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“I know, I know. But we’ve been a little busy with the wedding planning,” I say, and before she launches into a scolding, I push Rowan in front of me. “Gia, this is my fiancé, Rowan.”
“Hello,” he says awkwardly as the handful of customers glance up at the commotion. “It’s nice to meet—oof.”
A string of Italian and English jumbles together as she flings her arms around him. At just under five-feet, Gia looks comically tiny compared to him, and I hide a full-blown smile behind my hand when he looks at me, panic-stricken.
“We’re looking for someone to cater our wedding, and of course, you’re the first person I thought of. If it’s not too much trouble, do you think we could sample a few things from the menu?” Then, because I know she will, I say, “Don’t go out of your way or anything. I just want him to get a taste.”
“My sweet. It would be the honor of a lifetime.” She roughly pats Rowan’s cheeks. “Come. Sit! Let me feed you.”
Gia guides us to a private booth near the kitchen and puts her fingers to her lips, whistling loudly. “Antonio! Give our girl and her handsome man the works.”
He winks at me through the serving window. “You got it.”
We spend the next hour sampling appetizers, entrees, and soups until we’re begging Gia for mercy.
When she comes back with a giant slice of cake for us to share, Rowan laughs. “Dear god, woman, you’re trying to kill us.” Sitting back, he tosses his napkin onto the table. “I can’t take another bite.”
There’s a proud gleam in her eye when she turns to me. “I’ll bag it up for you to enjoy together later.”
I relax against the worn red leather, grinning like an idiot. “Well, it’s no Château de Montagne, but it damn sure hits the spot, doesn’t it?”
“I haven’t had a home-style meal like this in a very long time.” He’s thoughtful for a moment, the clattering of dishes from the back and soft murmurs of those around us filling the gap. “Lucas used to love cooking things like this with Dad. I guess that’s one of the things I miss the most.”
“Their cooking?”
I watch the way his face changes any time he speaks about his brothers. How he frowns a little less, speaks a little bolder and with more energy. “The messes.”
“Well, I think my dad and I more than make up for that with the sawdust trails we leave around the manor.” It’s a fragile attempt to lighten his mood, and my chest tightens when it works. “I imagine all our racket makes you especially prickly.”
He flicks his stormy eyes up at me. “It doesn’t bother me, really.”
I fiddle with the tip of my napkin, trying, and failing, not to let those words settle into spots they’re not allowed to be. “All right, I’m curious. Obviously, this isn’t either of our dream weddings, but I want to know what yours would look like if it was exactly what you wanted.”
He absently twirls his fork, balancing it on one prong on top of the tablecloth. “I’m not sure.”
“Rowan. You’re filthy rich. You could have a wedding in the Bahamas, Italy, or… I don’t know, outer space, probably.” I rest my chin on the tips of my thumbs, my elbows on the table. “Gimme the deets.”
My smile falls when he directs his attention toward the opposite wall, where a slew of framed photos of customers, and even a handful of celebrities, takes up nearly every inch of space. Even Mom has a spot up there.
“I gave up dreams of being married and having a family of my own a long time ago.”
“Why?” I whisper, aching at the longing in his voice.
“For most of my life, protecting my brothers and our business has been my sole priority. I’ve had relationships, but they fizzle out over time for one reason or another.” He drags his gaze back to mine, freezing me in place. “You’re likely the only wife I’ll ever have.”
My heart slams against my ribs. I like the idea of being his only wife, and that single thought terrifies me. But more than that, I can’t believe he’s willing to live a life of solitude. And for what? Because he became a pseudo-father at one point in his life? Because he loves his job so damn much?
After our talk in the study and seeing the way he spoke about his desire for a family, I’m not buying that.
“Bullshit,” I say.
“Excuse me?”
A sliver of disappointment coats my voice. “You said you weren’t a liar, but to me, hiding behind excuses counts.” His spine straightens the longer I search his face. “You can’t deny yourself your biggest dream for the sake of others, Rowan.”
His jaw sets, but for once, he doesn’t offer a smart remark.
“All right, my love birds,” Gia coos when she returns with a bag of fresh bread sticks and one for the cake.
