“We were just talking business,” he says. “Can I help that she was wearing an attractive dress? What man is going to ignore that?”
I smirk. “Why do I have the feeling you’d kill any other male who happened to notice?”
He crosses the room with his coffee and sits down behind his desk. “Did you need something, Dante? Or did you just come here to stir up some shit?”
“Both, actually. Let me lay it out for you.”
“I’m all ears,” he says, sliding a notepad in front of him and picking up a pen.
I take a seat across from him and jab my finger onto his desk for emphasis. “The Abbott Winery has to stay with us. I’ve been after those vines for years. There’s no way I’m giving them up. If my marriage truly isn’t legit, we need to find a way to keep the Abbott grapes.”
My brother takes a sip of his coffee, much too slowly for my impatient mood. I’m waiting for some response but he just stares at me. Perhaps I haven’t made my case clear enough.
“Look, those vines have suffered a decade or more of mismanagement. The neglect has taken its toll, but even still, in the short time we’ve been tending them we’ve already gotten a useful yield. Those vines are resilient. Next year will be even better.”
“I don’t disagree,” Armani concedes.
“So we’ll keep the vines. Look into it. Make it legal.”
He nods. “Leave it to me.”
My eyes narrow. “And what the hell’s going on with the Italian marriage certificate? Why’s it taking so long?”
Sighing, my brother says, “Look, it takes six to twelve weeks just to get a copy of anAmericanmarriage certificate—and we’re talking Italian bureaucracy here. Time is irrelevant to them, and there’s no central government office that keeps records. I’ve been chasing down every local authority I can find and putting in requests for the docs, but so far it’s been nothing but phone tag and extended hold times and transfers to different departments and emails that go nowhere. Point is, I’m working on it. So trust that when Idoget a hold of someone who knows what they’re doing—”
“Do they know who you are? The Bellanti name—”
“Means nothing to a sleepy records clerk in a tiny village in Castiglione della Pescaia. Swear to Christ, Dante, I’m doing absolutely everything I can. Barring a flight to Italy to go pick up the document myself, which I’ll certainly take under consideration. I could use a vacation.”
“Ha ha,” I say dryly.
“And now, I have a question for you.” He eyes me steadily and I feel like I’m about to get my ass chewed. “Will Frankie be staying in the guesthouse indefinitely?”
I cut my brother a harsh look, hoping it will shut him up, but he just raises his brows.
“I’m not trying to get involved,” he says mildly. “But I need to know if I should be paying the domestic staff extra to take care of her needs as well, or if I should hire new people. The guesthouse isn’t exactly close to the main house, and it isn’t fair to the staff to expect—”
I get to my feet because I can’t sit any longer. “Do whatever it fucking takes to keep her out of my life. She’s not allowed back in the main house, period.”
“Understood,” Armani says, scribbling something down, his tone carefully neutral.
My emotions are showing through, dammit, but if I can’t trust Armani, who can I trust?
“And listen to me when I say, steer clear of Candi Gallagher,” I warn. “Don’t ever fall in love. Women will betray you every single time.”
He crosses his hands on the desk. His mouth twitches as if he’s holding back a smile.
“So you do love her,” he asks, not really asking.
“Of course I don’t,” I say, poker face in place again.
With that, I storm out, slamming the door behind me.
I head to my own office and lock myself inside, throwing myself into emails and calls, but my attempts to get lost in work quickly fail. My mind keeps straying to Frankie in that motel room. I curse myself for impulsively following her there.
Irritated, I stare at the wall across from my desk. The couch still has an indent in the cushion, the blanket balled up in a wad from when she spent the night in here. My brain conjures up unbidden memories of her lying there, the soft flush on her face as she sleepily watched me enter the room. The way her neckline dipped low, revealing the soft curve of her luscious breast.
I’d fucked her on that couch. My cock stirs at the memory; I adjust myself to keep my pants from pinching. She climbed onto my lap while I sat there, hiking up her skirt, spreading her thighs wide so she could sink down and take me whole in one thrust.
