have. Valentino could only imagine how much prettier they’d look with a big, fat rock attached. “Something gold. Something thin and pretty with a big cut diamond. Maybe an engraving? My number and yours?”
He was rambling. Throwing whatever ideas he could think of. Whatever came to mind and might hold a hint of appeal. Trying to gauge Pecco’s reaction for whatever might catch his eye, who only seemed to stare at Valentino with a baffled look in his eyes. Stunned as ever.
When Pecco speaks again, it’s only due to the lack of space that makes it easy for Valentino to catch his words. “The boys would complain about them not being included.”
Valentino barks out a startled laughter, amused where Pecco’s train of thought had led him to. “Well I’m not getting married to the boys now am I?” He says teasingly, pressing their foreheads together. This way Pecco had no choice but to look up at Valentino, at the expense of going a little cross-eyed mayhaps. Valentino cannot care for it much if it means he’ll have Pecco’s undivided attention once again. “They’ll know it’s a wedding ring soon enough anyways.”
“You want them to know?”
“Maybe.”
He thinks they have an idea already. Conclusions several have already jumped to, particularly on Uccio’s end. Luca probably knew already – if the way his eyes flit over the utensils in Valentino’s room had anything to say – as well as Franky who was more observant for his own good.
Some of the others would need a little conclusion spelled out for them. Lorenzo. Celestino. Bezzecchi.
But all that could be arranged.
In the end all that mattered was whether Pecco wanted it just as badly as Valentino did.
Although the incredulity had long since faded, fleeting splotches of apprehension lingered behind on the planes of his face, difficult to map out.
Luckily Valentino had known Pecco long enough to know where to look, had learned to know what to say. “Maybe I just want to get married to you. Would it be such a bad thing?”
Even if it sometimes meant waiting for several long minutes for a reply.
Pecco stands still as a statue in his arms, and Valentino stands with him, humming the melody he had heard mere minutes ago, carrying off from where Pecco lost track. He’s probably off-tune and tapers off to a rhythm of his own making, but it fills the silence until Pecco finds his voice. “We need to think many things through.”
Valentino doesn’t pause in his humming. “Okay.”
“Why you suddenly want to get married. If you’re sure you want to get married. What you think entails after getting married. What made you want to– ”
The prattling would have been annoying had it been anyone else. With Pecco, Valentino finds it endearing how he lists the things they should check over - as if the whole event was a test of qualification rather than a discussion that could be made over afternoon tea.
“–and why you were talking to your mother about rings in the first place.”
They could do that.
“Okay.” Valentino shrugs easily. Relatively lax even when he’d been close to combusting just a while back. It’s also funny when compared to the nervous energy radiating off his younger lover who could not seem to stand in one place too long. “Eh, you have the rest of the week free and I have no race till the end of the month. We can start tomorrow after you rest. Visit the jeweler the day after. Tell our mothers over dinner.”
Pecco stares at him long and hard once Valentino is done. “You thought for a while, haven’t you?”
And, well, yes. Shockingly- he had. Longer than he wants to admit.
On nights he shared a bed with Pecco and the thoughts of matching gleaming bands kept him up. On days he lingered in the Ducati garage and watched Pecco struggle on the junk of a Ducati bike and all Valentino could think of was the pros and cons of having a beachside wedding. Even during evenings in the ranch where Pecco’s presence had been enough to make up for a twelve or more and that had been enough to make Vale ache for the years he had left to spend.
How could Valentino not want to spend the remainder of his life with someone like that?
Fuck, okay. Maybe age was getting to him. He’d revisit that later. “Yes. A while. Have you?”
Had Pecco ever imagine them exchanging wedding rings – family heirlooms – last names – contracts and documents under the courts name and order? He’s sure tiny Pecco did: sitting in Vale’s box, unable to take his eyes off of Vale when he was in Yamaha’s leathers, back when he was still a rider worthy of that starry gaze. He’s not as certain that the three times champion spent his days envisioning how he was going to marry a slob; the very same one that liked to scratch his ass while brushing his teeth naked under the showers at the cusp of noon or sneeze loud enough to wake up the dogs.
Honestly what was Pecco thinking deciding to settle down with Vale?
“I don’t know.” Well at least Valentino picked an honest one. “You just sprung this out of nowhere. I didn’t even know until today this was an option.”
“Ey, is it not better to rip the bandage off?” Valentino laughed half-heartedly to brush off the sting of those words. Pecco clearly does not share the enthusiasm, choosing to glare at Vale despite the wetness of his eyes. Vale hugged Pecco’s tighter, allowed his head to fall to the elegant line of Pecco’s shoulder to bury his face in, if only so that he did not have to look. Only then was he able to obtain the courage for the rest of his mumbling. “Now instead of thinking how we managed to evade this topic for so long, we can think of the ring we’ll be wearing, the number of tiers on the cake and the dress!”
“That is tempting.” Pecco admits, hands coming up to wrap around Vale as well. What a sight they must make, Vale thinks: one naked and shivering from the cold and the other drowning in layers. Neither daring to look at the other just yet. Not with the sort of conversation they were having. Pecco takes it as a chance to poke and prod in places he usually wouldn’t dare. “Hmm, what were you saying about your mother’s ring?”
“I cannot believe that is what caught your attention.”
“Vale.”
“Bah.” Valentino huffs into the sweater, ignoring the quiet shake of Pecco’s laugh. “It’s an old and rusty thing. Shine’s probably all gone by now and the end diamonds are chipped.” It was a lot less glamorous too than what Valentino had remembered. Out dated too. “My mother will be throwing it with the rest of the junk my father left her. You won’t be wearing that old thing any time soon.” He reaches for Pecco’s hands again, even when they remained out of sight, just so he could feel those fingers again.
Pecco grasps him back without a second thought and Vale feels himself getting excited at the thought of their rings bumping against one another when they’ll reach for the other in the near future. Sometime heavy and impossible to miss. It’ll be something way better than anything Graziano had ever dreamt of gifting. “Yours will be much better than that scrap. We’ll definitely store yours in a better condition as well so this time it can be passed down.”
The fingers in his hand flexed, as if imagining the weight of them. Valentino hoped Pecco was as excited as he at the idea of it, even if Pecco did attempt to sound level-headed. “That’s a lot of planning you have there.”
“A man should aim to be ambitious.” Pecco didn’t have to know how far the dreams went. Weddings. Family looms being passed down. A life time spent together. More animals for them to adopt. Let Valentino save some face of dignity tonight. “And I aim to make my fiancé a very happy man.”
“Getting ahead are we?”
Was he? Perhaps.
But the night had gone well enough. Better than Valentino expected. Better than most nights at least. He could afford to push his luck a bit more. “Only what is inevitable.”
Used to his insufferable habits, Pecco does nothing more than sigh into the thinning curls on Valentino’s head. Valentino should do something about them before the wedding. “Let’s see. We have a lot to talk, it seems.”
“So is that a yes?” Valentino pulls back, perking up instantly.
Pecco’s face is more solemn than expected, but Valentino can find the happiness packed in it easily. It would be difficult to hide the excitement, anxious or not, at the idea of marriage. Especially for someone like Pecco. Valentino should give him more credit for keeping his emotions his check with the way Pecco was trying so hard to not get ahead of himself. “It’s not a no. For now.”
“For now.” Valentino parrots, agreeing. He could wait. A week or two. A month at best. This year though hopefully, even if it meant pulling a lot of strings. “But we could at least-“
“Heat up the oven Valentino; I want these baked by the time I get out of the shower. We can look over the rings afterward.”