Best Man for the Bridesmaid

He certainly didn’t know what to make of Julianne—erm—Jules. Lizzie hadn’t given any hints that her sister was so different from her in every way. Lizzie was tall, fair and blonde; Jules was the opposite. She was shorter in stature with dark brown hair in twin ponytails and long sweeping bangs that she brushed off to the side.

Realizing he was staring, he said, “We should get moving. Lizzie should be done with her meeting when we get there.”

“Get where?” Jules eyed him as though she wasn’t planning to budge.

She didn’t trust him. It was a new experience for him. There had been a time in his life when he didn’t have a problem putting the female persuasion at ease. But he wasn’t exactly acting like the old smooth-talking guy he used to be. Things had changed a lot in recent years.

Combine that with his concerns over his younger brother’s sudden wedding announcement and the fact that he’d been elected to play chauffeur today without so much as waiting for him to agree and he was left feeling out of sorts.

Stefano swallowed down his agitation and tried to soften his tone. “I’m dropping you off at Dante’s place, Ristorante Massimo. It’s not that far from here.”

She gave him one last hard look as though making up her mind about him. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get moving.”

He reached for her suitcase but then hesitated, recalling how she’d expressed her desire to remain independent. He returned his hand to his side as she extended the handle on her luggage. He merely shook his head and turned away. His lack of understanding where women were concerned had cost him dearly not so long ago. Since then he’d learned to refrain from flirting with them. Relationships were a thing of the past for him.

So then why did he find Jules so intriguing? He couldn’t help casting her the occasional glance. It had to be her pigtails. Did grown women really wear those? He smiled. They did look cute on her.

But it was the butterfly that kept him distracted. He pictured it in his mind’s eye. He had to admit that he’d never been intrigued by a tattoo before. His late wife had had a fear of needles, so getting any sort of body art wasn’t even a possibility. And they’d lived out in the country where that sort of thing wasn’t popular in the nearby village.

When his shoulder collided with someone, he glanced up. “Scusi.”

He could feel Jules’s gaze on him, but he pretended not to notice. He wasn’t about to let on that her little butterfly had him distracted to the point of not watching where he was walking. After all, he was a DeFiore. DeFiores didn’t allow themselves to be distracted.

Once they were situated in his sleek black luxury sedan, which he only used when escorting around special guests of the DeFiore Vineyard, he turned to Jules. Her body was stiff and her hands were clasped in her lap. He supposed that was to be expected. He hadn’t exactly made her feel welcome. He really needed to try harder. After all, it was important to Dante that this visit go well.

Stefano was about to say something when that darn butterfly once again snagged his attention. It rose and fell with her every breath. He was being ridiculous. It was just an inconsequential tattoo—that teased and taunted him.

He turned and stared blindly out the windshield. “Is this your first trip to Rome?”

“Yes, it is.” Jules turned to him, but he kept his gaze directly ahead. “What happened? I mean, Lizzie was supposed to pick me up.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“No. My phone battery died, so I haven’t been able to talk to her.”

This was his chance to see what Jules thought of the impending nuptials. He was curious to see if she thought they were a bit rushed. “When Dante called, he said that the announcement of their engagement made a big splash with the paparazzi, and the studio heads wanted to figure out how to work the wedding into an upcoming show.”

“What does their wedding have to do with a cooking show?”

“My thoughts exactly. Maybe it’ll delay the wedding.”

“Why would you say that?” Suspicion laced every syllable.

This is where he had to move carefully. He sensed Jules’s defenses kicking into gear, and he didn’t blame her. He’d react the same way if he thought someone was about to jeopardize his brother’s happiness.

Again Jules’s taunting butterfly came to mind as well as her different taste in clothes. Something told him that she wasn’t a traditionalist like his family was. Maybe she was one of those live-on-a-whim types? Even if it meant letting people set themselves up to get hurt?

Like he’d done to himself.

Like he’d done to his late wife.