Adopted to Inherit

"Why don't you want them to understand? What won't they understand?"

"Adoption won't have me inheriting what Charleston's society thinks it will. I won't be inheriting riches. Gino's broke. He refuses to believe he is, though. He's been living a fantasy for a long time. His medical expenses and insistence to live like he has money has wiped him out. What he hasn't spent on himself, he's pumped into the Spoleto Festival. This cottage is mortgaged to the hilt. It won't cover funeral costs. The big fancy house on the Battery in Charleston was sold to a northern bank a long time ago and rented back. Back rent is due on it. Gino has nothing else left. I'm the one with the money. I've already inherited a fortune along with a title back in Italy. I've been floating Gino for two years now. And when he dies, what I'll be inheriting are his debts. But I'll pay them off. What people don't understand is that I love Gino as much as he loves me but, yes, I'm heavily sexed and Gino knows that. He's made me promise to continue with other men. There's nothing Gino and I can do together anymore other than hand jobs."

I took a few minutes to absorb that, losing myself in my coffee cup. I saw the issue. I thought others would too. "Perhaps when they understand that in Charleston—"

"I don't want them to understand that Dino died broke. He would hate them knowing that. He's refused to believe that himself. I'll pay his debts and go back to Milan and let them think whatever they want to think. The adoption was Gino's lawyer's scheme when I insisted that no one know about Gino's financials when he dies. All of the debts go to me and no one else need know about them."

"Why are you telling me about this and no one else?"

"Maybe I sense you're someone special. Maybe I want you to think more charitably toward me than any of the others. So, knowing that, do you want me to drive you back to Charleston now or go back upstairs with me?"

"For now, I think I'd prefer that you drive me back to Charleston. Later, when you're going back to Milan, maybe you could do it by the way of New York."

He gave me a long look and then laughed. "OK, Mr. Grey, I can respect you for that. In fact, you arouse me even more now. You can bet I'll go to Milan through New York."

We left it like that, but months later, after he'd stopped in New York, I found that Milan had an opera that wanted to stage Otello, and I moved to Italy. As I got older, the idea of settling down slowly superseded my desires to sow my wild oats.