Chapter 7

“Hi, pumpkin.” Guntram read on his screen, already hating the noisy messenger bird. 'Is any way to shut up this thing? I'm starting to hate it too,' he angrily thought before writing back; “Hi, Fefo.”

“Where you are?”

“In the hotel, still in Florence. I went to Perugia today. Very beautiful place. I was in the Galleria dell'

Umbra.”

“Ugh! Again in a fucking Museum? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I like it. Most Perugino is there. Too bad the clerks don't let you sketch. Have to be happy with the book they sell for a good price.”

“Guntram, you're nineteen. What are you doing tonight?”

“Dinning and going to bed. Tomorrow we take the train to Arezzo. All Piero della Francesca is there.”

“Are you telling me you plan to be in bed at ten?”

“Sure.”

“You're crazy. Get rid of the Russian and go out! You're in Florence!”

“It's very cold and rainy.”

“OK, grandpa. How about we go out for some beers?”

“Not very clever; you're in Paris; I'm in Florence.”

“I'm in Milan, can be there in a few hours, tomorrow for example.”

“What are you doing in Milan?”

“Travelling. I had enough of my father and his bimbo, Solange. Snotty bitch!”

“Poor baby. Sorry, I can't. Tomorrow I go to Arezzo and I'm not sure when we'll be back. “

“OK, we'll see each other on the fourth. Which hotel are you staying?”

Guntram hesitated; he didn't want to see Fefo as he feared his more than expected scorn at his relationship with Constantin. 'It's not that I'm ashamed of it; it's just I don't want to fight over it', but on the other side, he didn't deny himself to his best friend. 'He might be very bored, alone in Europe.'

“Posh place. You'll have to shower to enter.”

“Ha, ha. How witty you're.”

“I'm in the Grand Hotel. In front of the Arno River in Piazza Ognissanti. The suite us under Mr.

Massaiev's name. At 8 p.m?”

“OK, sounds like a date to me.”

“Idiot!”

Mikhail Massaiev was crossed when Guntram informed him that he was going to have dinner with his school friend, Federico and that they would meet at the hotel's lobby at 8 p.m. “We'll go around, for a pizza and some beers. I'll be back around twelve.” Repin was going to kill him! His boy with another punk—especially this one who had already crossed him to no end with “his constant meddling with my angel”—Repin would come all the way from Moscow just to kill the impudent youth… and then, shoot him. He was leaving very clearly that his job was to look after Guntram, take him to Museums, check that he works, and eliminate any kind of competition that might appear.

No hot blooded Italian, or any kind, hunters around his angel. “You know what to do.” The only rule: “Guntram has to be always well treated. No yelling or hitting him. If you touch a single hair from him or if I get a single complaint about you, you're dead. Use your intelligence to lead him; he's perfectly bendable if you know how to treat him.”

“Finding and getting rid of boys was an easier job,” he mumbled before dialling his boss' private number.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“How is my angel, Mikhail Petrovich?”

“He's perfectly well, sir. Drawing everything that moves and not. Today we went to the Ufizzi, again.

From 8 a.m. till closing time. It was Bronzino's day.” Mikhail slightly complained, knowing that if he sang his praises perhaps Repin would be partly appeased when he heard the news. “He was looking the painting and then, running to the cafeteria to copy it. He has a very good visual memory and I'm dead from running up and down the whole day.

He's drawing in his room now, some people he saw while we dined.”

“But…”

“He has agreed to meet this friend of his tomorrow at 8 p.m. The boy is currently in Milan, sir. What should I do?”

“Nothing. I'll speak with Guntram about this. Go with them. Don't leave him alone under any circumstance.”

“I don't understand a word in Spanish, Mr. Repin.”

“Guntram is too polite to speak Spanish if you're there. He will only speak English. Record the conversation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take Guntram to Rome on the fifth; to the St. Regis'. Don't let that boy come near him ever again. I'll take care of that small nuisance. For some unknown reason, he's against me and does whatever he can to ruin my relationship with my angel. Stay in Rome for a week only and then, go to Paris to the flat in Place Vendôme. Leave him under Malchenko's care and come to London. I have to speak with you.”

The annoying sound was again bothering him when Guntram realised that it was his own phone, forgotten in his jacket, and he dashed to answer it.

