~Chapter Thirty-Three: Travelling Companion~
"Cade, it's Heather. You better not be ignoring my calls. Anyway, that's not important. What is important is that I'm going to be really busy with a business deal I have out on the West Coast. California, to be exact. I know how you like Robert Downey Jr., so I'll make sure to get his autograph for you if I see him in Hollywood," she sings, then pauses to sigh, "My point is, I might be a little hard to reach for the next couple of days. And while it's been fun talking to your voicemail and all, I have to go. See you later, alligator."
-
This is not how I expected to be spending my Saturday morning. I had thought I would be sleeping in, curled up next to my...next to my mate, a word which will take some more time to adjust to. Ryland seems to have no trouble with it, but then, why would he? He is the one who wanted it in the first place.
"So, are you going to give me any hints as to where we are going?"
I roll around a little until I am looking up at Ryland's face as he watches the road. My head is resting comfortably in his lap and I have been in this position for twenty to thirty minutes. It is nice and warm, but I have to wonder where we are going and why he had to wake me up at one am – only an hour after I went to sleep – to do it. I asked him when he carried my sleepy self to the car, but all he said was 'road trip'.
It is not like I did not know he was planning to take me somewhere, since he told me to pack a weekend bag on Thursday, but I expected to wind up at his apartment again, while classes are out for the weekend. It has only been five days since we returned from the meeting and we still have not entirely figured out how our living situation will work.
Most Were couples live together once they are mated. However, even though he spends most of his time here now, Ryland lives in Italy and I most certainly do not. My cabin is a little too small for two large cats to co-exist in. Not that we couldn't, but it might get hard at times. Especially since I need to focus on college with finals on the horizon and having him around constantly does not make for a productive study time. It has not been talked about, but it seems there is an unspoken understanding that he will not be asking anything of me until after finals are over in a month. And I mean anything. He has not brought up sex even once.
The silence continues to grow, filled by only the truck's rumbling engine. "You know, if you aren't going to tell me, then just say you aren't going to tell me. The silent treatment is annoying," I grumble, trying to sit up from my awkward position.
A hand immediately drops from the wheel to my forehead, pressing down a little to keep me in his lap. "I'm not going to tell you," he says, his voice serious, but ruined by the smile on his face.
While I am glad he is talking, that does not mean I am glad he took my advice and used it against me. Feeling a little spiteful, I roll over so that my nose is pressed into his abdomen. "If you don't tell me, I can make things very unpleasant for you," I promise, smirking into his shirt.
When he laughs, the fabric tickles my nose from the movement, "I don't see how you could, but feel free to try."
-
"Now really isn't a good time, Mom."
Ryland looks up from where he had been kissing his way up my naked thigh, stopping only to give me a questioning look before resuming his teasing. I only answered the phone because this is the third time she has tried to call since we got home from the gathering, which was only a couple of hours ago. I would feel bad if I ignored her again. Besides, she is probably only calling to make sure we returned home safely.
Or not.
"Cade Wilson, why am I the last one to find out that you have a boyfriend? I am your mother!" She exclaims.
I sigh, trying to figure out how to stop this anger train before it leaves the station. "We weren't even sure," I pause when Ryland's grip on my leg tightens and he growls. I try again, "I wasn't sure it would work out until it did. I would have told you personally after it happened, but you were still asleep when we left. I'm sorry."
Ryland looks up and smiles, watching me as he lays another kiss dangerously close to my crotch. One of his hands snake up between me and the sheets to squeeze my ass. "Wise move," he mouths, most likely referring to my apology. However, I soon stop caring about his meaning when he shifts up so that his tongue is brushing against my navel.
"Mom, I really have to go. I'll call you back tomorrow morning," I promise, trying to stop the groan that wants to escape my mouth. Right as his mouth begins to move towards my dick, I hang up.
-
Having received the go ahead, I lift up his shirt with my hand and immediately start sucking on the skin above his navel, smiling when I hear his sharp intake of breath. I start kissing my way up his well-defined abs, then stop to tease them with my teeth. I would go higher, but then anyone outside the car would be able to see what we are doing and I am not sure if we are in a populated area or not, since I have not looked outside in a while. Though, I guess it would not really matter at one-thirty am.
I return to his navel, pausing only when my ear brushes against the hard object in his pants. "Uncomfortable yet?" I ask, genuinely pleased with myself. Even if I have not succeeded in making this hard – ha! – for him, I have definitely gotten his attention. He has been so distracted by his own thoughts that he has not tried to create a conversation even once since the drive began, which kind of ticked off the side of me that loves attention.
