We’d gone on more than half a dozen dates over the past month. They’d ranged from lavish, like the helicopter tour after our milkshakes and an overnight getaway to Bermuda, to casual, like a stroll through Chelsea Market and a show at the Comedy Cellar.
But none had hit me quite as hard as tonight’s.
The fact Dante had gone to the trouble of setting this up and consulting my sister when he could’ve easily taken me to the planetarium instead…it touched a part of me I hadn’t thought anyone could reach.
His shoulders relaxed and he squeezed my hand in silent reply as we walked to the center of the room, where a pile of blankets, cushions, and a dinner spread awaited us.
I sank onto a pale blue cushion while Dante picked up a distinctive wine bottle. Was that…
“Domaine de la Romanée Conti,” he confirmed. Dante uncorked the famous red and poured it into two glasses. “Courtesy of the club’s sommelier.”
Known for its high quality and limited production, Domaine de la Romanée Conti, or DRC, was one of the most expensive wines in the world. An average bottle cost upwards of twenty-six thousand dollars.
“Bringing out the big guns,” I teased. “Dante Russo, are you trying to impress me?”
“Depends.” He handed me a glass and watched as I took a small sip. “Is it working?”
The rich flavors of berry fruits, violets, and cassis burst onto my tongue, mixed with a fine minerality and complex earthiness.
Textural. Potent. Elegant.
No wonder people were willing to shell out the big bucks for a bottle. It was the best wine I’d ever tasted.
“Yes,” I said, already heady from one sip and a night that’d barely begun. “Quite well.”
“Then yes, I am.” His eyes danced with amusement as I went back for seconds. “You’re turning red, mia cara.”
I was extremely sensitive to red wine, which was why I usually stuck with whites and rosés. Even those made my face glow crimson after a glass or two, but the DRC was too exquisite to waste.
“It’s not my fault,” I said, embarrassed. “It’s the tannins.”
“It’s adorable.” He brushed a thumb over my flushed cheek.
Warmth curled low in my stomach.
Grumpy, brooding Dante had grown on me the past few months. But sweet, playful Dante? He was kryptonite to my heart.
After dinner, I pulled a blanket over us and rested my head on Dante’s shoulder, half sleepy and half buzzing from the high of the date. He wrapped an arm around my waist, the weight strong and comforting against my back.
The stars twinkled above us like a display of diamonds on midnight velvet. They were projections, but they looked so real I almost believed we were somewhere in the wilderness, watching the skies and listening to the silence.
“When I was little, our parents would take us camping.” I didn’t know where the words came from, but they felt right for the moment. “My father would drive, my mother would pack way too many snacks, and my sister and I would try to spot as many states’ license plates on the road as we could.”
I hated bugs, and I wasn’t a big outdoors person, but I’d loved those trips because we’d done them as a family. Since then, we’d upgraded to summers in St. Tropez and Christmases in St. Barth’s, but I missed the simplicity of our early family vacations.
“At night, when we were supposed to be asleep, Agnes and I would sneak out of our tent and count the stars,” I continued. “We’d pretend they were people living in a celestial realm and made up backstories for all of them.”
“Any interesting ones?”
I smiled. “Tons. One was plotting to overthrow the ruler of the kingdom. Another was having an affair with her awful husband’s most trusted guard. Shooting stars were people who’d been exiled and cast down to earth.”
Dante’s laugh vibrated through my body. “Sounds like a soap opera.”
“We were children. We had active imaginations, okay?” I nudged his leg with mine. “Don’t tell me you never made up stories about the things around you.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but my imagination isn’t as good as yours.” He rubbed an absentminded thumb over my hip. “My family never went camping. My grandfather was strictly a resort or private estate type of person. He didn’t want Luca and me to lose touch with our culture, so he sent us to Italy with Greta every summer. We had—have—houses all over the country. Rome, Tuscany, Milan…we visited a different place every year.”
“What’s your favorite place in Italy?”
“Villa Serafina.” His family’s estate in Lake Como. “The lake, the gardens…twelve-year-old me thought it was magical.”
“Where the wedding will take place,” I murmured. “I can’t wait to see it.”
We were scheduled to stay there in the month leading up to the ceremony. I’d only seen pictures, but even through a screen, it was breathtaking.
“Yes.” A strange note entered Dante’s voice. “Where the wedding will take place.”
“It’ll be perfect. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said dryly. She’d been driving me nuts with endless calls about the flowers, tableware, and a thousand other details she shouldn’t be micromanaging, but I hadn’t expected anything less. I was her last opportunity to go all out on a big wedding. “At least my father isn’t also hounding me about china patterns. He got the date he wanted. That’s all he cares about.”
“August eighth. Let me guess. It’s the date he made his first million.”
I laughed. “Close, but not quite. Eight is his favorite number.”
Dante’s thumb paused before it resumed caressing my skin. “The number eight? Really?”
“Yes.” I yawned. Nothing made me sleepier than wine and sex, and I’d had the best of both tonight. “It’s a lucky number in Chinese culture because it’s associated with wealth. When my parents were house hunting, they specifically looked for places with eight in their address. My father is very superstitious about things like that.”
“I never would’ve guessed.” Dante’s tone cooled the way it always did when we discussed my father.
I lifted my head. A distracted expression crossed his face, but it disappeared when he saw me looking.
“You don’t like my family very much.” I’d picked up on it at our introductory dinner, but it had become increasingly evident since.
Every time I mentioned my parents, Dante’s face shut down, and I could feel him mentally withdraw.
When we visited Boston for Christmas, he spent most of his time communicating in glares and one-word answers. It’d been the most awkward four days of my life.
“I don’t like a lot of people,” he said evasively. “But if we’re being honest, Francis and I will never be best friends. We have different…outlooks on life.”
Before I could respond, he cupped my face and brushed my lips with his.
“No more talk about family,” he said. “We have the room to ourselves for the night, and I can think of a few other things that I would much rather be doing…”
Any resistance I had melted when he deepened the kiss. My lips parted, and my sigh invited him in. He slid his tongue against mine, tasting like wine and heat and sin.
Dante was right. It was a beautiful night, and there was no reason to dampen it with talk of family.
A lingering sense of unease prickled the back of my neck, but I brushed it aside.
So what if Dante and my father didn’t see eye to eye on everything? Some antagonism was expected among fathers and their sons-in-law. It wasn’t like they were going to punch each other at the next holiday gathering.
Plus, my parents lived in a different city. We wouldn’t see them much anyway.
I had nothing to worry about.
Dante
Vivian and I had one more blissful week to ourselves before her parents blew into town like a tornado. Sudden, unexpected, and carving a path of destruction in their wake.
One minute, I was planning a symphony date with Vivian. The next, I was sitting across from Francis and Cecelia Lau in Le Charles, fighting the urge not to knock the smug smile off Francis’s face.
Our conversation about him at Valhalla had summoned him like a demon out of hell.
“I’m glad we could make this work.” He unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. “I hope we’re not disrupting your plans too much.”
“Not at all.” Vivian placed her hand over mine under the table and gently uncurled my fist. “We’re thrilled to see you.”
I remained silent.
Her parents had arrived, unannounced, that morning and requested dinner with us sometime during their stay. Considering they were only here for two nights, and they had tickets to a Broadway show with friends tomorrow, tonight was the only option.
“We haven’t seen you since Christmas, so we figured we’d check in. See how the wedding planning is going.” Cecelia toyed with her pearls. “You never answered my question the other day about the flowers. Shall we go ahead with the lilies?”