Rip took in the sprawling terra cotta villa perched on the peak of a hill. The walled city of Bergamo was snugly situated at the foothills of the Alps and separated into upper and lower towns. The combination of old and new mingled into sheer perfection, leaving the bustling city of Milan a distant memory.
Mama Conte’s estate included a sloping roof, wrought iron balconies, and elaborate stone pillars flanking the front door. Bright yellow and red surfaces competed with bursting buds of wildflowers in vivid colors. The massive white-peaked tips of the Alps shimmered in the distance.
He turned toward Caterina, taking in the slight nervousness of her features, and found his heart softening. She wore a floral dress in sunny yellow, leaving her hair to spill loosely over her shoulders. A gold chain with a heart locket circled her neck. Her makeup was light and natural, allowing him to catch the beauty mark on her right cheek, and the warm pinkish glow to her skin. She looked different today—more approachable and down-to-earth, though her shoes were low-heeled Louboutins and completely impractical for walking. But she’d warned him about her passion for shoes, and kept her complaints to a minimum as she picked her way through the cobblestones and trekked up the hill toward the funicular—the cable railway that pulled them up the steep hill from Milan to Bergamo. The moment he greeted her, her cheeks flushed and her amber eyes glowed with open pleasure. She was genuinely happy to see him, and not even trying to hide it, which made an answering leap of his heart he tried to ignore.
He should be thrilled his plan was going so well. Their date had been flawless. Even better, she’d made the first move, approaching him, not the other way around. But her unexpected warmth and openness, the way she had him yearning for more, made his gut twist with tension.
And guilt.
Since his conversation with Edward, he’d never once considered they could have a real, intimate relationship. Yet, he’d spent the last two days thinking about her, and nights dreaming of her naked and in his bed, until he woke in a tangle of sheets with a throbbing erection and an ache in his chest.
The game had turned on him. For the first time in years, he actually craved a woman’s touch. She wasn’t supposed to be funny and sweet. She was supposed to be a shallow, spoiled socialite who cared nothing about anyone else.
“Are you ready?” he asked, shifting the bottle of Chianti and bouquet of fresh flowers they’d brought for their hostess.
“Yes, it’ll be fun.”
He knocked on the door, and it was answered by a lovely young woman who immediately ducked her head with shyness, offering a smile from beneath the mass of dark curls sliding over her cheek. “Buon Giorno! Come in. I’m Carina.”
He stepped inside, and the scents of garlic, lemon, and basil assaulted his senses. “Nice to meet you, Carina. I’m Lee, and this is Cat. Thank you so much for having us.”
A rapid rush of Italian rose in the air. Carina sighed and shouted back. “I got the door, Mama, and I’m bringing them into the kitchen! Sorry, Mama’s cooking, follow me.”
The girl led them down the short hallway and paused in the archway of the long, open kitchen. Ceramic tile gleamed clean and bright and set off the pine cabinets and heavy table. Massive counters flanked the room and were covered with fresh herbs, tomatoes, and an array of pots and pans.
Two women stepped before them—a dual vision of thick black hair, strong features, and dark eyes. They looked similar to Carina but older, and more confident. Closing the distance, they gave them warm hugs, making Rip feel like an old family friend.
“Welcome to our home,” the shorter, curvier brunette said. “My name is Venezia.”
“I’m Julietta,” the taller woman said. Her husky voice held an undertone of authority. She wore a conservative business suit, and her smile held the practiced ease of someone comfortable in a leadership role. Rip pegged her for early thirties.
Venezia motioned toward the man setting out bottles of wine on the counter, and he walked over. “And this is my boyfriend, Dominick.” The man nodded and shook their hands, his brown eyes and curly dark hair cutting a striking appearance. His arm hooked around Venezia’s waist with a casual affection that hinted at a long-term relationship, even though there was no ring on Venezia’s finger. “Happy to have you,” he said.
“Mama has been wanting to invite you to dinner for a long time, Cat. She says you are our best customer,” Julietta said.
“I am. Is it wrong to even worry about the extra ten pounds I gained due to her baking skills?”
Venezia waved her hand in the air. “Women with curves are treated like goddesses here in Italia, right, Carina?”
The younger girl smiled, but she shifted under her baggy clothes as if she was still trying to accept her body. Rip thought she looked around twenty, but still in the midst of dealing with physical and emotional changes. Women were always so hard on themselves with looks, especially in an American culture that relished thinness and judged with a vicious ruthlessness anyone different. Rip winked at her. “Personally, I refuse to date a woman who won’t eat bread. It’s a deal-breaker for me.”
