“Second cousin. I barely know him.” That wasn’t entirely true. Alex and Cesare had been friends as boys, when their parents had summered together in the Alps. But Cesare’s parents being what they were, and Alex’s parents being what they were, it didn’t last long before the summer dissolved into bickering, shouting and drunken accusations of adultery.
But before that, for a few weeks, Cesare had been the older brother Alex had always wanted. While his real brother Thomas ignored or bullied him, his much older cousin had been gruffly kind, taking Alex fishing, skipping rocks across the lake, biking. Looking back, it had been the best summer of his life.
After that, he didn’t see Cesare for years. The man had been busy building his hotel empire, and later, Alex had heard he’d gotten scandalously married to some American maid or housekeeper or something like that.
But by then, Alex’s parents and older brother had died, and his sister was living in Antarctica. Alex had retreated into his own pursuit of winemaking. It was easier to think of himself as having no family than remember the one summer when he had.
Cesare had come to his family’s funerals, but the two men hadn’t spoken much. And Alex had invited him to his wedding, of course. The man was powerful, not to mention a prince, so Chiara had begged to include him. Why not?
At first, when he’d seen Cesare across the grand ballroom during the wedding reception, Alex had been honestly glad to see him again.
Then he’d met Cesare’s wife, Emma, the lovely dark-haired woman looking up at her husband with eyes glowing with love. He’d seen Cesare’s two children, a toddler and a fat, chortling baby, both of whom clung to their father. He’d seen the way Cesare circled his family with his powerful arms, loving them back with all his heart, strength and devotion.
Then Alex had looked at his own new bride. Chiara had been drunk before she’d even spoken her vows, and avoided being near him as much as possible, including at their reception. And something had cracked inside him.
He’d spoken to Cesare and his family politely at the reception that day—but only just. And ever since, he’d avoided them. He’d evaded Cesare’s attempts at organizing get-togethers, ignored Princess Emma Falconeri’s chirpy Christmas cards, full of happy pictures of their growing family, and handwritten notes: “Alex, we’d love to see you!”
As if he’d ever want to visit their home at Lake Como, to see what Cesare had become. All that sloppy, ridiculous happiness. It was obscene. It wouldn’t last. Any moment now, the man’s marriage, his family, would all fall apart, devolving into screams and accusations and plates exploding against walls. It would. Because it always did.
Brooding, Alex stared out at the last of the Alps flying past them.
“You’re not close to your cousin?” Rosalie sounded disappointed.
“Second cousin,” he repeated stiffly, “and no. Not since we were boys. He’s busy. He runs a large company. He has a
wife. Children.”
“I’d think that would make you want to see him more, not less.”
“It doesn’t,” Alex said shortly.
She waited patiently for him to explain. He didn’t.
Narrowing her eyes, Rosalie looked at him, almost as if she could see into his soul. He shifted uncomfortably in his cushioned chair. Luckily, they were interrupted by the second course.
She took a bite of lobster in butter and gasped, closing her eyes at the taste. She licked her plate before the waiter took it. Which almost made him gasp.
Next, the main course was served, beef in truffle sauce and fingerling potatoes. Alex noted the delicious flavor indifferently. The tantalizing pleasure he truly wanted was the woman sitting across from him at the table. The woman now moaning softly in pleasure as she ate.
A silent curse went through him. To distract her, he reintroduced the conversation. “Cesare and I have hardly seen each other since my childhood.”
Rosalie blinked, slowly pulling the fork from her mouth. It nearly made him groan aloud. “But he lives so close to Venice.”
“They are often in London and Rome. He came to my sister’s funeral three years ago. And my wedding a month later.”
“I’m so sorry about your sister.” She paused. “You were married just a month after her funeral?”
Again she waited; again, he didn’t explain. He said only, “My second cousin and I lead very different lives.”
She looked at him narrowly as the train hummed around them, and the dappled sunlight shone briefly on his face.
“But still,” she said finally, “you’re family.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Of course it does.”
Alex shrugged. “Just because someone is family doesn’t mean they can’t also be strangers.”