Page 60 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“Well, it was all we could afford. And it got us just as wasted as the good stuff.”

“I hope you’re as laid-back about food as you are about alcohol. My brother is preparing a tasting menu for us, and I have no idea what he’ll come up with. He likes to experiment on my sensitive palate.”

She took a sip of her wine, licked her lips, and smiled at him over the rim of her glass. “Remember Capri?”

His dick did, that was for sure. It hardened at the memory. “Which part? The first time I made you come? The second? Or maybe you mean the third time, when I—”

“I was talking about dinner. I devoured everything you put in front of me.”

He leaned in and dropped his voice even lower, making sure that even in this secluded corner of the restaurant no one could overhear him. “And then you devoured my cock.”

The waiter reappeared with their first course, tiny tortellini in a rich chicken broth, just in time to see her pretty face go from to pale pink to ruby red. They got through two more courses—maccheroni in tomato basil sauce and more tortellini, this time with brown butter and sage—before Luca was able to break free from the kitchen.

“Mypezzo forte,” he said, placing a dish of ribbon-like pasta in front of each of them. “The star of this meal. Tagliolini with a Modena-style ragu. Similar to Bolognese, but instead of pancetta, veal, and beef, I used prosciutto, mortadella, and pork, with parmigiano rinds for the braise and just a small touch of tomato.”

Dante refilled Zoe’s wineglass, then his. “If you haven’t guessed, this showoff is my brother, Luca.”

“The family resemblance is hard to miss,” Zoe said, looking from one brother to the other.

“It’s easy to tell us apart.” Luca pulled a chair up to the end of the table and plunked his arrogant ass down. “He’s two minutes older, and I’m twice as attractive.”

Zoe’s lips curled into a teasing grin. “Like your brother, you clearly have no problem in the ego department.”

“I prefer to think of it as healthy self-esteem.” Luca’s smile matched hers. “You must be Zoe. I’m glad to see my brother has met someone who can stand up to him. He can be a bear sometimes.”

“I don’t remember inviting you to join us.” Dante pouted. Not a good look on a grown-ass man, but he couldn’t stop his lower lip from jutting out. He was grateful to his brother for the amazing meal he’d prepared for them. And he wanted to catch up with him. It had been months since they sat down together and talked about anything other than their restaurants. At the same time, he didn’t want to waste one second of the handful of days he had left with Zoe.

Rock, meet hard place.

“Do I need an invitation?” Luca signaled a waiter for a glass and poured himself some Nero D’Avolo.

“Of course not.” Zoe gave Dante a look that said he was being unreasonable. Which he was. He and his brother always gave each other shit. A friendly twin rivalry, underscored with love. This was no different than their normal, lighthearted banter.

Or was it?

“This is delicious,” Zoe continued, savoring a forkful of tagliolini. “Just like everything else you’ve served us this evening.”

“Wait until you’ve had dessert. I have something special planned.”

“Should you be drinking?” Dante asked. “Don’t you have a kitchen to supervise?”

“The dinner rush is almost over, and Aurora’s running the kitchen.”

Right. The new sous-chef Luca hired right before Dante left for Bella Vista. “How is she working out?”

“Excellent. She’s smart, talented, and puts up with my temper tantrums.” Luca chuckled. “But I didn’t come out here to talk business. I wanted to meet the first woman to break through my brother’s crusty exterior since—”

“Has anyone ever told you you talk too much?” Dante chugged the rest of his wine, which was a shame because Nero D’Avolo was meant to be sipped, not slugged.

Fortunately, his brother got the hint and backed off. For the rest of their conversation, he steered clear of any mention of Nicole, sticking to good-natured attempts to annoy Dante with embarrassing childhood stories.

They chatted for about half an hour until Luca excused himself to prepare their dessert. A waiter appeared a few minutes later with two plates, each one bearing a piece of three-layer sponge cake topped with whipped cream frosting and garnished with slivered almonds.

Dante’s jaw tightened. “Is that rum cake?”

“Si, signore. With Luca’s signature chocolate and vanillapasticciera.”

“Take it away.”