"A little," he all but purrs, taking a second to look down at me with reflective eyes that mirror the lights from the dashboard.
There is a reply on the tip of my tongue when I cut myself off to listen to the sound of a very close plane engine. This time, when I sit up, Ryland is too busy pulling up to a guard station to stop me. A guard walks out of the small, well-lit booth to talk to Ryland through his opening window, but I am too distracted by the fact that we are about to pull into a private airport.
Ryland passes the guard a slip of paper and his ID before the man can even get a word out. The guard reads it over while holding a flashlight before nodding once and handing it back, "Have a good day, Mr. Voclain."
The guard goes back into the guard booth and the metal fence slides open a few seconds later. "I thought you said we were going on a road trip," I mumble, leaning forward to watch as a small plane takes off from one of the runways, shooting into the sky. We slowly drive through the gate, which closes behind us.
"And we did, to this airfield," he replies, looking out his window at the hanger numbers as we pass by. The truck slows to a stop outside hanger four, which is one of the only two hangers that are lit up right now. It is hard to tell the color right now, but it looks red in the places that have more light.
I cannot see into the hanger from where we stopped, but it is apparent where this trip is going next. And I cannot say that I am a huge fan of flying. "Where are we going that requires a plane, Ryland?" I demand, though I already have a pretty good guess as to where the plane will stop.
Please be in the US, please be in the US.
"I am taking you to meet my family," Ryland announces, climbing out of the cab and shutting the door before I can complain about going to another damn country.
With no other choice, I get out of the truck as well while he collects our two bags out of the back of the truck, carrying them with one hand. "I don't have my passport," I counter, figuring that is the most logical argument I can make at the moment. Saying that I do not want to go seems kind of childish. Besides, I know I have to meet his family eventually. I just didn't expect it to be this weekend.
Ryland continues to walk towards the side door of the hanger, only pausing to pull something out of his back pocket. "Not a problem," he assures me, holding up a blue passport over his shoulder. My blue passport.
Shit.
-
"Someone is in a bad mood," Cameron teases, seeing not the exhaustion I am feeling, but the irritation I am trying not to feel. Emphasis on 'trying'. "Is it the remnants of your conference, or the fact that Ryland is leaving? Or has he already left?"
"Ryland isn't leaving."
Cameron's face scrunches up, "Don't tell me he broke the...Oh. Oh. You guys have...Well, that must have been a really interesting weekend. It's almost like you want to Las Vegas and came back married. Sorry I missed it."
-
"How did you even find my passport?" I ask, following him into the hanger. However, I stop the second I step inside and see the only vehicle inside the hanger. Well, there is a small transport vehicle, probably meant to carry luggage, but that is not what caught my attention. "You own a jet?"
"Technically, it is company-owned, but it is for my private use, yes," he says dismissively. I glare at his back, more than a little suspicious of where he gets his money. While I know he does all the business for his pride, it cannot possibly be where he gets all this money...unless his family is in the Italian mafia or something. Though, I cannot really see Ryland as one of those cheesy mafioso.
As we draw closer, the door to the jet drops open slowly to reveal the stairs and the pilot – who is thankfully human, as I am not really ready to meet the pride yet – is there to greet us. I blink when I see his short, neon-blue hair that is mostly covered by his pilot cap and the matching neon blue goatee. "Buongiorno, signori," the young man greets us, a polite smile on his face. Thankfully, the man switches over to flawless English before continuing, since my Italian does not extend to plane terms. "My name is Frank, and I am the co-pilot. The pilot is doing one last controls check before we take off and will be out to talk to you in a moment."
He steps aside to signal us up into the jet. On the outside, it looks much bigger, but there is still a comfortable amount of space. There are seven cream-colored seats in the cabin, some facing each other. There is a couch that probably seats three to four people along one of the walls, making it the only seating area that does not have seatbelts. So, I decide against sitting on it.
Instead, I reluctantly seat myself on one of the chairs at a small table that comes out of the wall. Ryland puts our bags somewhere in the back of the jet, in what I assume to be a closet, before sitting down in the seat next to me, instead of on the other side of the table. From here, I can see that he still has a slight bulge in his pants.
"Are we really doing this?" I ask, not feeling entirely connected with what is going on around me. Maybe this is all a nightmare. A really realistic one, but a nightmare no less.
"Yes," Ryland says in my ear, taking my hand in both of his and clasping it tightly. "It is just for the weekend, amore mio. I promise to let you return on Sunday."
