Passion (In Wilde Country 2)

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It means that announcement about a party tonight and maybe you’d meet the woman of your dreams were the straws that broke the camel’s back.”

“Ridiculous,” Matteo said.

Luca folded his arms. Matteo folded his. After a couple of seconds, he groaned and gave up the defiant posture.

“Cristo! Was I that obvious?”

“Too much for you, mio fratello? All that domestic bliss?”

“Hell. I was that obvious!”

Luca relented enough to grin. “Only to me… and, maybe to every other man in the room. We’ve all been there before, you know. Convinced that we need no one, that love is nonsense.”

“Look, Luca, it isn’t that I’m not happy for you—”

“You think love is an illusion.”

Matteo thought of denying it, but what was the point?

“You used to think the same thing.”

“Si. I did.”

“And then—and then you changed.”

Luca smiled. “I met Cheyenne.”

“That’s what I mean. You met a woman and… Don’t get me wrong,” Matteo added quickly. “She’s beautiful. She’s smart. She makes you happy. But—”

“But, why on earth would I get married?”

Matteo sighed. “You’re going to tell me it’s because you fell in love with her.”

Luca chuckled. “You see? I knew you had a brain somewhere inside that head.”

“But love is—it is—”

“Back to where we began. You think love is a joke.”

“No,” Matteo said grimly, “I don’t think it, I know it. Did our father love the women he married? We both know the answer to that. He did not, or he would not have caused them so much pain.”

“He didn’t mean to cause them pain,” Luca said gently. “And I’d bet he did love them, in his own way.”

“He knew he lied to them. Are you saying that didn’t hurt them?”

“This is hardly the time for an existential discussion of pain felt and pain perceived.”

“There’s nothing existential about love having all the staying power of—of—” Matteo bent down, snatched up a handful of snow, spread his fingers and let the wind carry it away. “Of snow. And if that isn’t enough, think about all the people we know whose ‘I do’s’ have turned into ‘I do not’s’ before the ink is fully dry on their wedding licenses.” He paused. “Luca. I wish only the best for you and Cheyenne, but—

“But you don’t want to see me get hurt.”

“Yes.”

“Or perhaps,” Luca said softly, “perhaps you saw something these last few days that made you wonder if being alone is all you’ve told yourself it is.”

That made Matteo laugh. After a couple of seconds, Luca laughed, too.

“Okay. Forget I said that. The perennial bachelor. That’s you.”

“Yes. Absolutely. But I—I want you to know I’m pulling for you and Cheyenne.”

Luca grinned. “Well, that’s something.”

“I mean it. I hope it works. It’s just not for me, you understand? This love and marriage thing. Definitely, not for me.”

“Sure.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“It isn’t what I believe that matters, brother. It’s what life has in store for you.”

“Man, you sound like that old lady in Palermo. Remember her? The one who claimed she could read the future by letting a drop of olive oil fall into a bowl of water.”

“Except I’m not dressed in head-to-toe black.”

“You don’t have hair growing out of your ears, either.”

Both men grinned. Bad moment averted, Matteo thought, and clapped his brother on the back.

“It was good spending these last few days together,” he said, and meant every word.

Luca nodded. “Absolutely. But if you’re leaving, you’d better do it now. The wind’s picking up, and the snow is getting heavier.”

“Don’t worry about me, mio fratello. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will.”

The brothers moved into a quick embrace. Matteo got into the truck, closed the door and stabbed the key into the ignition. The engine purred; he shifted into gear and started down the long driveway, checking his brother’s image in the mirror, watching it grow smaller and smaller.

Amazing, that Luca should think he might be missing something by not letting himself get caught up in the idiocy people called love.

Matteo snorted. “Never,” he said. “Absolutely never.”

When he glanced in the mirror again, Luca’s image had been lost in the blowing snow.

CHAPTER TWO

As soon as he reached the highway, the old jokes about good news and bad news became reality.

The good news? Traffic was light.

The bad news? It was light for a reason.

The storm had changed from Christmas-card perfect to intimidating. The snowfall was steady and heavy, and even with the windshield wipers going at top speed, visibility wasn’t great.

Matteo had deliberately acted unconcerned about the weather, but he wasn’t a fool. He was an excellent driver, but this kind of storm changed things. It changed things for flying, too. Would the plane he’d chartered to take him to and from Texas be able to take off?

He took his iPhone from his pocket and called his pilot, who answered on the first ring.

“Yessir?”

“Change of plans,” Matteo said. “I’m on my way to the airport. We need to fly out ASAP. How bad’s the weather there?”

“Let me check and get right back to you.”

He did, less than five minutes later. They had a one, maybe a one and a half hour window to get out before things got, as he put it, tricky.

“Does that work for you, Mr. Bellini?”

It didn’t. Not really. Under normal conditions, the drive would take just about that long. Now, with the snow…

Matteo drummed his fingers against the steering wheel of the Silverado.

He could always turn back, hole up at El Sueño the way the entire family had suggested.

“Mr. Bellini?”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you in—” Marco checked his watch. “In an hour.”

Hell, he thought, as he checked his mirrors, why not? He was a good driver. Good? Why be modest? He owned Lamborgh

inis and Ferraris, and he often drove them on roads that made the one ahead look like a well-maintained autobahn.

The only question was, how much speed could get from a truck?

Matteo grinned.

There was only one way to find out, he thought, and he pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

* * *

He made Dallas in time, if just barely.

The storm had strengthened. His was the last plane off the ground before the control tower shut things down, but except for some bumpy air over Oklahoma, the weather was good all the way to La Guardia airport.

By mid-afternoon, he was home.

Home was a two-level penthouse on Central Park West. He’d yet to fully furnish it, but it held the requisites a man who led a busy life required. The master suite was comfortable, the workout room contained the necessary equipment he needed to keep in shape, and the massive kitchen freezer was always stocked with meals prepared by his housekeeper.

He’d bought the place only a few months ago after representing a client who’d purchased a unit in the building.

Matteo had never thought of himself as a homeowner. Real estate was something you bought for investment purposes. Yes, he owned a house in the islands. Actually, he owned an island, but that was vacation property. It was simpler to own such a place than to have to think about where to go those rare times he could fit a break in his schedule and get away for a few days.

But owning actual real estate, a place to call home, had never been for him. Ownership implied a sense of permanence, and permanence wasn’t his thing. He’d been perfectly happy renting an apartment on the Upper East Side, until the day he’d met his client at the building on Central Park West.

The building was forty stories tall and housed thirty-eight condos.

The penthouse took up the top two floors.

On a whim, he’d asked to see it

It was—there was no other word suitable—magnificent.

The floor plan was open, the ceilings high. The walls were almost entirely glass. Matteo had felt as if he were standing in the sky. He’d experienced the same thing at Luca’s place, and there was no denying the sensation was electric.

Still, it was what had happened when he’d walked onto the wraparound terrace that had sealed the deal.