#ampamia

Until she fell in love. Twice. And then Vesuvia became a city she enjoyed, a city she could walk freely without fear of her past, where she could be her own person.

As Camia crossed the Zephyr Bay, watching the city come clearly into view, she thought about how nervous she had been the first time she left Venterre with Jamil to visit Vesuvia. How terrified she had been that she wouldn’t be able to leave.

It was funny now, she thought, that she almost didn’t want to leave ever again. That she had felt homesick for the city while in Venterre for the week. Well, it was the city, her family, and Amparo that she had missed. Mostly Amparo.

The only reason she had left Vesuvia was to visit Jamil’s uncle, Feliciano, as he was getting older and had been fighting illnesses off and on for a few years. When Jamil had received a letter from his aunt Annalisa explaining that Feliciano was sick again, Jamil and Camia had packed up to visit him, afraid that they wouldn’t get many more chances.

Still, Camia might not have left in the first place, if Amparo hadn’t assured her that she would be fine. Camia couldn’t help the paranoia that came from leaving her behind, both her and Alec, to be fair, couldn’t help that some part of her was convinced she would come back, and they would be sick, hurt, or worse—and even the thought of that made her not want to go.

But Amparo had held her face in her hands and told her to go. That she, and Alec, would be fine. She was a little sad that Camia would be missing one of her performances, but as she said, there would always be another. Camia had kissed her goodbye with tears in her eyes but a smile on her face, and a promise to return as soon as she could.

And as luck, and Vesuvia itself would have it, she left Venterre earlier than intended. Feliciano had been overjoyed to see her and Jamil, though he spent most of the time insisting that he was fine, chastising his older sister for worrying them in the first place.

“You know how Lisa is, caro, she thinks I’m on my death bed!”

Jamil and Camia shared an amused look. Annalisa could be dramatic, but he had been sick for a while. And it was only D’Oria nature to be concerned about their family.

Nevertheless, they spent a few days by his side, reminiscing over the past, talking about their futures. Camia had brought her violin, her first one, the one he gave her, and played it for him. It was very old by now, and she had been a little nervous over traveling with it, but the way Feliciano grinned when he saw her pull it out was worth it.

She and Jamil played music for him, singing songs they had made up when they were younger, or that the D’Oria would sing for events, and even when Jamil left, visiting with Feliciano’s wife Elizabeth, Camia continued to play. Hours seemed to pass in moments, Feliciano singing in a rasping voice along with her, commenting on her playing, how talented she had always been.

“Are you happy, cara?” Feliciano asked, when she had finished playing for him. “You always seemed to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, even when you were so small, but it seems that’s lifted somewhat. Are you happy?”

Camia paused, resting her violin in her lap. “Yes, Zio. I am.”

He smiled, reaching out to take her hand in his. She rubbed her thumb over his skin, wrinkled from years and years of hard work in the vineyards. Eyes sparkling with mischief, creased at the sides, he squeezed her hand. “I’m still waiting for you to have your own D’Oria wedding, you know. I won’t be able to rest until then.”

She laughed at that, feeling warm tears rise to her eyes. “Decorations and everything?”

“Decorations and everything.”

Camia left two days later, after saying quick hellos to a few other family members. Jamil decided to stay behind just a few days more, to speak with his grandfather. (Camia suspected he had his own plans for a wedding that he wanted to discuss with Eugenio.)

As the boat docked in Vesuvia, Camia suddenly remembered that it was the night of Amparo’s performance, and she might be able to see it after all. Not even taking the time to stop by the shop and drop off her traveling bag or violin case, Camia made her way through the streets that she now knew better than she thought she ever would to the Vesuvian Opera and Ballet, to Amparo.

She didn’t have the same thread of magic connecting them like Leon could do, but Camia still felt like there was something in her soul that pulled her to Amparo over the space between them. It was what allowed her to enter the theatre at the exact moment Amparo walked on the stage, miraculously not missing a note of her performance.

Camia supposed she was allowed a few good things in life, and this, watching Amparo sing in a full theatre, looking absolutely radiant and sounding heavenly, was one of them. She was alive, she was thriving, and she was beautiful, and Camia couldn’t take her eyes off of her. She had heard Amparo practice the song she was singing, but it didn’t quite compare to hearing it here, in the theatre, voice resonating around her.

The few days away had been enough for Camia to miss her terribly. She missed the sound of her laughter, the light in her eyes, and the feeling of her skin under Camia’s fingers. That paranoia of something going wrong while she was gone never completely left, but the homesickness was more persistent.

For a moment, when the spotlight seemed to shine brighter, Camia thought back to Feliciano’s request of giving her a D’Oria wedding before he did pass, and she could see it. She could see the decorations, hundreds of flowers hung all over the dining hall, see Jamil in the sword ceremony, and see Amparo there, next to her. It almost made Camia cry to imagine, a foreign kind of happiness that she never thought she would get to know. But she did know it, with Amparo.

Once the performance was over, Camia made her way backstage. At this point, the stage crew knew her well enough to let her back to Amparo’s dressing room and she went, still holding her traveling bag and violin case over her shoulder. She knocked on the door twice and waited to hear Amparo’s cheerful but distracted “come in” before entering.

