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“You want a drink?”
Romeo shakes his head. “She’s all set.”
No way. I need a drink. “Romeo, I do want—” Something stops me from defying him right here, in front of all these people. I know he wouldn’t like it, and I don’t know if talking back to him in the possible presence of Narciso is a good idea.
“Tell me what you want,” he says. “What’s your drink, Vittoria?”
My lips feel suddenly parched and dry. I run my tongue along them. “Surprise me.” My voice sounds husky and flirtatious.
Who am I? Here, under this roof, dressed in luxury clothing, in the presence of this family, I feel almost as if I’ve become someone else. Like the gown itself transformed me.
What if I step outside and find that all that glitters isn’t gold.
As Romeo heads to the bar, everyone in front of him parts, giving him a wide berth. I wonder if that should scare me. Is it respect? Or fear? Or both?
He tugs me along. All eyes in the room are on me, and I’m not sure I like it. Not sure I don’t, though.
The bartender, a stocky man with a shaved head, smiles at Romeo.
“What can I get you, sir?”
I feel a strange sense of jealousy. I’m the one that calls him sir.
Where did that come from?
“A glass of house Merlot, please.” The bartender looks to me, then looks at Romeo’s hand on my arm. “And for the lady?”
“Just the one glass of Merlot, please.”
I watch as the bartender pours a generous drink into something that looks like I could bathe in. Romeo nods his head in thanks, then turns to me.
“Don’t we have to tip him?” I whisper.
“Babe,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. “He works for me.”
Of course. My cheeks flush. Romeo takes a sip, then hands it to me.
“Take a sip,” he says quietly, so only I hear. “Drink from the very same place I sipped just now, Vittoria.” There’s a firm insistence to his tone that isn’t like his request for a certain dress. He isn’t playing. This time, I don’t ignore him.
I sip, my lips touching where his did. It’s slightly tangy, rich and sweet, and I feel it warm straight down my throat to the tips of my toes. When I hand the wineglass back to Romeo, I see cold eyes staring at me from across the room.
I reach for Romeo’s hand. “He’s here,” I whisper.
“Who, bella?”
“Your father.”
“Of course he is. Just trust me.” Romeo tucks my arm through his and holds me to him. Then he lifts his glass and clears his throat. “I’d like to propose a toast.” The room goes quiet as all eyes come to us. “For me and my future bride.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!” Romeo and Juliet
Romeo
I haven’t seen my father this furious since Rosa’s wedding, and that’s saying something. He gave himself an actual stroke, and we had to find a doctor in Tuscany to tend to him. He spent ten days in the hospital.
But goddamn, I’ve had it with his bullying. I’m so fucking ready to take this throne and this crown to end the tyranny he’s had over this family for decades, I’m half convinced forcing marriage on Vittoria’s the right decision.
I don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, and if I’m honest, considering how another person outside this family feels is not something I usually concern myself with. But fuck if she isn’t making my job harder.
Tavi walks up to us, another drink in hand. “If looks could fuckin’ kill, brother,” he says with a look halfway between a grimace and a smile.
“Tell me about it.” I take another sip of wine, then hand it back to Vittoria. She sips where I did. Tavi nods slowly.
Rossi family tradition is steeped in superstition; stories passed down through the generations are told since infancy. Lips that touch the same wine glass are destined to be joined again. It’s a small gesture, but it can’t hurt.
Orlando joins us next, already half toasted. The top buttons of his shirt are open, and he’s lost the tie and cummerbund. They weren’t sure there’d be a wedding tonight and weren’t surprised when I told them not yet, but if I know my brothers, they’re here for the food anyway.
A waiter walks by with a tray of canapés. Orlando takes the entire tray and thanks him. “I’ll take this off your hands,” he says, piling three of them on top of the other before shoving them in his mouth.
“Oh, what are those?” Vittoria asks, running her tongue along her lips. My dick tightens. Fuck, I need this woman.
“Peach and prosciutto canapés,” Orlando says, holding the tray closer to himself as if to warn her not to touch them. My brothers don’t share women or food.
