I put my hand out to keep him back as I reach behind me and yank the door open.
“But you are my wife,” he pleads.
“I stopped being your wife the moment you abandoned me in Italy.”
He reaches for me again, but I already have one foot out the door.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he insists. “I just wanted to be a better husband.”
“Too late.” A snarky laugh bubbles from my throat. “We’re over, Rico. I want a divorce.”
6
Dante
Where the helldoes she think she’s going?
I watch from my balcony as Frankie speeds down the driveway in that ridiculous little sports car she bought. I’ve been out here with my coffee and my laptop since the sun came up. It’s the only place I can stand to be in the whole goddamn house lately. Everywhere else just seems empty without her. I can’t even sleep soundly in my own bed anymore.
Slamming my laptop shut, I move closer to the railing and watch her turn at the end of the long drive, onto the main road. The sound of the hot rod engine fades, and so does my view of her. Fuck.
My anxiety kicks into high gear, even though I know I shouldn’t care. I kicked her out because she lied to me, after all, and I don’t tolerate liars. Yet every moment since Rico Correa showed up claiming to be her husband, it’s all I can do to stop wanting her.
What if she’s on her way to him? The simmering jealousy I’ve been trying to ignore boils over at the thought. Pulling out my cell phone, I pull up the GPS app that’s linked to every winery-owned vehicle for insurance purposes. She may not be aware, but a tracker was put on her car shortly after she purchased it. It takes a second for the GPS to register. And then the little blue dot of her vehicle begins to move southeast on the screen.
My heart begins to pound. Before I fully realize what I’m doing, I race through the doors, out of my office, and down the stairs. I jump into my car and take off in Frankie’s direction, tires kicking up gravel as I speed down the drive.
I fly down the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic in a crazed attempt to catch up. I don’t know why I’m so worried about where she’s going, but the taunting suspicion that she’s going tohimwon’t stop knocking in my brain. When I see a flash of cherry red up ahead, I let off on the gas and slow the car to the speed limit. The GPS confirms that it’s her. I fall back even further, relying on the tracker rather than my eyes.
But I’m losing my goddamned mind as I follow her, becoming more and more anxious as we leave the city and enter the shady city limits of Vallejo. This can’t be right. The town went bankrupt a while ago and the place has fallen into a state of neglect and disrepair. Nobody comes here anymore unless they’re up to no good. Maybe she’s lost, or stopping for gas.
I take a right and follow a lonely street with cracked asphalt all the way to the end, where a run-down motel stretches out before me. Sure enough, Frankie’s Jag is parked in the lot. I clench my eyes against a flash of anger. Jesus Christ, I was right. She’s in here somewhere with him. Probably letting that oily bastard touch her.
The thought of that asshole’s hands on my wife makes me—no. Not my wife. Not anymore. Fuck.
I run the fingers of both hands through my hair and squeeze my head between my palms. Then I take a deep breath, trying to convince myself she means nothing to me now. She’s just a lying female who wasted my time.
Being angry at her is supposed to calm me down, but all it does is leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Gripping the wheel, I take a few more breaths to steady myself.
The sickening fact is, what’s going on in that motel room is none of my business.
My anger and jealousy aren’t even real, they’re simply male instincts getting in the way. Testosterone and all that shit. I need to take my dick out of the equation, that’s all.
I stare at the Jaguar until the car blurs in my vision. Then I get a firm grip on my emotions, methodically tucking each one into the compartmentalized recesses of my brain where all the uncomfortable feelings go. My father taught me the trick, and it’s served me well. Turn it off. Put it away. Forget about it. Done and done.
Putting my car in reverse, I speed out of the lot and head back to Bellanti Vineyards. I have work to do, business to focus on. Any lingering attachment I feel toward Frankie is merely the byproduct of a poor business decision, and the sooner I wash my hands of her the better.
I park outside the offices, ignore the receptionist’s attempt to flag me down, and head straight to Armani’s office. I see him standing outside his office door in the hallway, a smile on his face as he chats with Candi Gallagher. He’s looking at her with the same intensity he reserves for acquisitions he absolutely has to have. But there’s something more there.
Something that’s going to get him into trouble if he doesn’t start thinking with his head instead of his cock.
At the sight of me, Candi gives Armani a polite nod and excuses herself. Once my brother and I are in his office with the door firmly shut, he turns irritated eyes on me.
“What’s this all about?” he asks. “I had another few minutes scheduled with Candi.”
“You can thank me later for saving your ass,” I shoot back. “I saw how you were looking at her and you need to nip that in the bud.”
Armani shakes his head and goes for the coffee pot. He raises it in question, but I wave off his offer of a cup.
