I glance around and take in the beautiful ambiance. Large wood beams, stained dark, span across the white stucco ceiling. Soft lights glow from modern iron fixtures overhead, while soothing jazz music plays in the background. If the substance of this meeting were different, I might actually be able to enjoy myself.
My wine arrives. The time ticks on and I’ve downed half of it and still no Bellanti. I’ve got my flaws, but being late isn’t one of them—and honestly, this isn’t a good look on a man of his supposed power. Is it a personality flaw, or is he doing it on purpose?
“Ah, you’re here.”
My attention is pulled to the deep voice with an unmistakable bored tone. Dante approaches with the barest look at me, the complete opposite of my reaction.
I can’t look away.
His suit fits him like it’s been hand molded to his tall, fit body. His hair is perfectly combed back with a touch of sexy waves that look hard to contain. The forest green stripes on his tie compliment his coloring and accentuates the lines of his masculine throat. Jesus.
Focus, Frankie. I’m here to grow a pair and negotiate, yet my eyes wander lower, lower, wondering abouthispair…
“Drinking alone? Looks like you’ve almost finished your wine.”
The female voice coming from behind him takes me by surprise.
Jessica. Shit.
She sidles up to Dante with a brilliant smile on perfect red, glossy lips. She’s draped in an emerald, off-the-shoulder dress that makes her red hair pop and her cleavage, well, it’s out there for the world to see. There isn’t a thread on this woman out of place and I suddenly feel very second class in the dress I’d loved only moments ago.
I don’t respond to her taunt.
Dante pulls a seat out for Jessica to his left, then sits between me and her. My skin tingles at his proximity, the feeling going lower as I catch the woodsy-citrus scent of his cologne.
“Jessica is here to take notes on this meeting, of course.” Dante juts a finger into the air and a waiter immediately appears with a tray of drinks.
I nod in agreement, even manage to give Jessica a warm smile as if it doesn’t bother me a bit that she’s here. She licks her lips, puckering them a little as Dante glances at her before taking a slow sip of her wine. Her gaze darts back to me, probably to see if I noticed her seductive little gesture.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Dante says.
He flips open a leather folder. Papers on official Bellanti Vineyards letterhead are tucked neatly inside, as well as some legal documents. He thumbs through them and withdraws three copies of a single page, handing one to me and another to Jessica. It’s a list of apparent topics we need to discuss.
I barely have time to scan it—wifely responsibilities, household duties, expectation of heirs—when Jessica clears her throat and slides on a slim pair of reading glasses. She tilts her head studiously, putting on her best sexy librarian show.
“Item one,” she reads aloud. “Wedding details.”
“Wedding details?” I repeat softly. An actual nuptial ceremony hadn’t really crossed my mind; I’d assumed we’d simply sign papers at the courthouse and be done with it.
“It’s ten days from now.” Dante’s voice is tinged in annoyance, as if he’s explaining the obvious to someone not quite able to comprehend.
I look squarely at him, the force of it drawing his attention. Our eyes meet and I damn near lose my breath. “Right. We’re getting married in ten days and we still haven’t had proper introductions.” I thrust out a hand. “Francesca Abbott. So very nice to officially meet you.”
He hesitates before sliding his palm against mine and wrapping his strong fingers around my knuckles with a little more grip than is probably necessary. One side of his mouth turns up, but only for a fraction of a second before his tempting lips resume a neutral line across his face.
“Dante Bellanti, but presumably you already knew that.”
I nod. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Bellanti.”
There goes his lip again. Huh. So he likes being called Mr. Bellanti. I make a mental note to never refer to him that way again.
Jessica clears her throat again and taps her pen against her list. “The ceremony will take place at Bellanti Vineyards. Intimate, but lavish. The guest list is small. Your immediate family has been invited, of course. Please provide me with a list of any additional guests you’d like to invite by end of day tomorrow. Do you have any requests for decor, music, food?”
“I’m happy to leave the styling to the wedding planner. Although,” I add sweetly, “it’s a real shame we don’t have a special song for our first dance, isn’t it? But I’ve got a couple of suggestions. How about, ‘What’s Love Got to Do with It?’ by Tina Turner. Or…”
“‘You Give Love a Bad Name,’ perhaps,” Dante suggests.
His quip robs the words from my mouth. I narrow my eyes and regroup. “‘Love is a Battlefield.’”