My eyes widen slightly when I realize that he could very easily keep me stranded in Italy if he so chose. It is not like I own a jet and he could easily keep me locked up in a room so that I can never leave. The logical part of my brain assures me that Ryland would not do that, but the fact that he brought it up without prompting means he has at least thought about it.
I stand up, "I'm going back."
Ryland immediately forces me back down into my seat by grabbing the back of my shirt and tugging downward. "Cade, I have never broken any promises that I made to you. I am not going to start now," he assures me, gripping my hand again and bringing it up to his lips to kiss softly. "I apologize for the suddenness of it, but it was either take you there or have them all come here. At least we can control how long the visit is this way."
"You do realize that you are taking me into a literal lion's den, right?" I ask, joking in hopes of calming myself. It does not work as well as I hoped though, since it sounds completely forced.
"Yes, but if anyone in the pride so much as looks at you the wrong way, they will have to deal with me," he promises, kissing the side of my face. Turning so that I can lean my forehead against his shoulder, I shake my head. Not at what he said, but the growing sense of safety that comes with hearing him say that.
One of his hands releases my hand in favor of moving up to comb through my hair. I am about to lean into the touch when I hear a door open with a soft click. Sitting back in my seat, I watch a different man – also human – in a pilot's uniform exit the control room. Thankfully, this one looks more professional, with sandy blond hair instead of neon. His pilot cap is in his hand, at his side.
"Buongiorno, signori," he greets, just like the other man. However, instead of going into English like his co-pilot, this man sticks to Italian. I only catch his name – William – before he goes off into plane talk. Ryland notices my confused expression, but does not bother to translate, which means it is probably unimportant. The last thing I hear before he stops is that it will take eleven hours to reach our destination, which is a longer flight than I expected.
With a final nod, the pilot returns to the cockpit and closes the door behind him, locking both himself and the co-pilot away for the flight. I am a little confused by the lack of flight attendants, but it matters little to me at the moment. A couple of minutes later, the engines roar to life and I start cursing myself for not having escaped while I had the chance.
-
"What do you mean Dylan isn't home?"
There is an exasperated sigh from the other end of the phone as Erika answers, "He took a couple of the wolves out to find where the witches are staying. I don't know why he went personally, but he received a text that must have been important, because he announced that he should lead the hunt right after receiving it. He also told me to ignore your calls, but that was just silly."
No doubt that text was a warning from Ryland. I caught the bastard texting him while I was grabbing snacks in a gas station. "Did you know that Dylan was helping Ryland?" I ask, figuring that would be the reason Dylan wouldn't want Erika talking to me while he was away. That, or he might not want me chewing out his wife. If that is the reason, he should have taken her with him.
There is a long pause on the other end before she replies with three simple words, "Tell me everything."
And that is exactly what I do. That stupid wolf will never see it coming.
- - - - - - -
The flight itself was uneventful. Sure, there was some turbulence that may or may not have led to me almost breaking a chair with a death grip and Ryland may or may not have laughed, which may or may not have led to the bruise forming on his shoulder, just barely hidden by his blue t-shirt. But otherwise, there was no crash landing and the parachutes are still safely tucked away in whatever hole they were hidden. I guess any number of things could have happened while I was sleeping, but I will never find out.
Once we landed in a small airport, a man from Customs visited us on the tarmac to check our passports and stamp mine. While that made me feel pretty special that someone from Customs would meet us instead of the other way around, I truly felt like a celebrity when a sleek black car pulled up on the runway while the man was stamping my passport and stopped next to the jet. The driver got out and took care of our luggage, putting it in the trunk. I thought stuff like this only happened in the movies. To experience it first-hand...it is weird, to say the least. But definitely not a bad weird.
"I'm not sure whether I should punch you for not giving me a fair warning or kiss you," I mumble, sliding into the backseat while Ryland holds the door open for me. My gaze goes to the clock on the dashboard, and I will admit that I am a little weirded out that it says it is almost nine pm, despite the fact that we left before two am. Time differences are a pain.
Ryland's face twists with confusion as he sits down beside me, taking up the middle seat while I sit next to the far window. "I don't understand," he admits, after a moment of trying to figure out my meaning.
"I want to punch you because you didn't warn me, bastard," I growl, but still lean over so that our sides are pressed together more firmly, "and I want to kiss you because...well, I don't really have a reason."
