Decadent (Dirty Sexy Rich 3)

I shuddered, imagining his puppy dog eyes being similar to Como’s. “I’d rather not. He is a smart man, he’ll figure it out. Eventually.” I cast an inquisitive look Sophia’s way. “So what did you think of Alberico?”

She shrugged but looked away to gaze at the passing scenery. “He was very polite. A gentleman, which is a nice change from the men I’ve met as of late.”

“Yes, he is very polite,” I agreed, wondering if Alberico and Sophia were a far better match than he and I ever could be. Alberico had a genteel sense about him that matched Sophia’s refinement and while there might never be fireworks between those two, they would probably manage to make each other very happy. I would have to explore that possibility later.

We let the conversation end, content to finish the ride in silence as we chewed on our own thoughts. By the time we arrived at the tasting, we were both ready to put the conversation behind us.

No one knew at the tasting that the wine was mine. I had purposefully arranged for the bottles to arrive with fake labels and no one at the tasting room was aware that I was the owner of Uva Persa, nor did anyone know my voice as I had Como arrange the tasting.

As far as anyone knew, I was simply another person looking to enjoy a new wine in a beautiful atmosphere.

The tasting room was small, elegant and extremely stylish, as were the patrons. This wasn’t a tourist trap by any means, and while I recognized a few faces, smiled in greeting to a few, they were all content to stay within their own groups to enjoy the day.

We accepted our glasses with plates of fragrant cheese and crackers and went outside to the terrace, which overlooked Florence. Old-world charm intersected with the hustle of modern life, and we toasted to our friendship.

Although trying to appear nonchalant about her reaction to the wine, I was watching so keenly it hurt to breathe. I sipped the blend, my taste buds reacting to the bold wine, tasting the ancient tenerone grapes and smiling above the rim with pride. “Well?” I asked, trying for a natural smile. “What do you think?”

Sophia’s brow dipped in thought as she considered her answer, taking the time to really savor the flavor and texture, just as a true connoisseur would. Her opinion meant a lot to me, not only as my best friend but as someone who knew wine. “This is incredible,” she finally said, yet seemed perplexed. “I can’t quite put my finger on the blend. I’ve never tasted anything like this. This is a Chianti?”

I nodded, my excitement building. “It’s quite unique,” I agreed, pretending to ponder the blend. “Do you like it?”

Sophia’s delight was like sunlight to my soul. “It’s delicious. I love it.” She swirled the liquid, inhaling the bouquet. “This might be my new favorite,” she said before twisting around to see if she could find an advertisement for the label. “What is it called?”

“Um, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it,” I lied.

“Well, it’s fantastic. Mama would love this.”

A weight fell from my shoulders and for the first time in a long time I felt I could breathe. It was true that Uva Persa could still fail, but somehow gaining Sophia’s unwitting approval was the reassurance I needed to push forward with renewed vigor.

“Are you all right?” Sophia asked, her smile quizzical. “You have a funny look on your face.”

I decided to come clean. “The wine is called Uva Persa,” I shared with a smile. “And it is a secret project of mine under the Castello di Baroni label, but for today I have a fake label on the bottle.”

Sophia’s amazement made me giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush. Her eyes widened. “I can’t believe you never told me. Why is it a secret?”

I carefully set down my glass. “Five years ago I planted a secret vineyard with my nonno with tenerone grapes to create a new blend using ancient varietals, and this—” I gestured to the glass “—is the fruit of that labor.”

“It’s amazing,” Sophia said, the admiration in her eyes making me blush. “I am always in awe of how incredible you are, but today I am speechless. How did you convince your father to do this?”

“I didn’t. My father doesn’t know. Only my grandfather and I invested. I put everything I had into this project, and using the Baroni label is going to either ruin us or send us straight into the future of winemaking. It’s really an all-or-nothing venture and I’m terrified.”

