The Pairing

by Casey McQuiston

I pictured him as more of a sexy fireman or Olympic shot-putter.

I wanted you to see me for the first time in four years and be amazed.” “That would have happened no matter what.”

I’m beginning to suspect there’s someone in love with Fabrizio in every city on this tour.

“I look chic,” I say. “I look like I ride motorcycles on the Amalfi Coast.” “You look like they shoot you out of a cannon at a circus for gay people.” “Even better.”

closely. “I know this place. It’s in the seminal rom-com—” “Roman Holiday,” I say at the same time Theo finishes, “The Lizzie McGuire Movie,” and we laugh.

“I have some new techniques.” Theo grins luxuriantly. “My little pastry school valedictorian.” “Yours,” I echo, heart aching.

A stream of swears slips from my mouth so fast, even I don’t know what language I’m speaking. Tongues, maybe. Ancient Latin.

I try to tell my heart to settle, that they’re being tender because they’re half asleep, but it clenches anyway.

“You keep saying that every grape has its own characteristics and personality,” I say, “so, which one is most like you?” They think about it. “I feel like I have to be a California white.” “Well, you are a California white.” “Very original joke from the southern French white.” “Merci beaucoup.” “And le fuck you too,” Theo says cheerfully.

“Come on. Deep, indulgent, immortalized in a million Renaissance paintings, made to be poured between ass cheeks at a bacchanal. You’re a red.”

and Fabrizio is in his element. He is making passionate love to his element.

The more we soak in his presence, the more I love Naples. And the more I love Naples, the more Fabrizio seems like her favorite child.

It’s a gritty, glorious feast of overstimulation.

“Go hiking. Get a massage. Phone my wife. Read pornographic romance novels.” “I think I love you, Orla,” Theo says. Orla raises her glass and winks.

I could touch them. I want to touch them. Slip my hand across the back of their neck, press my knee against their thigh. They would like it, even. But everything I shouldn’t say is right under the surface of my skin, and I’ll sweat it out if we get too close.

“Hey,” Theo says quietly. “You okay? You look like you’re worried you forgot something.” Yes, my heart in California and my cock in a fifth-story apartment in Rome.

It’s always so easy, flirting with Fabrizio. He takes it so well and gives back even better, winks and raises his eyebrows and thumbs the edge of my jaw. I like him so much. It almost helps.

Or maybe it’s how happy Theo seems to be here, nearly weeping with laughter at the photos of teenage Fabrizio and his brothers on the walls.

“My Theo is as brilliant as ever.”

“That’s so kind of you, Paloma,” I say, “but I have a job, remember?” “Yes, the job you hate.” “I don’t hate it.” “But you don’t like it.” “That doesn’t mean I can just quit.” “Why not?” “Because I put all this time into it,” I say. “It’s what I worked for.” It’s what I lost Theo for.

“Crois-moi,” she says, “ça ne veut rien dire, si cela ne te rend pas heureux.” That doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t make you happy.

For all our flirting and big talk about making sensual tantric love to Fabrizio, I never actually thought our tour guide would proposition us.

“You’re the one who actually knows some Italian.” “Yeah, weirdly, my job at a restaurant did not teach me the word for condoms.”

“I don’t think this vending machine sells artisanal fair-trade lube for delicate Parisian buttholes, Kit.” “How do you know it’ll be for me?”

“Don’t you think Fabrizio has condoms at his place?” “We can’t show up empty-handed, that’s inconsiderate,”

“Just—get the natural lube.” I sigh. “The one with the leaves on the tube.” “What if that means it’s pesto flavored or something?” “I guess that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I say as Theo punches the buttons.

It’ll be hot, and easy, and lovely, the way that sex should be, and I’ll make sure everyone feels good. Like the times we had sex with a third person when we were together—just, without Theo’s reassuring hand in mine, or the calm certainty that we’ll come home to each other afterward, or the love.

I have to nudge Theo in the shoulder to get them moving.

I didn’t know he was married! Did you know he was married? Of course I didn’t fucking know he was married, Kit, or I wouldn’t have assumed he was inviting us over for sex! Did he ever mention having a wife? I don’t think so? Is that weird? That’s weird, right? She’s really hot. She is insanely fucking hot.

“We’re coming!” I say, stepping out of my shoes. “Not how we thought we’d be,” Theo mumbles, “but yeah.”

“And that you are star-crossed lovers who fell back in love on Fabrizio’s tour!”

“I tell the company to never send me on the Scandinavia tour,” Fabrizio says. “Too cold. Not enough sun.” “Oh wise up, that’s when you let your lady keep you warm. Valentina, love, I’ll take you.”

Everything is going well until I lean over to refill Theo’s wine, and a condom falls out of my shirt pocket and into the olives.

And it’s been such a long day with so much to process that I can’t think of a single excuse.

Theo and I lock eyes. Do we tell him? Of course we don’t fucking tell him.

Fuck it.

“I reckon we could sell T-shirts. Nearly Fucked Fabs: The European Tour.” “I am providing memorable customer experiences!”

“Especially the Americans,” Orla adds. “Oh my God.” I bury my face in my hands. “I’m Americans.”

There’s something so admirable about his directness. I like you. Stay in my life. It’s perfectly simple, when he says it like that.

“Is it that obvious?” “If I am honest, yes. But I hear from Orla.” “Orla.” This is what I get for assuming all women in safari hats can be trusted.

“I think right now it is a tragedy. Tell me, why are you not together? You do not tell Theo how you feel?” He reads my face, then puts down his whisk in despair. “Why, Professore?” “Because I don’t know if I deserve to.”

And I tell her again, ‘I want you to be happy.’ And she says to me, ‘Fabrizio, idiota, all I ever want is to be happy with you.’”

“It was not for me to protect her from my heart. It was only for me to let her see it and decide if she will keep it.”

“How Valentina looked at me the night before her wedding—this is how Theo looks at you.”

“I think we might be friends for life? With Fabrizio? Somehow?”

“And it’s immature. We’re adults.” “That’s what I keep hearing.”

“Was that the thing from Face/Off?” I smile. I knew they’d like it. “That was the thing from Face/Off.” “God,” they groan, grinning, throwing their head against the headrest. “One of the greats.”

“As we’ve learned, I can eat a peach for hours.” “Speaking of, let the record to show that I was in the lead and would have won.” “It’s done, Theo.” “I’m just! Saying!”

Somewhere ahead, Pinocchio bobs above the crowd like our merry little North Star.

“I think all fried rice balls are precious gifts from God,” Theo says. “Ooh, but those are really big, holy shit— Ciao! Quanto?”