Page 69 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“And you think you should be punished for that,” Nonna said softly. “For loving again.”

Her words reminded him of Zoe’s that night on the Spanish Steps. They weren’t wrong. He’d been punishing himself so long for so many things.

“Yes.” He lifted his head, and his eyes found his grandmother’s. “I loved Nicole. She was my soul mate.”

And he was afraid of having that again, only to lose it again. Not that he was admitting that to his grandmother.

Nonna covered his hand with hers again. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I kept throwing women in your path? At the restaurant. The opera.”

Dante pulled his hand away and leaned back in his chair. “So you admit to trying to fix me up.”

“Stop changing the subject and answer my question.”

Dante drained the rest of his drink and put his cup in the sink. “I can find my own women, thank you.”

“I’m sure you can. But you haven’t actually been looking, have you?” Nonna’s voice turned serious, any hint of levity gone. “You’ve been living a half life. And that’s not what Nicole would have wanted. The best way to honor her memory is to live fully. And that means not cutting yourself off from love.”

He braced his palms against the counter and stared out the window over the sink at his rooftop garden. The bougainvillea Nicole had planted were in full bloom. Rare for October, but it had been unusually warm. The sea of magenta was yet another reminder of his fiancée. Of the pain left in the wake of her loss.

His grip on the counter tightened, the whites of his knuckles clearly visible. “It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s not. Nothing worthwhile ever is. It takes strength. And courage.”

He felt Nonna come up behind him and turned to face her.

“Here.” She slipped a piece of paper into his hand.

“What’s this?” He unfolded it and studied his grandmother’s distinctive scrawl.

“Zoe’s address in San Francisco. Apologies are always better done in person.”

“She gave you her address?” An irrational shard of jealousy pierced his already bruised and battered heart. She’d never shared that with him.

“I got it from Antonio.”

Dante scraped both hands through his hair, then let them drop uselessly to his sides. “I doubt Zoe will agree to speak to me, much less see me, after how I treated her.”

“You’re a smart man. Usually. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make her listen to you.”

Nonna stood, retrieved her purse from the back of her chair, and bent to kiss him on the cheek. “Ciao, vita mia. Be brave. And good luck.”

With that, she breezed out of the room and out of his apartment the same way she’d come in—abruptly and unexpectedly, the hollow click of his front door echoing in her wake. The sound woke Houdini, who’d fallen asleep halfway through his breakfast, his snout buried in his food bowl. Almost as if he sensed Dante’s distress, the pig trotted over to him and flopped down onto his bare feet.

Dante’s first instinct was to brush the animal aside. Instead, guided by some unseen, unknown force, he knelt down and absently scratched Houdini’s scruffy head with one hand, still clutching the slip of paper with Zoe’s address in the other. The pig flopped onto his side, wordlessly begging Dante to rub his belly. With less reluctance than he expected, Dante lowered himself to the floor and ran his fingers over the pig’s stomach.

Was this his life now? Consigned to spend the rest of his days with only a pig for companionship?

He stared at the address on the paper, almost taunting him. Nonna was right. As usual, dammit. He was only half living, thousands of miles apart from the woman he loved. In one short month, she’d become as much a part of his daily routine as breathing, with her sunrise yoga, her obsession with Freddie Mercury, and her soft-hearted tendency to take in stray animals.

The animal in question crawled into Dante’s lap, closed his eyes, and made a satisfied sound somewhere between a grunt and a snort that tugged at Dante’s heart. Dante resumed scratching. Resistance was futile. Like resisting Zoe had been futile.

And yet he’d pushed her away, too proud—and if he was honest with himself, like his grandmother asked him to be, too scared—to risk heartbreak a second time. Nicole’s death may have been a tragic accident, something no one could have predicted or prevented.

But losing Zoe?

That was all on him.

…