Carina laughed.
He handed Julietta the wine and flowers, nodding at her thanks, then eased them into the main kitchen area where the cooking was happening. “Mama treats Sundays like a national holiday in our home. I hope you brought your appetite.”
Mama Conte stood in the middle of what looked like chaos. Water bubbled from pots on the stove, and thick loaves of freshly baked bread were laid out on the counters. Chunks of mozzarella cheese, vine ripened tomatoes, and bottles of olive oil were set out on plates. A huge antipasti platter filled with meats, olives, roasted red peppers, and more cheese sat next to the bread. A pasta machine held freshly made noodles laid out in straight lines. A large apron with La Dolce Famiglia scrolled on the front covered most of her figure. She wiped her floured hands on a red towel, beaming and opening her arms in greeting when she saw them.
“Welcome! Ah, such beautiful flowers, grazie.” They were enveloped in more hugs, and Rip realized he’d never had so much affection bestowed on him than these past few minutes in the Conte household. “Sit. Dominick, get them a glass of vino, per favore. Carina, will Maximus be joining us today with your brother?”
Carina turned beet red. “No, he stayed in Milano today and won’t be back till late. He’s working.”
Mama Conte shook her head. “Mama mia, does no one respect a Sunday any longer?” She turned a fierce look toward Julietta. “Do not even think of sneaking out early to go back to the office.”
Julietta sighed. “I’m working on a new deal to expand. Michael and I may need to leave early.”
“Not when we have company. Venezia, did you make the ricciarelli like I asked?”
Venezia groaned. “I told Carina to do it! I’ve been busy.”
“Looking at all those fashion magazines,” Carina shot back.
Her sister rolled her eyes. “For inspiration. I have another casting call this week and need to make sure I get it right.”
Dominick dropped a kiss on her pouty lips. “You’ll be perfecto. They will be crazy not to book you for the magazine cover.”
Caterina looked fascinated by the frantic chatter back and forth that seemed a trademark to a big family. “Venezia, are you a model?”
“Si. I’ve done local magazines but I want to be on Italian Vogue one day.”
“Aren’t you too short?” Julietta asked.
Venezia gasped and threw up her hands. “No! I’ve gotten plenty of bookings and you’re just jealous that you’re stuck in an office all day.”
Julietta snorted. “I don’t think so. I make more money than you.”
Another gasp. Carina giggled.
Rip turned his head to hide his growing amusement. He’d always wondered what it would be like to have siblings. He wondered if the bond of blood trumped all the petty arguments. He had an instinct that in the Conte household, love was the real glue that held together their family.
Venezia began yelling in Italian, while Dominick soothed her at the same time as he ate bread and poured glasses of red wine, once again demonstrating to Rip he’d done this with his lover many times.
Mama Conte stamped her foot. “Basta e basta! Venezia, put on an apron and get to work. Carina, get the plates out and begin slicing bread. Julietta, call your brother pronto and tell him we are all waiting on him. Dominick, finish your bread at the table. You are trailing crumbs everywhere.”
Rip watched as order replaced chaos. Mama Conte smiled at them and winked. “Mi dispiace. Venezia and Dominick have been dating for many years. They fight as often as they steal kisses.”
“Mama,” Venezia groaned. “We are adults yet you still talk of us like children. And we haven’t fought once today.”
“Stop your bickering with your sister and cook. Now, if we have not scared you away yet, please enjoy the antipasto.”
Caterina met his gaze, eyes full of humor and a softness that told him she was as comfortable in Mama Conte’s kitchen as she’d likely be at one of her high society parties. This new layer revealed there was much more to his future wife than he’d originally thought.
* * * *
An hour later, they were gathered around the table in the middle of what seemed like the Last Supper. Rip had never seen so much food in his life. After the appetizers, big bowls of pasta with gravy were brought out, accompanied by meatballs, neckbones, and sausage. Then the salad course—greens drizzled with fragrant oils and earthy balsamic. But his jaw dropped when Mama Conte whipped out the branzino, the delicious flaky fish so fresh, he wondered if there was a sea behind the villa. Crisp asparagus, stuffed artichokes, sautéed mushrooms, and garlic bread topped with parmigiano were put out almost as an afterthought. The family didn’t blink, expertly serving and passing large bowls of food, and re-filling glasses with ruby red Montepulciano that held fragrant undertones of blackberry and currants, with a smooth tannin.
