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“I’d like to invite you to the Uva Persa launch as my date. Officially.”
“Officially?” he repeated, his gaze inscrutable. “You mean, I’m no longer your dirty little secret?”
I laughed. “Exactly. I think I can clean you up sufficiently to pass you off as respectable for an evening at least.”
“That’s a tall order.”
“I think I’m up to the challenge.” I shifted on the bed to sit up, sliding my robe over my body and tying the belt. “Do you want to be official?”
I’d thought to wait but the question came up organically so I figured I might as well just go with it.
His strained chuckle sent chills down my arm. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined he would react. “What are we talking here?” he asked. “I live in New York, you live here in Italy. Long distance isn’t really my thing.”
I stiffened, hearing the rejection in what he wasn’t saying. “Of course. I wasn’t expecting you to relocate.” But maybe I was, because the minute I said it, disappointment flooded my breast. I wanted him to want to be with me and if that meant relocating, I wanted him to jump at the chance. Maybe that was my ego speaking but my heart felt pretty bruised, too. “I simply asked you to be my date for the launch, not marry me.”
“Good, because I’m not the marrying kind,” he said, and I was quick to add my own salt to that dish with a snapped, “Neither am I, as you know.”
“Glad we got that sorted out,” he said, rolling from the bed to get something stronger than water. He poured two glasses of wine and brought me one. “Look, we’ve got a good thing going right now. Let’s not ruin it with talk of official whatever. We’re fantastic in the sack, and I say we keep doing what we’re good at.”
I smothered a laugh at the irony. Hadn’t I said those very words to men who wanted to get attached? Oh, fate was a bitch. I sipped my wine. “Of course.” But I didn’t want to keep fucking just to pretend that we didn’t feel more than just physical pleasure together. However, I wasn’t going to act the part of the jilted lover, wailing and carrying on with a broken heart. The plan had been to stay the night but I didn’t want to sleep beside him if we were just fucking.
Snuggling was off the table.
Sighing, I rose and began to dress. Dante’s immediate frown gave away his surprise. “What are you doing? You said you were going to stay.”
“Plans change.”
“All because I said I don’t want to relocate to Italy?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I simply don’t feel like playing house. We both got what we wanted and now I want to sleep in my own bed.”
“Seriously, Alessandra?”
I smiled coolly as I dressed. “Let me know about the launch. If you’re not interested in being my date, I will invite someone else.”
“Wow, that was cold. I get the message loud and clear—I’m easily replaced.”
I tsked and wagged my finger at him. “You don’t get to play the victim. You stated your position and I respect it but I’m also not going to chase you, so if you have other plans I’ll make my own plans, as well.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going,” he growled. “Are you seeing anyone else you’d consider inviting?”
“I’d say that’s privileged information that doesn’t concern you, now, does it?”
“Alessandra,” he warned, his temper beginning to flare. Good. Served him right for trying to play me. “Knock it off. Yes, I’ll go, but you’re not leaving.”
“Oh?” I was amused by his machismo. “And why is that?”
“Because you know damn well that you’re going to sleep beside me tonight so stop playing games.”
“I’m not the one playing games. We aren’t dating. We are fucking. Thank you for making that very clear. I just needed to know the rules before going forward. Your clarification is quite appreciated.”
“I didn’t say we were just fucking,” he said, irritated. “I just said...” But he’d boxed himself with his own words. I smiled when he realized he’d screwed himself and he was going to sleep alone tonight.
I left him like that.
As I said, and Dante would learn... I chase no man.
Even if I wanted that man more than any I’d ever known in my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Dante
I COULDN’T BELIEVE Alessandra had left.
My plans for the evening were shredded to shit all because I couldn’t lie to her. I should’ve just played the part she wanted me to play, said whatever she wanted to hear, and everything would’ve kept moving along smoothly.
But I couldn’t lie to her.
What future did we have together? None.
Why pretend otherwise?
My life was in New York, hers was here.
My father was expecting me to deliver Castello di Baroni. If I decided to make that happen, I would ruin any chance I had with Alessandra. If I didn’t deliver the winery as expected, I could piss off any chance of ever gaining my father’s respect.
I had shit options.
Now that I knew Alessandra’s weakness, I knew I could exploit the situation to my advantage. Uva Persa was the fulcrum point for this entire operation. I could sabotage the launch, ruin her chances of catapulting the Baroni label into the future and crush Alessandra in the process.
My father would be proud.
So why did the idea make me want to puke?
To take this victory from Alessandra felt wrong on so many levels. My father wanted this winery on a whim. The only reason he was pushing so hard was because he was a bored old man who found the opposition stimulating. He wouldn’t elevate Baroni in any way like Alessandra would. Under my father’s hand it would wither and disappear, a legacy gone.
My father could not care less about the future of Castello di Baroni, he just wanted
the bragging rights of returning a familial property to the fold. He wanted to be able to boast to his old cronies that he had a European castle in Italy.
All the money had gone to his fucking head. He needed a better hobby than just spending money for the hell of it. For the first time ever, I questioned what my family had been doing that was good for anyone aside from ourselves. This fucking existential crisis crap was getting on my nerves but I couldn’t stop the questions that hounded me from all angles.
So what was I supposed to do? The answers weren’t so clear. I’d worked my entire life trying to earn my father’s respect and always come up short no matter what I did. What happened if I crushed Alessandra by delivering the winery to my father and he still treated me like shit?
I’d snap and kill him.
I’d like to say that was just talk but I had some unresolved rage when it came to my father. We all dealt with our childhood traumas differently. Luca had funneled his anger into making the Donato legacy something less distasteful. Nico chose to be a charming playboy until he’d met his wife, and now he was the consummate husband and father. Where did that leave me? Dangling on the thin thread of our father’s affection, desperately hanging on for dear life.
Not the best place to be.
How long was I going to chase after the scraps of my father’s attention?
God, it was pathetic.
But just as pathetic was dropping everything I’d ever worked for just to chase some pretty, exotic pussy, pretending that the fairy tale was real just because cannolis and espressos tasted so much better in tiny Italian cafés.
What was I even thinking? Moving to Italy? Becoming Alessandra’s boy toy? Her arm candy?