“The fourth time is the winner. I was considering to start a relationship with your answering machine. It's always there,” a slightly annoyed Constantin greeted Guntram before he could say anything.

“Hello, Constantin. I didn't realise it was the phone. I'm not used to it. I thought it was something else,”

the boy confessed very ashamed at his slip.

“Why don't you tell me the truth? You were drawing and perhaps a volcano explosion could have gotten your attention.”

“How do you know it?” Guntram said very shocked and made the other man laugh.

“Because I know you. I'd bet that Mikhail has to send you to bed too.”

“He can be impossible sometimes. He's very nice and polite, but I swear that one day he will tuck in bed.

Too much of a mother hen in him.”

“It's his work, angel.”

“More than a mentor, he's like a nanny. He knows a lot about history and arts, but he forbade me to go into the Burger King! It's not as if I was going to ask him to eat there. I just wanted to have a coffee.” Guntram whined, becoming more frustrated when he heard the Russian's chuckles.

“What have you been doing, besides almost food poisoning my employee?”

“I was at the Uffizi today, walking around with him and then, here. Tomorrow, I want to go to San Marco, but they close at noon. Perhaps he wants to go again to Santa Maria Maggiore.”

“And later, more drawing?”

“Ah, I forgot to tell you. I'm having dinner with a friend of mine: Federico. We were roommates in school. He's a bit dense, but a good friend. He's in Paris, no wait, Milan and comes here.”

“Why?”

“I suppose he's bored. He hates this “museum stuff.”

“And you?”

“I love it. I don't know how I am going to live without them. Everything screams of beauty. I'll truly miss it. It's not just the museums; it's everything. Even the light. Constantin, could I ask you something?”

“What is my dear?”

“Are you serious about the scholarship offer? I think you were right. I don't know if I would ever be able to support myself as an artist, but I would love a job in a Museum, even as the security guard or tourist guide.”

“The board already signed the papers. It's for five years and unless you reject it or if your grades are below the minimum required, it's a binding contract and being sued by a student looks very bad for my company.

What I mean is, regardless, of what becomes of us as couple, you should continue to study Art History and work in a Gallery, Museum or antiquity shop, as I'm convinced that you're an artist. I'm very glad that you have realised it. Live with me in London, if we don't work at all, move to a flat nearby the University and finish your studies then. The money you have is more than sufficient to support yourself. Many students do.”

“I don't want to mix things, Constantin.”

“Guntram, if you fail one single test because you were not studying for it, you won't like my reaction.

This I can promise.”

“No, I don't want to be at odds with you. You showed me a new world, one I never thought could exist.

I'm very grateful to you.”

“I miss you, angel. I wish you were here with me.”

“Where's here?”

“Moscow, which reminds me. On the fifth you have to go to Rome and be on the twelth in Paris. I need Massaiev in New York on the thirteenth at the latest. You will stay with my cousin Boris Malchenko. He will assign you another bodyguard and you can copy all what you want in the Louvre. They are student-friendly there. My flat is very near, you can walk to the museum every day and I'll meet you on the twentieth.”

“I also miss you, Constantin. I want to see you soon.”

“We'll be together in Paris for a few days and then, return to London. School starts in February and you've been accepted for some of the classes as the school year really starts in September. You can also take some painting lessons.”

“You're starting to sound like my former Headmaster.”

“My experience with artists has taught me that keeping them busy and on a short leash is the best; if not, you all start to dribble and work nothing or worst; you work like you don't care and the result is much worse.”

“I'm no artist and don't even know if I'm working at all. Painting is like breathing for me.”

“Contrary to your belief, you work a lot. Continue like this and everything will be fine.”

The evening was going to prove a fiasco for Mikhail Petrovich Massaiev, standing in the lobby at 8 p.m.

with a very nervous—and edgy—Guntram by his side. The boy had behaved reasonably well, not fighting over lunch time or complaining when his original idea of running all over Florence had been killed on the spot because Mikhail had forced him to visit several shops, till tea time, and then, he had remained in his room, quietly drawing and organizing his things for tomorrow's trip to Rome. 'At least, he obeyed the boss without complaints.' Ten minutes had passed after 8:00, and he was starting to lose his patience with the “Gaucho brat”.

“There he is, Mikhail,” Guntram announced and ran toward a tall dark haired boy, many years older than him. 'Were they not together in the same class?' He thought as he also went to meet his problem for the night.

