Someone Who Wants to Be RememberedâA slow-burn gay romance about desire, identity, and the consequences of letting someone in.
Giovanni Rossi likes control. As a successful real estate broker in Boston, he keeps his life polished, professional, and safely guarded. Romance? Itâs a thing of the pastâburied beneath heartbreak, career ambition, and the belief that vulnerability is too costly.
Enter Andreas Cruz: a charming, closeted influencer looking for a million-dollar listing and maybe something more. With a lifestyle in the spotlight and a reputation built on image, Dre knows how to keep secretsâand how to get under Giovanniâs skin.
What begins as business quickly veers into something neither of them planned. As flirtation blurs with truth and personal boundaries erode, Giovanni is forced to confront feelings he thought heâd locked away for good.
But falling for someone with so much to lose comes with risks. And the closer they get, the more Giovanni wondersâwhat happens when a connection this real is built on everything unsaid?
Someone Who Wants to Be RememberedâA slow-burn gay romance about desire, identity, and the consequences of letting someone in.
Giovanni Rossi likes control. As a successful real estate broker in Boston, he keeps his life polished, professional, and safely guarded. Romance? Itâs a thing of the pastâburied beneath heartbreak, career ambition, and the belief that vulnerability is too costly.
Enter Andreas Cruz: a charming, closeted influencer looking for a million-dollar listing and maybe something more. With a lifestyle in the spotlight and a reputation built on image, Dre knows how to keep secretsâand how to get under Giovanniâs skin.
What begins as business quickly veers into something neither of them planned. As flirtation blurs with truth and personal boundaries erode, Giovanni is forced to confront feelings he thought heâd locked away for good.
But falling for someone with so much to lose comes with risks. And the closer they get, the more Giovanni wondersâwhat happens when a connection this real is built on everything unsaid?
The elevator chimed with a polished ding, and Giovanni instinctively checked his watch. Fifteen minutes late. Not unusual. Most high-profile clients operated on their own version of timeâespecially the ones who came with stylists, sponsorships, and a carefully curated social presence.
Still, Giovanni prided himself on efficiency. Punctuality. Discipline. This penthouse had been staged to perfection, every surface gleaming, every scent carefully neutralized. Sunlight spilled across the open layout like liquid gold, bouncing off the floor-to-ceiling windows and highlighting the clean lines of the marble island.
He heard footsteps.
The elevator doors slid open, and the quiet sophistication of the space was immediately disrupted by the sound of designer boots and idle chatter.
A man stepped into the room like he was walking onto a runway. Tanned skin. Tousled caramel-brown hair. Oversized sunglasses. The kind of confidence that filled the space before the words even hit the air.
âYo,â the man said, arms spread like he was claiming the room. âThis is sick. Lightâs hittinâ, original hardwood floors⊠I can work with this.â
Behind him, a woman with a gimbal and a cameraman trailed in. Social media types, obviously. Giovanni kept his expression neutral.
âYou must be Mr. Cruz,â he said coolly.
The man pulled down his sunglasses and flashed a grin that could probably sell anything to anyone. âCall me Dre.â
Giovanni nodded once. âGiovanni Rossi. Iâll be handling your search.â
âAppreciate you, Giovanni. This your listing?â
âOne of several. Are you looking for short-term or long-term?â
Dre shrugged, meandering through the entryway like he already owned it. âDepends. Could be a few months⊠could be forever. Depends on the vibe.â
Giovanni resisted the urge to roll his eyes. âThis oneâs a three-bed, two-and-a-half bath. Wraparound terrace, concierge, valet, and wine storage on-site.â
Dreâs head turned, interest flickering behind his hazel eyes. âWine storage?â
âYou collect?â
âYeah. Mostly reds. Iâve got a 2010 Rioja Iâm saving for something special. Couple of nice Brunellos. Some Chiantis from back home.â He said it casually, but there was pride behind it.
Giovanni allowed a small, appreciative nod. âMost guys your age are still drinking boxed cabernet and pretending itâs edgy.â
Dre laughedâan easy, rich sound. âAnd youâre not like most guys, huh?â
âI sell property,â Giovanni said, folding his arms. âI donât party with TikTokers.â
âOof,â Dre said, mockingly clutching his chest. âThat was brutal. I like it.â
There was something irritatingly magnetic about him. The ego was loud, but the charm was louder.
Giovanni led him into the kitchen. âImported marble. Heat-resistant. Lightingâs great for filming, if youâre into that.â
âOh, Iâm into that,â Dre said, hopping onto one of the stools at the island. âYou always this serious?â
âOnly when Iâm working.â
âYou donât ever break character?â Dre leaned forward slightly. âJust a little?â
Giovanni studied him. The man looked like he lived in the sunâskin kissed with warmth, a smudge of stubble along his jaw. His smirk was practiced, but his eyes werenât. They held something else. Curiosity. Hunger. Maybe even loneliness.
