The knock on my door is brief before the door opens. Cesare nods at me. “Hey, what the hell is going on with Enzo? Is he for real?”
I snort as I shake my head. “Serious as a heart attack. He had me pouring myself a big-ass glass of scotch.” I stopped at one drink, and it wasn’t as hard as I was afraid it would be.
Shaking his head, Che runs his hand through his hair as he slumps into the chair in front of my desk. “I didn’t even know what to say.”
“You can’t do any worse than I did. I laughed. I was certain he was fucking with me. You don’t find a woman to marry as if you’re shopping in a catalog. I blame you and Alicia and your damn adorable kid. He changed his mind from no wife or kids to wanting the kids and he’ll take the wife if he has to.”
“I couldn’t believe him when he said it. If he finds a woman who matches him, then all the drama of love isn’t necessary. What the hell?”
“He’s nuts. It’s also classic Enzo. He’s always been focused on pluses and minuses. I’m sure it’s what made him such a good soldier. Enzo can be a machine, operating on thought rather than emotion. How is the way he’s now looking for a wife any different than how he looks for a company to invest in?”
“You know this is going to be a complete fucking disaster, right?”
“No doubt. But it’s like he said not even a week ago: as family, we do what we can to mitigate the mistakes and are there for him when he screws up. We make sure his prenup is so air-fucking-tight the bitch regrets ever meeting him when she screws him over. When it’s over we keep our mouths shut on we told you so, and we’ll likely end up in the ring with him to work out his anger.”
Che winces as he cups his cheek in memory of a blow landing from Enzo in one of their many sparring encounters in a ring. “It’s a good thing you put on more muscle. You’re going to need to get in the ring with him more. I have a family to go home to.”
“Fuck you, his hands are made out of concrete. I’ll get in there as many times as you do.”
His sigh is heavy. “Is there anything you think I could say to get him to rethink this?”
“With Enzo?” I give him a look, he knows Enzo as well as I do. “No. You could try turning Alicia loose on him. She probably won’t get him change his mind, but maybe he’ll slow his roll long enough for the chick he settles on to rethink things until he meets the right one.”
“I’ll consider it. You want to come by for dinner tonight?”
“No thanks, the drive back is killer. I’m going to wrap up soon, another twenty minutes or so then I’ll call it a week.”
“All right. But Sunday, you’re coming out. We’ll grill some steaks, you’ll play with Matteo, hang out with Alicia and Bethany.” It’s not an invitation.
“Yeah, okay. Sunday, I’ll be there.” I’m not going to argue with him.
I check the time; it’s only a little after five thirty. Damn, things have changed. It doesn’t matter it’s Friday, before Che fell for Alicia, at five thirty he’d only just be digging into work. Hell, even I wasn’t ready to call it a day until around six thirty or seven. With Alicia not working, he’s out the door earlier every day. I don’t resent it all, I’m happy for him.
I can understand Enzo’s motivation, even if I think he’s nuts for how he’s going about it. The idea of having someone at home waiting for you, a kid who’s so damn adorable your heart swells until it scares you when that baby smiles at you with happiness. Yeah, as I sat there listening in shock to Enzo lay out his plan to find a wife, I understood why. Watching Alicia and Che together over the last few years, I’ve felt moments of envy for what they have.
Pushing away from my desk, I’m done. I shut down for the day. As I have for the last three days, I push thoughts of Bethany away. Sunday will come soon enough. I wonder if it will look odd if I don’t offer to drive her to Che’s? The idea of spending an hour in a car with her there and back amounts to torture. Maybe she’ll want to drive herself. I hope so.
***
Bethany
I’m standing in front of the refrigerator wondering what in the world I want to eat. This should be easy, I’m starving, only nothing interests me. Nothing much has interested me over the last few days, stupid Dante Sabatini and his stupid dimples and big brown eyes and his stupid, stupid washboard abs.
Would he at least text me to thank me for the suit and shirt? I’ve missed his texts. I’ve missed him. It’s crazy to miss him after only a few days, but those late-night phone calls... I’ve never been so honest with someone, never had honesty returned. I also might miss his snappy comebacks and fighting with him.
Lord, I’m such a freak. All I was supposed to do was go in and put the suit and shirt in his bedroom. But nope, I wandered around his place for over an hour. I maybe climbed onto his bed and buried my face in his pillow, but only if it doesn’t sound as stalkerish as it felt when I realized what I was doing. It was pathetic the way I ran out of the condo to pick up the insanely priced suit and shirt when Claudine called to tell me they were ready. Good lord, seven thousand dollars? Most expensive cup of coffee ever. And one of the many reasons I’m not calling out for delivery, no matter how badly I don’t want to cook.
The alert goes off for the elevator from Cesare’s office. I close the refrigerator as I go tense. Pulling out my cell phone, I check my ringer. It’s loud enough I’ll hear it but not annoying. I’m staring at it, grumbling stomach ignored as I wait for the text I hope will come. I give up hope, then the doorbell rings, scaring the shit out of me.
I drop my phone with a wince-inducing clatter. I snatch it up off the floor; oh thank god, no cracks or even a scratch. With a shrug at what I’m wearing, I head for the door. I’m in silky lounge pants again, this time in pink, and a tight, thin white shirt, no bra. He deserves it. I look down to see my nipples are hard at the thought of him. Seriously? I run to my bedroom. There’s a looser thin black T-shirt on a chair. Putting it on, I move fast to the door.
I open the door. Dante has only just turned toward his door. He’s dressed in loose gray sweats and a tight white T-shirt that makes his caramel skin glow. And holy crap, he has a tattoo sleeve down one arm. What? It’s a riot of color, roses, lilies, tulips, daisies, sunflowers, intertwined with green leaves that run down to a few inches before his wrist. I always thought tattoos weren’t sexy, I hereby stand corrected, I want to trace the tattoo with my tongue. Stop it. “Hi, did you want something?”
He turns. “Was I interrupting something?”
“Nope, I didn’t want you yelling at me for what I was wearing. What’s up?”
Dang him, his eyes are roaming over me and fuck, I’m wet. “I told you it was unnecessary for you to replace the suit.”