“Mr. Massaiev, may I introduce you Federico Martiarena Alvear? We were in the same class,” Guntram said very politely. 'At least, he knows how to lose with elegance. Three hours ago, he nearly told me to piss off for the night,' Mikhail remembered while he extended his hand to the “native”, looking at him sullenly. 'Same school, different results.'

“How do you do?” Federico growled, hoping that would be all.

“Mr, Massaiev will join us, Federico,” Guntram whispered, inwardly praying that his friend would keep his temper in check. The Russian was very sensitive about status and protocol. Nothing like a gesture out of place to get a big—and hurtful—scold from him.

“Are you kidding me? Get rid of the fucker.” Federico told Guntram in very fast and slurred Spanish.

“I'm afraid, Mr. Massaiev does not understand our language, Federico. He has been with me all the time and knows Italy like the palm of his hand,” Guntram answered in English.

“Are you sure you want to come? It's only two teenagers eating pizza. Nothing for you,” Federico fired.

Mikhail had many troubles to refrain his desire to give a slap to the impudent brat. None of the boys he had trained for Mr. Repin would have ever dared to be so rude; not even those picked up from a poor rural area. He swallowed hard before giving his reply: “This hotel's restaurant is fine for me, Mr. Martiarena. Guntram has been feeling under the weather the past days and we have to leave very early tomorrow morning.”

During dinner, Mikhail lost interest in their conversation because both boys spoke about Argentina and the current political situation. Guntram told his friend about his decision about staying in London to study and the other boy showed no reaction at all, only a “Juan is also there. Architecture. All the Dollenbergs want to move there.”

Around dessert, Guntram had the poor idea of inviting the boy to his room to show him all what he had sketched and painted over the past weeks. “We'll be quiet as mice, Mikhail. We need to catch up with gossip,” he half pleaded and the Russian had to agree much to his discomfort. 'Guntram you're so wrong if you think that you can hide this from Mr. Repin. Everything you say will be recorded.'

“Of course, Guntram. Young people need some time for themselves,” he said jovially.

Federico was not pleased at all in the change performed over his long time friend. First he looked better than ever before and he seemed to be happier than ever. His eyes shined like they had never done before. Second, he was not the mousy, sad and frightened boy he used to know, but a person who had his ideas and was clearly telling him that he had decided to throw everything out the window and stay in London, living with a much older—and richer

—man. Third; he looked absolutely gorgeous now.

“Guntram, how well do you know this Repin?”

“Enough to want to live with him. We get along very well and I admire his character.”

“Guntram, are you really gay? You're not like Rodrigo; he was a true gay; he sucked all the school cocks for free.”

“That's gross, Fefo. That was just a rumour.”

“Guntram, I know it first hand. He was drooling all over us in the showers.”

“Fefo, what's your problem if I go to bed with him? I like it!” Guntram exploded, enraged at the permanent questioning for the past months.

“Do you say it like that? “I'm being fucked by a man, who's my sugar daddy, and I like it.” I was expecting something more from you, Guntram.”

“He's not my sugar daddy. Look, go home before we fight. If you don't approve of my choices, then, don't come to me. I'm sick of doing what everybody expects me to do! He has been the first person to treat me decently and show a real concern for me.”

“So decently that he has to dress you up like his favourite doll and get you stuck with a sniffer dog, so you don't fuck with any other person?”

“Did you come all the way from Milan just to criticise me? What is your problem? It's not as if you would lift a finger for me if I'm in trouble. You never did before.”

“Guntram, you're like a brother to me and there's something fishy about those Russians! My mother says that this Oblomov backed off from every project. He's forcing us to make new deals or threatens to drop everything.

Many of our friends lost money with him.”

“Are you asking me about your mother dealings? If I'd have a single cent, do you think I would put it in a country that defaulted so graciously? How much was it? Two hundred billion dollars from the State and how much more from private companies? Your mother was cheering when the president announced the default! I never saw her so happy in her life! Did you pay your own mine workers or did you again tell those poor devils that all your money was trapped in the banks like she did in December?”

“How dare you to criticise us! You're nothing!”

“Great, so it shouldn't matter who I fuck with. I don't care what you do in bed.”