But Sophia knew just what to say to ease my fears. “I used to worry that Enzo would live only in our memories. Not so. He is here in spirit beside you, guiding you. This is right. You were right to take this chance. I believe in you and your vision.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear that validation, but the choking sensation as my throat closed was proof enough that I wasn’t as tough as I liked to pretend. Sophia wrapped me in a tight hug and whispered, “I am so proud of you and I know Enzo would be, too,” and I bawled openly.

So much for a dignified outing.

Oh well, it was worth it.

“And now I need a refill,” Sophia announced, smiling with tears in her eyes as she went in search of the bottle, leaving me to wipe my face and collect myself. I watched her leave, my heart light except for the shadow of lingering fear that I still had one dragon to slay before I could fully celebrate.

I had to find a way to break the news to my father before the launch, which was approaching faster than I was prepared for emotionally.

Dante would say I am the boss, therefore I could make any decision I deemed appropriate for the business, but the Baroni family wasn’t like Dante’s.

We knew people weren’t replaceable and hurting those we loved—even for decisions we deemed right—still left a mark.

I could only hope my father saw the promise of a new dawn instead of the sadness of a sinking sunset with my decision.

Sophia returned with a bottle and filled both our glasses to toast boldly, “To Uva Persa.”

“To Uva Persa,” I murmured.

Please don’t fail me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Dante

I HAD TO make amends with Alessandra. It wouldn’t serve my purpose to have her scowling whenever my face popped up, but chasing after a woman wasn’t my strong suit. Women usually chased me.

If she were an ordinary woman, I’d send an obscene bouquet of flowers in an effusive display of wealth and seemingly considerate attention to win her over, but Alessandra would find that gauche and annoying. Jewelry wasn’t an option either. She had her own wealth, and she could buy her own trinkets.

The key to Alessandra was to keep her guessing, keep her on her toes—whether through bone-melting orgasms or unusual escapades, such as the cooking course—but a little groveling wouldn’t be amiss.

No woman could resist the temptation of hearing a man say those fateful words “I’m sorry” or alternatively “I was wrong,” so I’d go prepared to drop either of those bombs into the conversation.

Assuming she didn’t kick me out of her office.

Or that sulking office assistant of hers didn’t have me arrested for stepping foot on the property.

It was easy to see that her assistant was head over heels in love with her, even if she couldn’t see it or tried to deny it. Lord help me if I was ever so stupid as to fall in love with a woman who wanted someone else.

I showed up at the manor and bypassed the common area reserved for guests and customers to go straight to the office quarters, but not before taking a moment to appreciate the sturdy architecture of the manor. Seeing as my ancestors put this block of rock together and it’d held up for hundreds of years, I took a certain amount of pride in ownership, even if our contribution ended almost as long ago.

Still counted.

I rapped on the doorjamb, peeked inside the office and found Alessandra, head down, dressed with an elegant casual style that could’ve come straight from the

runway to this moment without losing a second in grace. God, she was beautiful. I must’ve lost myself for a moment but the moment was interrupted rudely by her assistant clearing his throat and glaring. “You seem to feel quite comfortable coming and going where you’ve not been invited,” he said.

At that Alessandra glanced up and our gazes locked. I could tell she wanted to be angry—those twin spots of color flashing in her cheeks gave her away—but she wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire because it was unprofessional. “Can I help you?” she asked, ignoring her assistant’s jab. “I’m quite busy so if you don’t have anything of importance to share, I’ll kindly ask you to leave.”

I caught her assistant’s silent triumph and I wanted to laugh. The game wasn’t over by a long shot. I always got what I wanted. Today, I wanted Alessandra to forgive me. “I missed you yesterday.”

Alessandra’s glare turned frosty. “I have work to do.”

“Walk with me,” I suggested, and her assistant muttered something in Italian that was probably very unflattering toward me. I pushed off the door frame and came in without an invitation. “Look, I’ll do this right in front of your guy but I’d rather have some privacy.”