Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
He’s talking to Natalia about the next Disney princess movie they’ll watch, and totally misses how the nanny’s crushing on him. Romeo notes it, though. He looks to me with a wordless shake of his head. I only shrug.
“Who could blame her?” I whisper to him. “Tavi’s hot.”
He clenches his teeth. Romeo doesn’t like that.
“Romeo,” I continue in a whisper, “I’m not hitting on him even though I’m allowed to per that contract.” It’s a stretch, but I’ll go with it. “I’m just telling you, you guys are like hot Italian models, so it’s only natural.”
“One more word, Vittoria,” he warns in a low rumble.
Zing. My mouth’s dry. “Yeah?”
Still whispering, he warns me, “Tell me again how hot you find my brothers and you’ll find yourself over my knee.”
“How’s that fair?” I say as my pulse thunders.
A corner of his lips quirks up. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart.”
Tavi’s gone to join the rest of the family, and the nanny eyes him wistfully. Natalia pouts, but Romeo winks at her. “Go with your nanny, and later I’ll get you a strawberry donut.” My heart thumps. I want him to wink at me.
Natalia grins, and the nanny whisks her away.
“I want a strawberry donut,” I say before I can stop myself. He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips.
“Bella mia, you can have anything you want. I hope you know that.”
Well if he isn’t pulling out the Italian charm.
Anything I want. Why does he make it sound so tantalizing?
It isn’t true, though. If I wed him, I forfeit my freedom.
But what would I gain?
“Give me the fucking muffin.” Orlando’s glaring at Mario, who’s holding a plate with one remaining muffin.
“Listen, man,” Mario says. “Oh, look. There’s Romeo!” Orlando looks at us instinctively and Mario snatches the muffin and shoves it in his mouth, crumbs flying everywhere. I blink in surprise. When Orlando realizes he was played, he turns back to Mario and lunges. Romeo’s had it. He grabs them both by the sleeves and yanks them back to sitting before he whacks both of them, hard, upside of the head. I gasp at the resounding slap but no one else even looks.
Orlando glowers, mumbling to himself, and Mario chokes on his muffin, rubbing the back of his head. Romeo gives them both a look that dares them to start it up again.
“Mamma mia,” Tosca mutters, shaking her head. She looks at me. “Always like this, Vittoria. I cook three turkeys at Thanksgiving. Three. And do they fight over who gets the turkey leg every year? They do. Three times two is six and do they still fight? All of them with enough money to buy a turkey farm, and yet here we are, breaking my good drinkware over a muffin. Look at them! Do any of them look like they’re starving?”
I shake my head. I don’t know whether to laugh or run.
“For the love of fucking God,” Romeo mutters when a maid passes by with a serving tray. “Who ate all of the breakfast sandwiches?” He scowls, and Tosca gives me a knowing look that says he’s as bad as they are.
“My brothers really like their food.” Rosa stands beside me with a wine glass filled with what looks like a mimosa. “You may have noticed.”
“I did.” I can’t say it doesn’t amuse me, though. “I mean, why do they fight over it?”
She frowns. “I know, right? There’s always more than enough, but it’s like this thing with them.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good, let’s get you a seat.” She looks at Romeo, who’s eyeing both of us, and waves him off. “He has to meet with Papa. You come sit with me and Marialena.”
I do not have to be asked twice. I haven’t had bacon in ages, and this is thick and sprinkled with bits of pepper. The pastries taste like they were just pulled out of the oven, and Rosa hands me a plate with a thick slice of quiche oozing mozzarella she says their Nonna makes by hand. I hardly talk, focused on eating the food, and finally have a bit of an inkling why they fight over it. Everything’s homemade and exquisite.
The coffee, like I suspected, is rich and decadent, imported from Italy along with their wines.
“Do you guys actually drink the wine in the wall in the dining room?” I ask Rosa.
“Of course. We refill it from our vineyard in Tuscany.”
“Oh, wow. Okay, so that’s totally cool.”
Marialena smiles. “It’s good wine.”
“Now listen, Vittoria,” Rosa says as she leans in closer to me. “Romeo comes across as a total ass sometimes, I know he does.”
“Mhm. You don’t say?” I don’t deny this, which amuses Marialena. She snorts and giggles, then pats my hand appreciatively.
“But he’s a good man.”
A good man, is he? I saw him slice a man’s throat without a second thought, and he’s demanded I do what he tells me. I don’t tell her that but purse my lips closed out of politeness.