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This is a continuation of a new scene from my Renaissance Era romantic suspense/mystery. Morello and Benedetto are trying to escape the summer’s heat by the river with the apprentices and journeymen from the workshop, and the local villagers.
Morello floated there a few moments before turning onto his back where he began to move his hands and feet slightly in the slow moving water. “Now you.”
Benedetto flopped down face first in the water, thrashed about, then stood again, chagrined. “You make it look easy.”
“Let’s go deeper.” Morello pulled him a few arms’ lengths away. “Maybe you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you,” Benedetto said quickly.
“You can trust me. I would not hurt you for the world, Benedetto. I won’t let you drown. Is that what you fear?”
“I don’t know why or what I fear,” Benedetto murmured. “I think I can trust you, Morello. I want to.”
“On your back,” he said gently, trying not to think about whispering those very words by lamplight, in his own bed, Benedetto spread out against the bolsters. Well, his imagination had ever been his master, hadn’t it?