The lion snorts as he wraps his arm around my shoulder. "Since you already punched me on the jet, how about we skip to the kiss?" He asks, dropping down a few octaves to use my idea of the perfect bedroom voice. I really hate it when he uses that voice, since it makes it impossible to say no. Well, maybe not impossible, but I definitely do not want to say no.
I hum into his lips when he meets me halfway, immediately granting him access by opening my mouth. He gladly takes the chance and starts teasing my tongue with his. When I start trying to dominate the kiss, Ryland presses forward until I have no choice but to rest the back of my head on the window, putting both of his hands on either side of my head to trap me against the door. Not that I am complaining, since this is exactly where I want to be.
However, the kiss ends abruptly when the driver opens his door. He clearly had been taking his time 'rearranging the luggage', but I guess he cannot stall any longer. While Ryland is not happy about, he lets me push him away. Since his eyes are still locked on my mouth, though, I think it is time to start a conversation.
"Are there any other surprises I should know about?"
He must have heard the warning in my voice, because he looks away from my lips to hold my gaze instead. "As you know, I live with my family on pride land," he says, not bothering to keep his voice low. It is not like he has to worry much, since our driver is also a cat and probably a member of his pride, "but I have not told you that our house is somewhat large."
I already planned to ask him what 'somewhat large' meant, but when the driver coughs a couple of times to hide his laughter, I know I am in for a surprise and decide that I am not sure I really want him to elaborate. Better to see it for myself and not have to dread the drive. Instead, I take a few moments to look out at the dark fields as we drive by. There are some dark smudges that look like animals, but I am not entirely sure if they are horses, cows, or some weird alien creature. Even with all the witch-demon activity lately, I wouldn't put it past the universe to send more trouble our way just for laughs.
"Okay, so I know you live not far from Florence, or as you call it, Firenze, but I have no idea where," I announce, hinting at my desire for an answer.
Ryland smiles fondly as he, too, looks out the window, seemingly uncaring about the occasional alien-like dark smudges. "A few kilometres west of Firenze," he answers, putting stress on the last word as a joke. "You will like it. Much like your cabin, it is away from the city and quiet...most of the time."
That last part does not sit well with me. However, I do not get a chance to ask him what he means before we are pulling onto a windy dirt road that I would assume leads to the 'somewhat large' house. When I catch a glimpse of it up on the hill through the trees along the side of the road, I am unable to supress my groan of despair.
"You might not be the pride king of North Italy, but you are definitely the king of understatements," I observe, catching another look at the castle up on the top of the hill. It is well-lit on the outside, which is the only reason I can see it, and as we draw closer, its size only seems to grow.
A minute later, we are slowing to a stop in front of a staircase on the side. From this position, it looks a lot smaller than it actually is, since I saw the full length of it on the drive up. It continues on for a distance in the other direction and I am guessing that this is merely the main entrance. While it is not the largest castle I have seen, it is the largest one I have seen that has living occupants, not tour guides and velvet rope with 'do not touch' signs.
Ryland slides over to the other side of the car and pops open the door. He walks around to the trunk, while the driver and I remain in the car. I am about to follow him out when the foreign cat – though, I guess I am the foreign cat – stops me. "Signor Wilson," he says, making me pause. He must have seen the question flash across my face, since he goes on to explain in English, thankfully, "Everyone knows your name. Everything he told his family made its way to the rest of the pride. Is it true you almost won the deal you made with him by hiding your interest?"
My ears turn red with embarrassment, but the driver shows none of the negative emotions I was expecting, only wicked interest. "He told you that?" I ask, ducking my head a little. Even if he finds it entertaining, I still feel kind of bad about it. It was necessary at the time, but in hindsight, I probably should have just accepted it as soon as I recognized the frenzy.
"Not me personally. But he told Re Caspian and il re," he explains, switching into Italian here and there, though I have no trouble recognizing the word 're', which is 'king', "told me. He was very impressed with you, Signor Wilson. The brothers are known for their games, but no one has won before. You may not have won, but you were closer than most of us have gotten."
I was not expecting to be complimented over something like this, but it does make me feel kind of good about myself to think that I almost beat the unbeatable...even if I feel bad about my methods for doing so. "I see," I mutter, before adding in a firmer voice, "That aside, I would prefer it if you called me Cade, without the signor part."
The man turns in his seat further so that he can offer his hand, which I shake immediately, "Molto lieto, Cade. I am Giovanni Sala, but my friends call me-"
"Gio, stop distracting my mate," Ryland says, his timing almost a little too perfect. He must have been listening in the entire time, though I guess he would have heard it all whether he was trying to listen or not. Even a human could hear what we were saying from his position. Though, why he is still doing stuff in the trunk is beyond me.