Michael arrived right before the first course, kissing Mama Conte’s cheek in apology as she muttered about his workaholic ways. The oldest son emitted a charisma and laid-back energy that had probably made him a force in the business. He had long dark hair tied in a ponytail, and was dressed in a smart Armani jacket, tailored pants, and leather shoes. But his dark eyes danced as he introduced himself as the head of the family, hinting at a wicked sense of humor he revealed when he began teasing Carina about stealing Venezia’s modeling jobs because she was the most beautiful.
That brought another enthusiastic round of bickering, underlaid with affection.
For a few seconds, Rip gazed at the scene before him with a pain in his chest, a raw need welling up from inside he’d never given himself permission to feel. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to grow up in this type of household, with an actual family who gave a shit. One who spent Sunday dinners together, arguing and teasing and forgiving, trying to be heard in the midst of boisterous chatter and loudly spoken opinions. A family who also knew the power of silence and when to be quiet and listen, evident by the way Mama Conte regarded her children around the table, occasionally cutting one of them off to make room for another to speak, especially Carina, who was the shyest.
“Mama Conte, tell us how you got into the pastry business,” Rip asked, curious about her backstory.
“I was taught how to bake since I was a bambina. My mama was always in the kitchen, and Papa worked at a bakery in Milano. It is part of my blood and my heritage. It was my husband who suggested we could open up our own bakery. Michael was just born, and we were struggling as most do when they are young. But I was known for my pastries. The moment I baked a batch, they would disappear and people would ask for more.”
“It must have been scary to take everything you have and invest in a new business,” Caterina said.
The woman’s eyes grew misty with memory. A small smile rested on her lips. “Si. Many nights we’d lie in bed and I’d beg my husband to forget the plan. But he always believed in me. He insisted I baked my treats with a magic potion that made people come back for more. Bergamo had no known pastry shops like in Milano and we wanted to stay close to home. We opened with just a few pastries on the menu. By the next week, I needed to increase my baking because we sold out daily.”
Julietta reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand. “Papa loved working in the kitchen, but he said Mama was the one with the gift. He headed the business portion, but they always worked as a team.”
“When did you lose him?” Rip asked quietly.
“A few years ago. To a heart attack,” Venezia said.
“But he is always here with us,” Mama Conte said, glancing at the space at the end of the table, where her son now sat. “And now my children have taken the reins and made us both proud.”
Julietta smiled. “Mama and Papa taught us young to always go big with dreams as long as you paired it with hard work. Now, Michael and I run the business portion of La Dolce Famiglia and we are expanding.”
Rip cocked his head. “Where?”
“America. New York,” Michael said. He drummed his fingers on the pine table, excitement gleaming in his dark eyes. “I’m in the process of securing our first location in a place called the Hudson Valley. I’ll be heading there in the next few weeks.”
Cat gasped. “Are you kidding me? My family owns a business in that same area.”
Rip stiffened as a surge of anger rushed through him. Family business? She had no right to call it a family business when she was Edward’s only family. What did she have to do with the business? Absolutely nothing.
Would she tell them how she ran away and left the winery practically bankrupt? Would she admit to spending her father’s money on an expensive hiatus, traveling without a care? He kept his gaze trained on her, studying every expression flickering over her face.
Venezia gasped. “That is amazing. What are the odds? What type of business do you have, Cat?”
“It’s called Winsor Winery. We bottle and distribute wine, and do tastings and events. We outsource the bulk of grapes, then blend the wine in house. It’s been part of my family for generations and we are one of the oldest wineries in the state.”
Anger simmered in his gut. How dare she use the word we? No, he’d been the one to work night and day, calling in endless contacts, pulling the business back from bankruptcy while she flitted around Europe. His hands clenched the stem of his wineglass and he dragged in a breath.
Michael chuckled. “I will definitely be visiting you and your father.”
Mama Conte regarded her thoughtfully. “I did not know you left all this behind. You never spoke about it.”
Caterina drew in a breath, glancing around the table at the curious stares. Rip waited for her to swiftly change the subject or give them a breezy answer. Instead, she managed to surprise him.
Again.