“That Oblomov is Mafia. Of the worst kind. Do you know how he dealt with the trade unionists in that gold mine concession he got for a very cheap price, at my mother's back? Their main leader is now part of the foundations of a new hospital in Patagonia.”

“If you have any allegations, go to the police.”

“The local police obey them! The Governor is on his side! My mother wants to start a Senate inquiry about many banks getting their money out of the country in cash through containers and planes; two of the five companies who did it belong to Oblomov!”

“Money in containers? And all our local thieves missed it? Please!”

“The local gangs—according to our intelligence sources—are terrified of these Russians. They were like a horde, crossing the Triple border and killed many of our criminals. They started to invade us in 1996 and it was just prostitution and some smuggling because it was very easy to obtain dollars in Argentina. Later, they continued with some internet fraud, collecting taxes to local companies, immigrants for slave labour, drugs and weapons through the Triple Border. They supply to anyone who has money! Terrorists included. The American Embassy is very concerned about their activities in our country.”

“The Russian Mafia or Oblomov's? Because those are two very different things,” Guntram said very coldly. “Look Federico, I know Repin and he's a good person. Stern, yes. Not funny or outgoing, also true, but to accuse him of being a Mafia boss just because he's gay, is somewhat extreme. He has done nothing against you or your mother.”

“He commands this Oblomov just with a single look. My mother saw it.”

“They both are telepaths and I didn't notice,” Guntram said very sarcastically, feeling very tired, frustrated and willing to kick his friend out. “Is it not getting late for you to walk back to your hotel?”

“Are you throwing me out, asshole?”

“I have to be up very early, like 6 a.m. Federico, I know you're very disappointed with me. I don't know how I would have reacted if you would have told me out of the blue that you wanted to live with a man. Probably, I would be doing the same you're doing now. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but I would have never lied to you. I enjoy Constantin's company very much, even if he were just a simple man. He listens to me without judging me. He understands me better than any other person I've met; better than myself. I don't care if this is just an adventure for him. I want to live it and keep the memory for the future. Even if we don't work out as a couple, he has shown me what I truly want to do with my life. Only because of that, he has my eternal gratitude and respect. Do you think I would have lasted long as an accountant or waiter? I would have only lived in bitterness. Seeing all this made me realise that I want to be a part of it.”

“Some old stones and doodles made you throw your life away? To become a rich man's whore?”

“The whore part you can save it, Federico. I'm not expecting that a brute like you can understand this.

Only know that those stones are more valuable to me than any of your tantrums. Good night.” Guntram used a very dry tone of voice, rising from his chair and going for the door.

“Guntram, you're making the biggest mistake of your life!”

“Perhaps, but it's my mistake. I gave a lot of thought to it. If you can't understand it, good-bye. We are so different one from the other that it's impossible we could remain friends for the rest of our lives. Remember that I'll always be for you.”

“This is far from over, Guntram. I can't see you destroying your life like you want to do!” Federico shouted before slamming the door.

The noise attracted Massaiev, still dressed. “Something wrong Guntram? I heard you yelling with each other.”

“Just a disagreement over our chosen lifestyles. We always argue rather loudly. I'm sorry if we disturbed you.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you. I'd better go to bed, now.”

“As you wish, but whatever you need, tell me. I appreciate you.”

“We fought over Constantin. He thinks I'm his whore; that I'm with him because of his money, that he's a Mafia boss, no not him: Ivan Ivanovich is the boss. Can you imagine something so ridiculous? Maybe he's right and this kind of life is not for me. It's not how I pictured my life. I wanted to marry, have children, a regular job,” Guntram said, becoming more and more agitated.

“Stop before you hyperventilate, child. I don't think you're with Mr. Repin because of his money. He's very fortunate to have you. The week you were together in London, you asked not a single thing from him. You gave him everything you have.”

“It's the least I can do for him. He has always been so kind to me. I think I love him.”

“I also think you do. Mr. Repin has never been so happy than with you. I've seen many of his past lovers and he was never so concerned about one like he's about you. He literally kisses the floor you tread on. If some of your friends reject you—and many of them will do it because you have radically changed your life—forget them and look for new ones. You will meet many people with interests more akin to yours in the University.”

“You're probably right. I can't spend the rest of my life pleasing everybody.”

“Only the people who truly care about you, like Mr. Repin,” Mikhail clarified. “Go to bed now. We have to drive tomorrow.”

