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You are beginning to think you may have misunderstood the invitation.
When Primo had stopped you previously this afternoon in the abbey halls, speaking with that calming serene smile and Italian lilt, he had asked you if you might be interested in “joining the book club.” In your mind, you had pictured a few siblings of sin gathered in the library or the common area. Maybe for some quiet reading, mild gossip and a communal pot of tea.
What you did not picture is this- creaking open the door of his study to reveal Primo alone in his candlelit study, surrounded by shelves that have bowed under the weight of centuries of texts and literature.
When you enter the air smells of wax, old parchment, and the faintest scent of incense curling up to your nose. A fire crackles lazily in the hearth nearby.
“Ah, perfetto, you made it,” he greets you warmly. “I hope you do not mind that our numbers are…intimate tonight.”
“Just us tonight, Papa?” You ask, stepping in and shutting the door behind you.
Primo chuckles- a low all-knowing sound.
“I find discussions are more fruitful when shared between two souls, hm?”
He guides you to a chair directly beside his own- not across from him, but sitting close enough that your knees brush as you sit down. On the table before you rests a stack of well-loved classics, and one that looks suspiciously like an illuminated manuscript.
Steam curls from the cups of tea Primo has poured for the both of you.
You accept yours, hand gently brushing his as you take it gracefully from his hand. “So, what are we reading tonight?”
He leans back, eyes half lidded behind his reading glasses. “A little of everything. Some poetry, a bit of philosophy…and perhaps something older. Something written when people still believed words could summon things.”
You laugh softly. “Summon what, exactly?”
His lips curve into a small smirk.
“Understanding. Devotion. Sometimes…each other.”
You are not entirely sure if he is just teasing. The room suddenly feels smaller, the fire’s warmth a little too close. Primo opens the manuscript, pages whispering like secrets as the pages turn. He begins to read in Italian, voice low with a melodic cadence-entrancing. You do not understand every single word, but his tone carries something deep- reverence, affection and maybe even longing.
When he stops, he looks over the top of his glasses at you. “Tell me Cara, what do you feel when you listen?”
You hesitate for a moment as you struggle to find the correct words. “I feel like…it’s not just a reading of a text. It feels like it’s calling to something specifically.”
He smiles faintly. “You have a gift for listening. Most people only hear words, but you hear meaning.”
A silence stretches between the both of you- not awkward in any way, but charged, like the space between a verse and an unholy hymn. Primo reaches forward, closing the book gently.
“You see,” he says softly, “a good book does not end on the last page. It lingers. It asks something of you. Perhaps…” he pauses, eyes shifting to yours. “Perhaps to share that quiet moment with someone who understands.”
His hand brushes yours again, very much deliberately this time. His thumb traces a soft line over your knuckles. A gesture that feels both scholarly and sacred simultaneously.
You can hear your heartbeat, steady like a metronome. “Is this part of the book club experience, Papa?” You murmur, eyes sparkling with devotion.
“Ah,” he whispers, lips curving into a mischievous grin. “This is the advanced study.”
You both laugh together softly, the sound being swallowed into the crackle of the fire. As the night deepens around you, the two of you continue reading- sometimes aloud, sometimes in shared silence and company- until the candles burn low and the world outside feels a thousand miles away.
By the time you rise to leave, Primo is watching you with that serene, secretive smile once again.
“Next meeting, same time?” He asks.
You nod, still feeling the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin.
And when you step into the cool corridor, you realize that whatever he was reading to you now made you part of its story. Whether you knew it for sure or not.