âCome on,â Giovanni said, redirecting. âThe master suite has direct terrace access. Iâll show you.â
As they moved through the apartment, Dreâs camera crew trailed a few feet behind, recording b-roll. Dre barely looked at the apartment, but he watched Giovanniâclosely.
Too closely.
âYou live in Boston long?â Dre asked casually.
âA few years now.â
âYou always been a real estate guy?â
Giovanni gave him a sidelong glance. âSales, construction, planning and development. Real estateâs just the final layer.â
Dre tilted his head. âHustler vibe. I respect it.â
âI donât need your respect,â Giovanni said, a little too sharply.
But Dre just grinned wider. âNah, but you like the attention.â
Before Giovanni could reply, the cameraman stepped too close and almost knocked into a sculpture on a side table.
Giovanni turned. âIâd appreciate it if your crew stayed clear of the staging.â
Dre held up his hands, mock-defensive. âAlright, alright. Weâll chill.â
He took a slow step toward the window, letting the city sprawl behind him, bathed in late afternoon light.
âSo,â Dre said, without turning around, âwhat do you think? Does this place feel like me?â
Giovanni watched the back of his head. His shoulders were relaxed, his voice deliberately casual. But there was something else thereâsomething layered beneath the image.
âI think,â Giovanni said carefully, âyou havenât decided who you are yet.â
Dre turned, surprised. And for just a second, he didnât speak. He just looked at Giovanniâreally looked at himâand something unspoken passed between them.
Then the gimbal whirred softly in the background, and the moment dissolved.
Dre shoved his hands into his pockets and smirked again.
âWell damn, Giovanni. That felt deep.â
âOccupational hazard,â Giovanni replied smoothly, starting toward the hallway. âYou want to see the rest or just keep posing for your reel?â
âOh, I can multitask,â Dre said, falling into step beside him.
âYou always this intense with clients, or is it just me?â
Giovanniâs lips twitched. âDepends. Are all your questions this annoying, or is it just you?â
Dre barked a laugh. âAlright, alright. Iâll chill. Show me what youâve got.â
They moved down the hallway, hardwood floors soft underfoot. Giovanni pointed toward the guest bedrooms, keeping his tone crisp.
âSecond bedroomâs large enough for a home office or guest space. Plenty of natural light. Thereâs soundproofing in the walls, if privacyâs important.â
Dre leaned against the doorframe, eyes flicking around. âPrivacy is always important. Especially when people like to speculate.â
Giovanni didnât take the bait. âThereâs a walk-in closet, ensuite bath, and access to the second balcony.â
Dre turned to him with a sly smile. âTell me, Giovanniâdo you talk like this on dates, too? Very bullet-point. Very sexy.â
âI donât date clients,â Giovanni said flatly.
âGood to know,â Dre said, his voice lower now, almost teasing. âIâd hate to blur any lines.â
Giovanni met his gaze head-on. âTrust me. You couldnât.â
That earned him a small pause. Just long enough to feel it. Then Dre laughed again, softer this time.
âYou know, youâve got this whole âtough guy in a tailored suitâ thing going on,â he said, as they moved into the master suite. âBut I bet you werenât always like this.â
Giovanni arched a brow. âWhat was I like, then?â
âI donât know. Probably a little wild. Probably broke some hearts. Maybe had yours broken once or twice.â
The bedroom stretched wide around them, glass doors leading out to a private terrace. But for a moment, neither of them looked at the view.
Giovanni let the silence stretch before replying. âI grew up learning that comfort is earned. People who get too comfortable too soon tend to lose things.â
Dreâs eyes narrowed slightly, something calculating behind them. âWho hurt you, man?â
Giovanni smiled without humor. âWho hasnât?â
Dre stepped out onto the terrace, hands resting on the railing. The city sprawled beneath them, alive and indifferent. âI like the view,â he said finally. âMakes everything else feel small.â
âItâs part of the appeal,â Giovanni said. He stood beside Dre, arms crossed. Closeâbut not too close. âBostonâs chaos. This place gives you a little distance from it.â
Dre tilted his head, eyes on the skyline. âYou ever wish you could just disappear into one of those windows out there? Start over somewhere nobody knows your name?â
Giovanni glanced sideways. âAre you planning to disappear, Mr. Cruz?â
Dre smirked, but there was something wistful behind it.
âDepends on whoâs asking.â
Giovanni let that hang in the air. The wind shifted, just enough to ruffle Dreâs hair, and Dre turned back toward himâcloser now, posture easy, voice low.
âYou know,â Dre said, âfor a guy who doesnât like me much, you sure donât mind looking.â
Giovanni didnât flinch. âIâm evaluating your compatibility with the property.â
âRight,â Dre said, grinning. âStrictly business.â
âStrictly,â Giovanni said. But he didnât step away.
âOh?â Dre asked, falling into step behind him. âIs it a secret rooftop pool? Or is that in the next unit?â
Giovanni ignored the jab, though the corner of his mouth twitched. âFollow me.â
âIâll be back.â Dre said. âShoot some more footage of the space.â He motioned to his camera crew.