“Will you let me drive?”

“I survived the Cold War, the war in Algeria, but I'm not sure I can survive this, Guntram.” Mikhail joked with one of his charges for the first time in years.

“It's not that bad.”

“Guntram, you asked me what was that “inverted triangle” painted on the road and believed me when I told you it was a Satanist signal,” he laughed.

“I will not believe any more of your explanations Mikhail Petrovich,” Guntram laughed back, still embarrassed at the memory of how easy he had fell for it. “Or play poker with you.”

Guntram de Lisle Diary

January 18th, 2002

Six days ago I arrived to Paris where Boris Malchenko was waiting for me at an incredible flat at the Place Vendôme. By flat I mean two entire floors transformed into a penthouse overlooking the square. Very chic and decorated with priceless artworks. It was Constantin's mother's house when she was a child and he spent here the first nine years of his life. The artworks are amazing, mostly impressionists. The shops around are very chic; Chanel, Hermés, Cartier, Dior, Guerlain, the Ritz Hotel. The Louvre is very near and I went there three times, mostly to draw and look in awe. I went to the Tulleries twice and walking around. In a way, I miss Mikhail because he disappeared on the 13th and Malchenko assigned me another “bodyguard”: Yuri Alexandrevich Rimsky. He was in Buenos Aires too, I remember him. He's fine but I still don't get why I need to have one around. I have nothing that could remotely interest anyone. However, he's my shadow and even told me off when I was at the Louvre, copying one of the big Assyrian Gates and two Japanese Girls stood in front of me, giggling all the time while I was working. I think blue eyes are rarity for Asiatic people as I've noticed several looking and laughing at me in Rome. I found them cute and I made a quick sketch of both of them and gave it to them, leaving the place immediately. The Russian went ballistic and shouted at me in English and Spanish—in case I was not understanding—because I'm not supposed to be “flirting”—

excuse me?—with two tourists. “Do you want to face Mr. Repin's wrath for something so stupid, boy? Don't ever do that again, and much less in front of Mikhail Petrovich! He will eat your guts alive!”

He ran and told Malchenko. Gossip boy! I was again scolded in the night, during dinner, this time more elegantly.

“Guntram, your bodyguard has told me about a certain incident in the Louvre. Do you have something to say about it?”

“It was something very stupid. The girls just stood there for more than forty minutes, giggling and looking how I was drawing. I just made a simple portrait of them and gave it to them. I didn't speak with them. I left the room. I didn't mean to be offensive to them.”

“Your actions could lead to a serious misunderstanding. Please refrain from such childish acts in the future. My cousin does not tolerate any kind of lapses from his lovers. He reacts rather strongly to them.”

“I did nothing wrong!”

“I'm not accusing you, but some ill-disposed people could use your naïveté against you. Constantin is very traditional and if he has chosen you to be his companion, he expects the best behaviour from you. His temper is very short, Guntram. Know from now onwards, that he's very jealous. Is he your first serious relationship?”

“We are not in any kind of relationship, Mr. Malchenko, he told me so. He only wants an affair with me.

Boyfriends don't catch his attention for too long, so he prefers that we consider this like a friendship with intimacy.”

“It's true that his boyfriends only last a few months, but he's not treating you like one of them. You were living in his house in London, he has assigned you Mikhail Petrovich to look after you—he's one of the best men he has—he lets you speak with us and we're supposed to treat you well and now you're here, under my charge till he comes for you. It doesn't look like an “intimate friendship” to me. I saw Constantin with you in London, and he treats you like a mate; not like one of his flings. Therefore, your behaviour should be spotless.”

“I understand,” I answered somewhat pissed off. I didn't do a thing, and here I was almost accused of starting a threesome with two tourist girls. I'm not Fefo!

“You can have your friends, but always remember to whom you belong to. I'll talk with my cousin over this.”

“Should I not tell him?”

“Let me do it and remember always this; despite whatever he might have told you, Constantin is very serious about you. Behave accordingly, Guntram. You would not like to cross my cousin. He can be your worst nightmare.”

