I wanted to storm off, but I stayed. Jake might know something, I thought. I asked him why in the world he would think my brother made money off of Wikipedia pages, and Jake said he saw Amir editing a page back in the fall. I asked, “What about Jackson? Did you blackmail him, too?” Jake looked at me like I was insane. He went on about how the Preachers were good people and did lots of good things for the community. I rolled my eyes. “You won’t exploit the Preachers, but you’ll exploit the new Muslim kid,” I said. “Nice one.”

At this point I was really ready to leave when I asked Jake one more thing: “What page was Amir editing?” Jake laughed and said it was the Real Housewives of New Jersey page. I asked him why he was laughing, and he said no, don’t worry about it, and I said no, tell me. He said he and Ben liked to joke that they should have known Amir was gay when they caught him editing that page. I told Jake he was an idiot and to fuck off.

Language. Sorry, Mom.

When I got home, I jumped on the computer and looked at the edit history for the Real Housewives of New Jersey page for back in the fall. I found my brother’s Wikipedia username. He’d been editing pages as recently as yesterday. He had edited multiple pages in Rome.

Ten Days Ago

I WAS MORTIFIED when we woke up in the morning.

“I mean it, do not worry,” Valerio insisted.

“But I fell asleep while we were kissing,” I groaned, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. My face felt heavy, my head cloudy. Meanwhile, Valerio was just lying there on his side, looking perfect. “I just—uggghh.”

Valerio leaned in and kissed me on the forehead. “It happens,” he said. His lips brought my face back to life. Lips like that cured diseases. Lips like that were an art form. Lips like that deserved full, undivided attention.

“I was so tired,” I said. “And so full.”

“Blame it on the Italian food, yes.”

“It’s true! How are people expected to hook up after an Italian meal?” I raised my voice, letting out a violent cough. Valerio looked at me, amused. “I mean, there’s the antipasti, the primi, the secondi, and then, as if all those courses weren’t enough, dolci. Plus, there’s all that wine. Of course I’m going to pass out.”

“So what you are saying is . . . it is not me, it is the pasta?” Valerio teased.

“Valerio.” I gave him a very serious look. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t working.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not you. It’s the pasta.” I snorted, and we both burst out laughing. We rolled around in bed for a while, and then Valerio got dressed and left.

• • •

Jahan had left me two voice memos on WhatsApp last night. The first one was while I was at dinner with Valerio. “Amir agha, I can’t remember if your date was tonight or tomorrow? Hold on, one second. I have to go. We’re splashing around in the fountain in Piazza Testaccio, and it looks like a Carabiniere is approaching. Maybe he wants to join the fun, maybe he wants to arrest us . . . you never know!”