Her dressing room was a bit of organized chaos, as she was still in the process of removing her outfit, but it made Camia feel at ease to be back in her space, only a few steps between them instead of miles. She shut the door behind her and watched Amparo’s face in the mirror as she finally looked up and met Camia’s eyes.

With a loud gasp Amparo stood and turned, facing Camia, a wide smile on her face. Before either of them had said anything, she ran to throw her arms around Camia, hugging her close.

“Ampi,” Camia started, but Amparo kissed her, and she was happy to kiss her back; it felt like her heart was full again.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, Amparo’s arms still around Camia’s shoulders, Camia’s hands on Amparo’s hips.

“What are you doing back? Is everything alright? How was Feliciano?”

Camia laughed, rubbing small circles with her thumbs over Amparo’s hips. “He’s fine. Insisted we were making a big deal out of nothing, and I came back early. I was able to see your performance after all.”

“I did say there would be others, but still, I am glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back.” Camia kissed her again, softly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Amparo replied. “I need to finish getting changed but, perhaps in a minute, I think I need this more.”

As Camia held Amparo close to her chest, feeling their hearts beat together, pressing her lips to her forehead, she smiled, thinking back to Feliciano. Thought of a D’Oria wedding aside, she was happy. She felt like she was finally home, that most of the weight she had carried all of her life was gone.

She didn’t consider this her real birthday present for Camia, but Amparo still wanted to do something extra for her. That’s how her peplum cut corset, with it’s ruffles and bow in the back, ended up on the floor of her bedroom. The soft fabric which had embraced Amparo’s body for Camia’s eyes alone now caressed the floor, as Amparo had her snug between her legs, thighs around her waist and her thighs touching the leather strap of her harness. 

She squeezed her a little more, a little closer. 

Camia had teased her about putting on a little private show for her on purpose, that if Amparo wanted her so bad, she could’ve said so. Amparo had sat on her lap as Camia’s hands moved from her thighs to her waist, up and down her sides. 

“What’s understood,” Amparo said stealing playful kisses from her, “doesn’t need to be said.” 

Camia had begun to play with the ties of her corset, but she didn’t take it off, not yet. The delicate, bespoke piece would only end on the floor after Amparo begged for her to undress her. It remained on while Camia put her hands on Amparo, spreading her legs and asking if she’d be cooperative or a needy pillow princess for her that night, as it did when she ordered Amparo to get on her hands and knees, slick with lube fingers teasing at her, and one of Camia’s riding crops meeting her skin as Amparo grasped the sheets. 

Amparo’s only request was that she let her be loud, she wanted to show her mistress how good she was making her princess feel. 

Camia’s hands found Amparo’s thing, lifting her to put a pillow underneath her, kneeling after she propped her up, fucking her a little harder. 

“Come on, darling, come for me; and keep your legs spread princess, I want to see all of you when you come.”

The first time she heard it Leon had made a comment to her; whatever the comment had been, it sent her into a fit of laughter. Anatole had asked what it was, and while Leon had repeated themselves, Amparo didn’t register their words, too focused on Camia’s laugh. From then on, Amparo took it upon herself to hear it as often as she could — be it a dramatic re-enactment, a story, a passing comment or a joke, she liked to make Camia laugh. Sometimes she would try to take her up for making up silly little dances, when she tagged along with the Band and Anatole. Anything which made Camia smile was a good excuse in her books.

That’s how she knew she must invite her to her next play. The rumour mill about it, as Vesuvia’s local sport had always been gossiping, was strong and steady, but four weeks from its opening night, not many people knew what the play was about. Amparo, with one of the titular roles did, however; nothing like a bit of insider’s information about Camia’s theatre preferences to know she’d hit the spot. So during one of her rehearsal lunch breaks she found herself making her way to the shop, asking the gondolier to take her to the marketplace first. It would be quicker than walking, and both out of politeness of not arriving somewhere empty handed, and out of being an incorrigible flirt when she liked someone, she wanted to take Camia a bread basket from Selasi.

She walked with her basket from the market to the shop, her heart beating a little faster as she knocked on the door, waiting for Camia to open up. When she did, a smile crept into Amparo’s face, as she offered her the bread basket and gave her a kiss on each cheek as a greeting. 

“Ampi, you shouldn’t have,” Camia said as she took the basket from her hands.

“No, I should’ve, I was taught never to arrive somewhere empty handed,” she leaned closer to Camia, shooting her a cheeky, conspiratorial smile, “particularly when you want something.”

Camia gave her a once-over, smiling back at her. First victory. “And what would that be?”

Amparo walked away from her, only to sit with a jump on the shop’s counter. She played with her hair before speaking, draping it over her shoulder and curling it around her finger. “So, you know the play I’m rehearsing…”

“The one Alec’s angry about because you aren’t telling her what it’s about, but Leon somehow knows, and no matter how hard she tries to guess, she doesn’t guess it right?”

“That one. Well, I do know what it’s about, and I wanted to invite you to the opening night. I have a feeling you’ll like it.” Camia walked closer to her, leaning on the counter she was sitting on. Amparo licked her lips. “And I like it when you watch me perform.”