"It's nice to meet you, too, Gio," I reply, opting to ignore Ryland until he has something important to say. Though, he does kind of have a point. His family is probably waiting inside and we shouldn't keep them waiting for too long.
Taking a moment to memorize his looks in the dim car light – dark brown hair, hazel eyes, golden skin – I promise myself that I will make an effort to speak with him at least once more during my stay here. If I end up living here, it would be nice to have a friend or two.
I start to slide out of the car again, but Giovanni holds out his hand far enough to attract my attention. "Wait, Signor...Cade. That is not what I meant to say. I meant to warn you that not everyone is okay with your relationship with Ryland. They are understanding of Ryland being omosessuale, but that does not mean they are accepting of what it means," he cautions, eliciting a growl from me.
Even though I was not happy that Ryland chose me in the beginning, I had nothing against him being gay or what it meant; it just meant we have different romantic tastes. Well, had different romantic tastes. And even though I know not everyone in the world accepts it, that does not mean I am okay with it. Especially not if that means they probably want to offend my mate.
"That won't be a problem," I inform him coldly, even though it is not him I am angry with. Thankfully, he seems to understand that, since he does not look in the least bit offended. He even smiles a little.
Without waiting for any more distractions, I incline my head once to Giovanni before slipping out of the backseat. Ryland is no longer near the car, having already started walking around the side towards another set of doors with our bags in hand. I close the car door and speed walk after him, wondering why he did not take the stairs instead, since they clearly lead to a door.
I find out why when he pushes one of the two doors open and we enter a very rustic foyer. The walls are made of faded stones and the floors are made of wood, but there are multiple rugs that cover most of the floor. Directly in front, there is a winding staircase leading upward with a dark metal railway and an old painting halfway up. The patterned furniture looks pretty old-fashioned, but it fits the theme nicely. There are two hallways on the ground floor, and I suspect another one or two on top of the stairs. The room is lit by a giant metal chandelier hanging near the center and a couple of wall lamps that look deceptively like candles, despite the lack of any burning smells.
The room is empty for all of ten seconds before Caspian appears at the top of the staircase. "Fratellino, you have finally returned," the older lion exclaims, as he walks down the stairs. He meets his brother's gaze and holds it for a couple of seconds, before directing his full attention to me, his smile turning into a grin. "And I see you brought il gattino along."
My nose scrunches up at the nickname, "I'm not a kitten."
Ryland's arm wraps around my waist, allowing him to pull me closer to press a kiss to my temple. "Maybe not, but when you make that face, I feel inclined to agree with him," he teases. I try to twist out of his grip, wanting to express my fake annoyance at being called a kitten, but he does not seem interested in letting me go. Instead, his hand starts creeping a little too close to ticklish areas, though I doubt he is doing it on purpose, since my struggling is what encouraged him to try for a better hold.
This is how Ryland's parents found us – Caspian leaning against the banister while laughing, Ryland with both hands bunched up in my shirt for a better grip, and me trying to push him away with both hands on his chest, head tilted away so I do not have to acknowledge his smile. "Ryland," the woman, whose name I know to be Priscilla Voclain, starts, her tone patient despite her tense posture, "Cosa stai facendo?"
Since releasing me would probably lead to me sprawling out on the floor because of my position, Ryland twists me around so that my back is to him and his arms are carefully wrapped around my waist, leaving my arms free. All the while, I am too startled to move. Like Ryland, his parents are eerily good at moving soundlessly and I had not heard them approach.
Like Ryland and Caspian, both of their parents have dark hair, though the father's is darkest of them all. It is hard to tell from here with the current lighting, but I think they both have brown eyes. While their mother has an almost golden skin color, their father has much paler skin. They look a great deal like their sons, though Caspian probably takes after their mother and Ryland looks more like his father.
"We were playing, Mamma," Ryland assures her, but she still walks up to us until she is no more than a foot away, revealing that he is almost a head shorter than us both. With her hands on her hips, she inspects us closely.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see their father, whose name is Riccardo, join Caspian by the stairs, watching with the same look of interest as his oldest son. Ryland, though, is clearly not as amused, since his arms tighten around me, though it is barely noticeable to anyone not experiencing it. When his mother reaches out to put her hands on my forearms, he reluctantly releases me.