“Because it hurt too much,” she said. “My ex-fiancé was my father’s partner in the business. I found him cheating on me in the cellars. After that, I couldn’t visit the winery without remembering.” Staring down at her lap, she let out a sigh before sitting up and locking eyes with Mama Conte. “So I left.”
A collective murmuring of sympathy rose from the table. Venezia and Julietta shook their head in fierce disapproval.
“That is horrible,” Venezia exploded. “Did you kill him first?”
Caterina smiled. “I wanted to, but they frown on things like murder in the US. I decided to travel and figure out why I wanted to stay with a man who didn’t love me, let alone respect me. It took me a year and a half, but I’ve finally figured out who I am apart from my ex, my father, and the winery.”
“Your papa must have been devastated,” Michael said with a hard glint in his eye. “First, betrayed by a trusted friend. Then to lose his daughter to heartbreak.”
“Yes, it was hard for both of us.” Suddenly, she glanced over at Rip, and their gazes locked. Her voice trembled slightly. “But I know better now. I know what I deserve. What I want. I won’t make such a mistake again.”
The energy surged between them, catching heat and exploding like firecrackers. He sucked in a breath and tumbled into those golden eyes that promised him something he’d only dreamed of. For a brief moment, his surroundings fell away, and he was alone with her. She’d told the truth and held nothing back. This couldn’t be the woman he first imagined. Should he confess his secret before they fell even further into each other? Or would that be a mistake when his entire future was on the line?
Michael cleared his throat, and Rip jerked back into the moment. He caught their knowing smiles, and Cat dropped her head, trying to hide a blush.
“It is brave to begin anew,” Mama Conte said. “But we mustn’t allow others to steal our home, or our memories. I am sure your papa would want you home, where you belong.”
Her voice came out tight with emotion. “Grazie. He is a wonderful man and I know he misses me. It was hard for him to let me go.”
“Do you want to go back to the winery?” Julietta asked. “I can’t imagine walking away from the family business. It’s a part of who I am.”
Rip leaned over, intent on her answer.
A sigh escaped her lips. “It’s hard to explain. Winsor Winery is part of my heritage but I was never given a choice to do anything else. My entire life revolved around the will of the grapes. I was attending important social functions when I was just a teenager. As much as I treasure those memories, I want to choose my own course. I don’t want to go back right now. I’m not ready. I’m sure it’s hard to understand.”
Rip caught Michael and Mama Conte sharing a meaningful look. For an instant, there was pain carved out on Michael’s face, until it was quickly cleared and Rip wondered if it had just been his imagination.
“I understand better than you know, Cat,” Michael said quietly. A hush came over the table as if everyone was processing his answer. “But sometimes we must do what is right for family, even if it takes us on a different path.”
Cat nodded. “You’re right. I’ve found happiness in Italy, but if my father needed me, I’d do what had to be done. Family always comes first.”
His gaze narrowed. Was she telling Mama Conte what she believed the woman wanted to hear? Or did Caterina truly believe she’d respond to Edward if he needed her? Rip leaned toward her. The question burst from his lips without filter. “Would you?”
She tilted her head and regarded him. “Would I what?”
“Go home if your father asked you?”
Those golden eyes flickered with an array of emotions. He searched deep to discern truth or lie, and waited for her answer. “Yes,” she said simply. “If my father needed me, I’d do whatever I had to.”
The surge of tenderness took him by surprise. He had to fist both of his hands to stop from reaching for her and pulling her into his embrace, to offer comfort, to stroke her hair and kiss her and tell her it would all be okay. Where had such tenderness come from? Such a haunting need for her touch?
Why had her confession stirred him? She’d been a young girl with a future planned out. How had she felt walking in on her fiancé with another woman? Had she questioned everything she’d once believed in? Had running away been her only option as her life crumbled around her?
Yet, she lived off of her father’s money while he struggled to keep his business alive. She spoke of Winsor Winery as part of her heritage, but chose to walk away when her father needed her most. The battle inside him warred, spilling a bunch of messy emotions he wasn’t able to sort through.
Then again, did it matter? She’d uttered the words he needed to hear. That she would do what her father asked if needed. Her pledge sealed both of their fates. The marriage would proceed unopposed.
Completely unaware of the importance of the event, Mama Conte and Michael smiled. Julietta raised her glass. “To family.”
“To family,” they all chimed in. Rip ignored the pain in his gut and drank anyway, then stared at Cat in moody silence.