January 21st, 2002

Last night, when I was sleeping, I was awoken by Constantin's hungry kisses. He really took me by surprise because I wasn't expecting him for another two days. The second he let me breathe—yeah, he can be very passionate and once he's in your bed, there's no way to get him out—I could only say: “I'm surprised, I missed you these weeks,” but he didn't hear me, too busy tearing my pyjamas and his own clothes, not even bothering to answer me. Almost without giving me time to realise it, he had turned me around and was inside of me, riding me fast and hard. I didn't realise how much I had needed him and—even if it was hurting me—I joined his enthusiasm. He made me come like an animal. I don't know how sex is for other people, but with him is getting better and better.

I was almost dead after it, panting like crazy as he held me while kissing my neck. “Hey, should I ask your passport again angel? You're almost out of breath,” he chuckled, proud that he had taken me, driving me mad with pleasure.

“If I continue to live with you, I don't think I'll reach my thirties,” I laughed, kissing his hands and rearranging my position for better cuddling. “Also, jumping my bones in the middle of the night, is too much. I thought I was going to get dinner before.”

“These weeks without you almost drove me crazy. I haven't slept the past two days just to hurry my business. You're addictive, my angel.”

“Constantin, I'm totally lost with you.”

“Why?”

“You say that we only have a friendship with sex kind of relationship; an open one as you get bored of us very easily, but yesterday the bodyguard and your cousin Malchenko nearly killed me because they thought I was fooling around with two girls in the Louvre. They were looking at my work and I made a sketch of them and gave it to them. Yuri shouted with me all the way back. Your cousin says that you think about me seriously and I should be, you know, a good boy.”

“Were you flirting with two girls in the middle of the Louvre?” he asked me half upset.

“NO! Those were two tourists; Japanese or Chinese, looking at me drawing and laughing at me. I must have monkeys dancing all over my face because all girls do it and I hate it! I just gave them the paper and that was all! I don't understand why everybody turned this into a national security issue!”

“Guntram, hear me well. That we have an open relationship, as you call it, only means that we can break up at any time we don't like each other anymore, not that you can jump on every bed you see!” he shouted me, grabbing me by the wrists with some force. I shook myself free but he didn't let me go.

“Sure, I jump on every bed I see! Pity there's no one in! How many do you think I had before you?”

“Guntram, you're mine, is that clear? If I see another man or woman near you, it will end badly for both of you!”

“I did nothing! I'm the greatest dork in town and you accuse me, without even being there, of starting a threesome in front of your bodyguard and fifty visitors? This is insane, Constantin! If I'd have a guilty conscience, do you think I would have spoken?”

He looked at me with his black eyes in a terrifying way. I swear they shone in the darkness. He x-rayed me for a long time, trying to elucidate if I was lying or not. As fast as he had grabbed me, he released my wrists.

“Constantin, I don't want to be with any another person than you. You're wonderful to me. Do you think I want to cheat on you with two perfect strangers? It makes no sense.” I tried to reason with him but he was still enraged and looking very dangerous. Suddenly he jumped on top of me and kissed me on my lips and I let him do it because I had no idea of what was going to be his next reaction.

“My angel, you're mine, understand this and we will have no problems at all.”

“I'm yours,” I protested.

“Yes, I know but you have no idea how desirable you are. Any other with half your looks would be making my life very miserable,” he told me, crushing me against his chest.

“I? People don't even look at me.”

“Guntram, I saw many drooling at you in that bar, but you never noticed them. I tried to speak to you many times, but you didn't notice me either. At your friend's party, you nearly hid under the table when I spoke to you.

If you weren't so… I don't know, innocent, you'd be getting laid every two minutes,” he said dejectedly, making me laugh.

“Not noticing you? You really pissed off Verónica with your French lessons. She specifically asked me to get you, and you sent her away. That was really nasty, poor Verónica. She only wanted her tip. She has a family to support with her two brothers, her mother and her unemployed father. You gave her like fifty pesos the previous day.”

“And told her very clearly to send you next time.”

“Seems the message was never passed along,” I chortled. “Next time, bribe her better.”

“There will be no next time, Guntram. I want to keep you with me. I love you.”

I was taken by surprise. I was speechless. I didn't know what to tell. Didn't he tell me that he didn't love me and only wanted to have fun with me? Was he sincere? I hesitated, not knowing what to tell. I looked him in the eyes and I saw the sad expression dangling from them and I knew he wasn't fooling me.

“I love you too,” I confessed and buried myself in his chest.