"My son tells me that you are a leopard," she states, switching over to English and looking me dead in the eye with a ferociousness that makes me want to take a step back. Did I do something wrong?
Even though it was clear she was not asking, I nod, "Yes, ma'am. And he tells me that you are a lioness." Maybe being snarky right now isn't the best idea, but if she doesn't like what I am, she can suck an egg.
Any hint of aggression fades into an eye-crinkling smile which expresses a warmth that I have only ever seen on my own mother's face. Thoroughly confused by the sudden change, I start sizing her up in case this is just one of those cruel tricks. However, she only giggles and lets her hands fall from my arms when she notices my calculating look. "Riccardo, come meet our future son-in-law," she calls, even though her husband is only ten or so feet away.
I hear Ryland rummaging through one of our bags behind me, but I am too distracted by the hand being extended towards me to look. "Molto lieto," the father greets when I accept his hand, though he lacks the strong accent that his wife has. If what I learned in Italian class is accurate, Ryland's father is being formal right now, which makes me kind of nervous. Should I be formal, too?
Before I can come to a conclusion, Ryland is wrapping an arm around my waist again and pulling me back to him, creating some much-appreciated distance between me and his parents. "This is a gift from us," he says, holding out a white circular box with a red ribbon tied around it. "Cade picked it out."
While his mother begins to sound both distressed by receiving a gift and happy about receiving a gift – which is very confusing, I might add – I tune it out in favor of glaring at Ryland over my shoulder. He was not lying when he said I picked it out. On Wednesday night, we had stopped by the coffee shop on the way back to my cabin after class, when I suddenly found myself being dragged over to the section of the café that featured gifts. He told me to pick one of the chocolate boxes. Since he knows I am not a huge fan of sweets and I cannot really see him eating an entire box of chocolates himself, I asked him why. All he did was shrug, before urging me to decide on one. Now I see why.
"Cade and I are going to put our stuff in my room," Ryland announces, releasing my waist in favor of taking my hand and leading me towards the stairs before his mother can either hug or start crying, since it looks like she is about to do both. I am not sure if it is normal to cry over gifts, but I am suddenly glad the most I bring with me when I visit my parents is something for the dinner table.
We pass by Riccardo first and he pats my shoulder as we walk by, which I take to mean that formalities are no longer necessary. Or so I hope. I am terrible with formalities. Caspian is next, but he only smiles as we pass. Soon, we are entering the hallway of the second floor, which has the same appearance as the foyer, just with brighter wall lights and a long brown rug leading down the center instead of square patterned tan rugs that seem random.
At the end of the long hallway of doors and open rooms, we turn left – which is the only direction to go – and it is not long before he is stopped us in front of a set of double doors. Without hesitation, he pushes them open to reveal what appears to be a sitting room. Past that, there is a closed door that could lead anywhere and an open door that clearly leads into a bedroom.
The doors silently slide shut behind us. From what I have seen, the castle's colors are creamy white and brown, even though most of the walls are either made of red bricks, like the exterior or multi-colored stones, like the room and halls. All the wood is dark, which gives it a rustic feel. The modern touches, such as the lights, clocks, and household objects make it seem less so, but it all still fits right in. The bedroom is adorned with patterned yellows and blues, which a massive metal chandelier in the middle of the room, illuminating the giant poster bed, which is raised a few inches off the ground by a platform.
All-in-all, it is a fairly impressive set of rooms with a comfortable lived-in feel. I guess that means this is Ryland's room, even if it has not been used in a little while. It certainly smells like him, even if there are a few other scents in the room, probably from his family or...does he have housekeepers, I wonder? Or, rather, castle-keepers?
"You had this all planned out, huh?" I ask, now that we are behind closed doors and there is little chance of anyone listening in.
Ryland sets the bags down on one of the chairs before taking a seat on the couch. "Sì," he replies, patting the spot next to him. For a moment, I consider letting him sit by himself, but that would punish us both and make me feel stupid. Instead, I sit on the other end of the couch so I can lie down with my head in his lap, much like the position we were in earlier in the truck.
"So, Mister Know-it-all, does your foresight extend dinner, because I'm betting someone is going to want to kill me once I get comfortable enough to actually talk and I would like to know who."
Ryland just laughs, as if it was not a real concern. But if he knew how many people I have managed to piss off while eating with the wolves, he would be worried, too.
Translation: Buongiorno, signori - good morning, sirs
Il re - the king
Molto lieto - nice to meet you
Il gattino - the kitten
Cosa stai facendo? - what are you doing?