Why didn’t he feel victorious? Was it because he wished he had the time to win her heart on his own, rather than making her feel forced into a marriage with him?
“May I ask you an important question?” Julietta ventured.
Caterina smiled. “Of course.”
“Do you think you’d help me with a wine pairing for Mama’s pastries? Michael, wouldn’t that be a wonderful idea to draw more traffic into the La Dolce Famiglia on a weeknight?”
Michael nodded. “Dio, it’s a brilliant idea. We could offer a special tasting menu. If Caterina would agree, of course.”
“I’d be honored to help out,” Cat said immediately. “My skills have been rusty so this would be helpful to ease back in.”
Venezia sighed with dramatic flair. “Don’t you two ever stop working?”
Carina squealed. “Can I help? I love wine pairing.”
“You just love your wine,” Venezia retorted.
“And you’ve never wanted to be a part of the bakery,” Carina shot back.
“And you’ve never respected my decision to go into fashion!”
As the sisters argued, Dominick smiled and kissed his lover’s palm, and Venezia immediately softened, as if he held a power over her that only she answered to. Once again, an aching need scratched its way to the surface, making Rip wonder how it would feel once Caterina belonged to him.
As his wife.
Afternoon bled into evening. Dinner was replaced with dessert. He drank bitter espresso with the sting of sambucca and feasted on ricciarelli—the rich, chewy almond cookies bringing a moan to his lips. The tiramisu was also a highlight—ladyfingers soaked in brandy, smothered in cream, and topped with dusted chocolate. They ate and talked and laughed until Michael and Julietta finally left, apologizing for departing early and thanking Caterina for her help with the pairings. Venezia followed shortly after, accompanying Dominick to a party, and Carina left to study for an exam.
“We better get going,” Caterina sighed, holding his gaze. “This has been the most wonderful evening. If I could just use the bathroom?”
“Of course, down the hall and to the left.”
“Grazie.”
She left them alone. Rip smiled at Mama Conte. “Thank you for including me in your dinner. It’s a night I’ll never forget.”
“It was a pleasure to have you in my home. Do you have a close family, Lee?”
He jerked at the direct hit. Then tried to recover. “No. I haven’t seen my parents since I left for college at nineteen.”
“Were they unsupportive? Not understanding? Or was there a bigger reason you don’t talk any longer?”
Usually, he’d resent a person prying into his private life, but somehow, with Mama Conte, it felt different. “They were cruel.”
He prepared himself for pity, but she only nodded, as if she’d heard many stories in her lifetime. “Hard to have no one to trust in this world,” she said. “Still, a man who makes his own way is a powerful force.”
The words fell from him with a rare honesty. “I don’t need to trust anyone but myself.”
Those shrewd, dark eyes glinted with intention. She leaned across the table, startling him when she clasped his hand. Her skin was warm and rough and comforting, the touch of a mother, nurturing and strong at the same time. “Ah, but that is a trap. We all need someone to trust.” She paused and squinted, looking deeper into his eyes. “You have many ghosts you are fighting, no?”
Shock kept him silent for a moment. He tried to force a laugh, but his voice got stuck. A strange foreboding rose up from inside him, urging him to tell her the truth. “Yes,” he finally said. “But I’ve got them under control.”
Her gaze ripped and shredded the lies away. “You and Cat seem to have a connection.”
“Yes,” he said again.
She nodded, her fingers squeezing his hard. “Then you will need to fight for her,” she said. “Do not be afraid to love. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps the ghosts away. Capisce?”
The strange conversation should have made him pull away, pat her hand, and forget. Instead, his gut clenched and he recognized the truth, a truth he’d been avoiding for a very long time. The truth of why he never pursued or kept himself in relationships or tried to share any part of himself.
Because every time he opened up, he was reminded he didn’t matter. Not to his father who consistently reminded him he was trash. Not to the woman he’d thought he’d loved who’d betrayed him. And not to Edward Winsor. It didn’t matter how hard he worked, or how much money he made, or how much success he’d achieved. In the end, he only ended up alone.
The admission ripped from his soul. “I don’t know if I can.”
She smiled, easing her grip, and patted his hand in comfort. “You are a good man. And you can, Lee. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
She sat back in her chair the exact moment Caterina walked into the kitchen. “Are you ready?”
His legs shook a bit, but he nodded and stood. “Yes.”
They said their goodbyes, promising to stop at the bakery soon, and left.
But Mama Conte’s words haunted him.