Camia brushed her fingers against Amparo’s knee, looking intently at the fabric of her clothes, before looking up at her again. “I like watching you perform. Who are you playing?”

“I will tell you as long as you don’t tell Alec.”

“It’ll be our secret then.”

“Anatole,” Amparo replied matter-of-factly.

 “You’re kidding me?”

“Nope.” Camia began laughing, Amparo counted it as her second victory. 

Two weeks later Camia discovered that she was, indeed, not joking about playing Anatole. Proper announcements for the play began, and Alec was surely upset about not guessing but she quickly forgot about it given the topic of the play. It was a satirical recreation of “Vesuvian society and its Mysterious Court”. Given both the playwrights knew half the Court and were friends with Valerius, the description in itself was a joke too.

Needless to say both former Consul, now Court-Advisor, and Soon-To-Be-Consul lived in fear of whatever horrors which might come out of the opening night, though the former had read the script, and per his own admittance (to Anatole, Camia rarely spoke to him, if ever) he was taking it as public atonement.

The fortnight before the opening night passed quicker than Camia expected it too, finding herself in a packed theatre box with the rest of the Band and no less than seven of Amparo’s relatives — Anatole, Milenko, her parents, her sister and Valerius, other relatives of Amparo had come too, but they were sitting elsewhere. 

Eventually the lights dimmed and the play began. By Act III Camia’s sides were sore with laughter, fearing she might laugh too loudly in the middle of the play more than once — every characterisation was spot on, and every joke delivered. Amparo was wonderful in her blonde wig, mimicking her cousin’s mannerisms in a way only someone who spent an ungodly amount of time near Anatole could. 

Camia had seen Amparo perform in the other theatre before, the Opera house for serious plays and Ballets, and preferred by the fashionable elite, twice. A ballet and an opera, and while there was nothing that could be said about Amparo in terms of technique and execution — she was simply mesmerising and good at her job no matter what — it was obvious to Camia how much comfortable and looser she was in her Goldgrave performances, where the topic of the plays themselves usually allowed her a je ne sais quoi, which Camia couldn’t explain. 

“True theatre versus elitism often co-opting genius,” Camia had heard her complain once, followed by one of her impassioned speeches about culture. 

Camia was too absorbed in the moment to reminisce, standing up to clap eagerly with the rest of the crowd, applause and ovations falling on the cast and crew. Watching Valerius mortification as the director of the play thanked him was a treat Camia was not expecting — she made a mental note to ask Amparo or Anatole about it later. 

She knew the community theatre well. As she headed out of the box with the rest of the group, she began eyeing towards the way where she knew she could get to the backstage from where she was standing, losing track of the conversation until Jamil spoke to her.

“Cami?”

“Sorry, I was distracted. Do you mind if I meet you outside?”

No one objected, though when she was a couple of metres away, she heard someone thank some deity about Camia going to see Amparo, as she had not been able to shut up about her. Camia couldn’t distinguish who it was, but the swell of pride she felt was unmistakable. She made her way through the theatre, greeting some of the cast and crew members that she already knew, until someone pointed at her where Amparo was. It was one of the shared dressing rooms.

To Camia’s luck — not that she would’ve minded otherwise — Amparo was alone when she asked if she could go in. She was dressed in her own clothes, folding her costume neatly, her hair in what had once been a neat bun. Camia discovered herself not only congratulating Amparo, but eagerly sharing her thoughts on the play too, before the actress herself got to ask. Camia wanted to tell her everything: her favourite moments, what had made her laugh, how amazing she had been on stage, and ask why the director had thanked the former Consul, all to which Amparo replied merrily. 

At some point of the conversation, Amparo had taken Camia’s hand in her own and was now playing with her fingers. 

“Well, Valeriy is a benefactor of the theatre, and he’s trying to be less terrible. You know, more him.”

Camia snorted. “Actually I wouldn’t know.”

“He’s always been a bit of a bitch but he was— not this way when I was a kid. He used to take me to the theatre a lot, actually. Him or my parents, or Great Uncle Blasio or Valerian… sometimes they made him take care of all three of us. He now says he hated it, but we all know he’s lying.”

“By the way, how did they make the costuming so accurate? Your costume and the one of the actor who played him were identical to what they wear.”

“Oh, that’s because they are their clothes. Both of the suits are theirs, this is Nana’s. He lent them to me with the sole condition I stopped stealing one of his shirts for at least a month.” 

“His clothes aren’t short on you?”

“Only sometimes.”

There was a pause, where Camia began to trace her fingers over Amparo’s wrists, her touch soft and gentle. “You do look good in his clothes. Better than him, but that could be because I’m biased.”

“You better be,” Amparo snorted. 

“But I think you look better with your dark hair.” Camia took Amparo’s hand, taking it to her lips to the back of her hand. “You were very good tonight,” she said before kissing it.

Amparo sucked in a breath. When Camia looked up at her, she was softly biting her lower lip. “If you wanted to, you could kiss me too.”

Camia smiled, tucking a hair that got loose from the bun behind Amparo’s ear. “Would you like that, Amparo?