They took the elevator down to the private amenities floor, a sleek corridor lined with dark walnut paneling and soft lighting leading them to a frosted glass door. Giovanni tapped a code into the keypad.
The door unlocked with a soft click and swung open to reveal the buildingâs exclusive wine cellarâcool, dim, and lined with elegant mahogany racks. Rows upon rows of vintage bottles slept in glass enclosures, backlit like museum pieces.
Dre let out a low whistle. âOkay. Now youâre speaking my language.â
âClimate-controlled,â Giovanni said, stepping in. âYou can lease racks or reserve a private vault. Tasting room is by appointment only.
âDre wandered in, fingers trailing along the edges of a wine case. âThis is sexy. This whole setup feels like it belongs to someone whoâs got their life together.â
âOr at least someone who wants people to think they do,â Giovanni added dryly.
Dre laughed. âTouchĂ©.â
He crouched slightly, examining a few labels. âDamn. I havenât seen a '94 Solaia in forever. This one,â he said, pointing, âI opened with my dad once after a campaign I landed with a travel brand. Thought it was overpriced until it kicked in.â
Giovanni looked at him with mild surprise. âYou know your vintages.â
âIâm not just pretty reels and passport stamps,â Dre said, standing. âMy dad collects. Old-school guy. Used to teach me how to smell the oak like it was a religious experience.â
Giovanni watched him for a beat. âWhatâs your favorite?â
Dre didnât hesitate. âBarolo. Full-bodied, moody, doesnât give itself away too fast. You?â
Giovanni met his gaze, amused. âBrunello. Quiet, but hits when it matters.â
Dre smirked. âFigures.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âYouâve got Brunello energy. All stoic and layered and mysterious.â
Giovanni allowed himself a small, rare smile. âThereâs a spot in the South End with a fantastic Brunello list. Tucked away. No influencers in sight. Youâd hate it.â
Dre leaned in slightly, intrigued. âBet Iâd love it. Youâll have to send me the name.â
They stood in the center of the cellar, the cool air wrapping around them. Something about the quietâaway from the cameras, the light, the skylineâmade the space feel too still, too close.
Then Dre tilted his head. âYou know what I think?â
Giovanni arched a brow. âIâm afraid to ask.â
âI think if weâd met under different circumstances,â Dre said, slowly, âyou wouldnât be so good at pretending not to like me.â
Giovanni blinkedâjust once, but Dre caught it. It was the first real crack in the manâs composure, and it landed like a spark in dry grass.
Before Giovanni could reply, Dreâs phone buzzed sharply in his pocket. He groaned and pulled it out, glancing at the screen.
âSorry, itâs my manager,â he muttered, stepping toward the door. âIf I ignore her again, sheâll have me replaced with a Mexican Chihuahua.â
He answered, voice shifting instantly into a performative tone.
âHey! Yeah, noâIâm just wrapping up. Iâll be there in twenty.â
Giovanni stood by the wine racks, watching him.
Dre ended the call, pocketed his phone, and turned back with a crooked smile. âGuess Iâm being summoned.â
âOf course,â Giovanni said, voice even again. âWouldnât want to keep the Chihuahua waiting.â
Dre grinned as he made his way out. âYou gonna send me the info for that Brunello spot you mentioned?â
Giovanni nodded. âIf youâre serious.â
âOh,â Dre said, pausing in the doorway. His eyes lingered on Giovanni just a little too long. âIâm serious about a lot of things.â
And then, just like that, he was gone.
The door shut with a soft click, and Giovanni stood alone in the quiet chill of the cellar, surrounded by bottles and unfinished thoughts.
Eyes lock across the room, a connection only lasting an instant but sharing so much. Itâs hard to look away from those people who make you feel fully seen and heard when so much seems surface level in the modern world. Those people can also be the scariest to engage with because you know theyâll make you feel something. Someone Who Wants To Be Remembered explores that connection and the fight to keep it once found, especially when one side has a life more plastic than flesh and bone.
The advent of the internet and social media only led to more scrutiny for our increasingly public lives. To some, it can be just making sure only the photos that show us in a positive light are the ones that get uploaded, the ones with the best angles or forgiving lighting. For those who make their money from the likes and shares, itâs their entire livelihood. They might make a fortune off of selling us a curated lifestyle, but the actual curation itself has a steep cost. I might have some bias toward such a life, but I can understand the turmoil it must cause: trying to balance the sanitized version of oneself with actually having a real one.
The central conflict heavily leans on this premise. One side of the story deciding whether new love is worth losing everything heâs gained from living inside the mold of his public image. The other side deciding whether new love is worth letting someone scale the walls protecting his emotions. Neither are used to being truly seen, even the one with millions of followers.
Balancing so much internal conflict across two characters without turning a novel into thought bubble battles can be hard. This novel does a great job with this, though. Emotions seep from both prose and dialogue, sucking the reader into rooting for these two men who just want to be seen. I highly recommend Someone Who Wants To Be Remembered to readers who enjoy realistic emotional journeys and multi-faceted characters. However, I also want to stress that this is much more a drama than a romance novel.