Decadent (Dirty Sexy Rich 3)

Alessandra pulled away, her scowl apparent in the moonlight. “You’re wrong. People are not replaceable and you are a bigger fool than I realized if you truly believe that. Do you think for a moment I wouldn’t give anything to have my brother back? To have him by my side as a team in this business? I would do it in a heartbeat. Wealth can be rebuilt. People cannot.”

I realized my error and tried to make amends. “You’re right. I spoke too quickly. That was in poor form. I would never try to imply that someone you loved could be replaced. I was speaking more to the workforce, not family connections. As much as I’m annoyed by both of my brothers, I love them and wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to either of them.”

I thought I’d done a pretty good job of patching my gaffe but her scowl had melted into troubled silence. I reached for her but she stiffened and pulled away. “Sometimes the words that drop from our mouths without thought are our true thoughts and feelings without the mask of polite expectation,” she said.

I sat up, my frown matching hers. “That’s bullshit. Sometimes we say things without realizing how insensitive it might sound but realize after the fact that we should’ve clarified.”

But she shook her head. “Dante, you’re wrong. You’ve spent your life playing a part. How can you possibly know your own heart? You value nothing. You’ve been taught to reject anything that doesn’t have a direct dollar value. What about love? How do you put a price tag on that?”

I should’ve tempered my tongue but the odd chord between us had set me on a reckless path. I’d never felt defensive about my views because I’d never cared about the opinions of others; but for some reason I cared about Alessandra’s opinion of me. Her obvious disappointment sharpened my voice.

“Love is a social construct based on a chemical reaction in the brain,” I answered. “I’d say, enjoy it while it lasts but don’t do anything that will put your livelihood in jeopardy. Case in point, I tried to get my brothers to have their wives sign a prenup but they were too blinded by their feelings to press it. Now, when that chemical reaction fades and, heaven forbid, their wives decide they don’t want to be married to them anymore, it’s going to cost our family a shit-ton of money to be free of them.”

“What makes you think their wives will tire of them?” she asked, shaking her head. “Love isn’t so fickle.”

“The current divorce rate would disagree,” I returned smoothly. “Nothing is forever but death and taxes.”

“You have a cold heart, Dante Donato,” she said.

There was something about the quiet way she delivered her assessment that cut me to the core. It wasn’t the first time I’d been accused of being cold but hearing it from her lips was something I wasn’t prepared for.

I stiffened as I put distance between us. “I like to think of it as practical.”

“Doesn’t change what it is. If you continue on this path, you will end up bitter, angry and alone.”

How many times had angry lovers thrown that very sentiment in my face? Too many, but this time I couldn’t seem to laugh it off. “I’m flattered that you care about my future self.”

“You make jokes but I’m not laughing. You are incredible in bed but you are woefully inadequate when it comes to being a human.”

I sat up, freshly irritated. “Not many people would dare to say that to me.”

“Why not? Because you are so important? Because you are wealthy? Because they are afraid of bruising your delicate ego?”

Probably all of the above. “Because I don’t tolerate people disrespecting me,” I answered.

“It’s not disrespect, it’s honesty. Maybe that’s part of your problem. People are afraid to tell you what you need to hear. Surrounding yourself with people who will simply nod and tell you what you want to hear won’t do you any good. We all need someone who is willing to tell us the straight truth if we hope to evolve.”

Evolve? Once I’d dated a yoga instructor who charged crystals by the light of the full moon. She’d said something similar as I’d walked out the door, leaving behind her New Age bullshit and losing her number. “You’ve got your opinion and I’ve got mine. I told you I like who I am. My desire for improvement isn’t as needy as yours.”

“I am not needy.” Her laughter at my veiled criticism made me feel small and petty. “I feel sorry for you. You’re dooming yourself to a lifetime of disappointment. You can’t pour from an empty cup. You seek validation in the all the wrong places.”

“Says you,” I muttered. When did this turn into a Dr. Phil session? I tossed the blankets aside and strode to the bathroom, needing a little space. Couldn’t we go back to the wild monkey sex and forget all this psychobabble bullshit?

Things had been going so well. They say that when words make you defensive, they’ve struck a chord, possibly a little too closely to the truth. If that were true, Alessandra must’ve hit the bull’s-eye because I was humming with irritation. I wanted to lash out, to prove her wrong, to show her that she was off base with her assessment, but I also didn’t want to ruin what progress I’d made by popping off in anger. I needed to stay close to her if I wanted my hands on the winery.

Even as I thought it, I knew that wasn’t entirely true. Something was shifting between us, and it confused the hell out of me. I didn’t want to admit that I wanted to keep close for other reasons. Ones I wasn’t willing to explore too deeply.

If I wanted Alessandra to trust me, I had to swallow whatever ire I was choking on and make amends. Washing my hands, I made a mental note to calm down and do exactly that, but as I exited the bathroom, my mouth full of pretty words meant to placate, I found the room empty.

Alessandra had left.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Alessandra

I WASN’T GOING to stay with Dante after that ridiculous speech. I was surrounded by machismo in my line of work but hearing Dante cover his feelings with that same useless veneer was more than I could stomach.

I wanted him to be better than that, although I didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if I was hoping for some kind of future together but I couldn’t explain how deep my disappointment went at his reveal.

My eyes stung with grit. I hadn’t slept well after returning to my apartment. I blamed Dante. What was done was done, though. Time to march forward. I made it to the office early, thankfully before Como, and started work. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to Como’s jealous sniping at the moment.

But as luck would have it, Como called in sick, and I was grateful for the silence in the office. If I was perturbed that Dante hadn’t tried to call, it was a mild distraction and nothing more.

It was nearing lunch when my nonno popped his head in. I smiled in welcome surprise at my grandfather’s unexpected appearance. I rose and pressed a kiss on each cheek. “What mischief are you up to?” I asked, my heart filled with love for the old man. “Does Martina know you’re out and about?” My grandfather’s nurse kept a sharp eye on him, though they doted on each other.

“No, and I don’t need you squealing on me either,” he answered, his chin proud even as he leaned on his ornate cane. “I came to enjoy lunch with my favorite girl and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, smiling. “And where are we going for lunch?”

“My favorite place, of course.”

My heart swelled with pride and my eyes threatened to fill. I knew exactly where he wanted to go and he’d likely already made all the arrangements. My nonno might not be the spry young man he used to be but he still managed to get things done.

I linked my arm happily through his and we made our way out of the manor and onto the south side of the vineyard, where Nonno had had a gazebo built in Enzo’s honor. As we approached the gazebo, I saw that a full luncheon spread had been prepared and set out for our arrival. I nudged his arm, saying in a conspiratorial tone, “Methinks you have

Martina wrapped around your finger. There’s no way you managed all this on your own.”