Passion: In Wilde Country: Book Two Page 2

  Cristo! He was about ready to tear the hair from his head.

  Clearly, if he wanted to keep from saying something he would regret, it was time to move on. He could see Luca’s reflection in the window glass. He was sitting close beside Cheyenne, holding her hand. She had her face turned up to his, and they were smiling at each other as if they alone knew the secrets of the universe.

  Were they both insane? Based on what lurked in the DNA of virtually everyone in this house, love was an illusion. It was one thing to observe an illusion from a distance, or from the glittery showplace of a wedding celebration, but to be subjected to it, non-stop…

  “Cold, man?”

  He blinked and swung around. Jake Wilde, on his way to the coffee pot, paused next to him.

  “What?”

  “Your teeth were grinding together,” Jake said.

  “No,” Matteo said quickly. “I’m fine. I was just, ah, I was just watching the snow and wondering how long it’s going to last.”

  Caleb Wilde, who’d been feeding logs to the fire in the big stone fireplace, got to his feet.

  “No telling,” he said. “Weather report didn’t even mention snow.”

  Travis, the third Wilde brother, nodded in agreement as he bounced a toddler on his knee.

  “We get storms like that sometimes. They just roll in without warning.”

  Without warning, Matteo thought. That was what had happened with Luca. One second, he’d been a happy bachelor. The next, he was a husband.

  It was a depressing thought, and deserved something stronger than coffee.

  Matteo rose to his feet, headed for the built-in bar and the bottle of brandy. He shot another glance at Luca, who was watching his wife with a look so tender and yet so hungry that it was almost embarrassing to see.

  What happened to you, mio fratello? Matteo wanted to say. Surely, the sex can’t be so good it turned your brain to mush.

  Because what Luca thought was love had to be sex. It had to be…

  “Did you say something, Matteo?”

  Dio, had he?

  No. Luca was smiling. So was everyone else, or so it seemed, even Emily, who was at the far end of the room, sitting at the piano, noodling through some ancient, godforsaken love song.

  “No,” Matteo said briskly, “not me. Uh, what’s that you’re playing, Emily? Sounds nice.”

  “It’s some old Frank Sinatra thing. You’d Be So Easy To Love.”

  “That’s our Matteo,” another sister said, with a roll of her eyes, “if he just took the time to find the right girl.”

  Everyone laughed. Matteo hoped he managed to sound as if he were laughing, too, even though he figured the best he’d managed was a cackle. He decided to forego the brandy. The last thing he needed was something that might loosen his tongue.

  There’d been endless little digs about him being The Last Man Standing, a name given him by the Wilde and Bellini women after Luca’s day-after-Christmas wedding.

  “That’s our New Year resolution,” they’d told him. “A girl for our Matteo.”

  “Sounds like the title of a book,” Luca said.

  That had rated more laughter. Matteo knew it was all good-natured teasing, but he’d had a tough time joining in.

  At least that last remark had been the only one so far today…

  “I know some women who’d be crazy over him.”

  Hell. Two digs in two minutes. And what was this him nonsense? He was right in the room with the rest of them. How could they talk about him as if he were a—a bar of soap?

  “Absolutely,” chimed a chorus of female voices.

  “Maybe he’ll meet someone special tonight.”

  Another knee-slapper for everybody but Matteo, who could almost feel the hair rise on the back of his neck.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “We asked a few people in for dessert and coffee. We thought it would be nice if you Bellinis met some people from Wilde’s Crossing.” He grinned. “Some of them are female, single and very, very attractive.”

  The Last Man Standing shot to his feet.

  “Wow,” he said, much too cheerfully, “too bad I’m going to miss it!”

  They all stared at him, even Luca.

  “What do you mean, you’re going to miss it?”

  Matteo mimed a look of absolute innocence.

  “Didn’t I tell you? I’m flying back to New York in—” He looked at his watch, which was surely better than looking at all those shocked faces. “In just a few hours. In fact, I’d better get moving. My pilot might want to take off a little sooner than scheduled. The snow…”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “I wish I were, but, ah, but I have an appointment tomorrow. I’m sure I must have said something about it.”

  He was also sure his nose had to be growing like Pinocchio’s, but he was in too deep to back out now.

  “No,” Luca said, his eyes narrowing, “you did not.”

  “Ah. I could have sworn I did.”

  “Can’t you cancel it?”

  “I wish I could. ” Could you fake sincerity? He hoped to. “But I have to be at a client’s office at eleven.”

  “Eleven? On a Sunday?”

  Dammit. Where was his head?

  “Ah, he’s been very busy lately and this is an emergency. Sunday’s the only time he can manage.”

  Luca looked doubtful. Jake looked helpful.

  “Well,” he said, “you could fly out really early in the morning.”

  Crap. First he’d picked the wrong day and now, the wrong time.

  “Sure.” Caleb was into it now, checking his watch, doing some quick calculations in his head. “If you fly out at six or even six thirty—”

  “Impossible,” Matteo said quickly. Too quickly. They all looked at him with their eyebrows raised. His matchmaking sisters. His brother. His brother’s wife. His half-sisters, his half-brothers, their spouses… Even the kids, and if the Golden Retriever puppy Jake had given his wife for Christmas couldn’t raise its eyebrows, it was doing an excellent job of trying. “I mean,” he said with a determinedly innocent smile, “what if this snow turns into a real storm and I can’t fly out in the morning?” He drained the last of his coffee and put down the mug. “I wish I could stay,” he said briskly, “but I can’t. Business is business.”

  They were all in business, one way or another, meaning they all knew the truth to that, but they were looking at him as if he were the guy breaking up the party, which he probably was, except he just couldn’t deal with it another minute.

  The noise. The crowd. The cute kids and cute puppy…

  This bunch of supposedly smart people who thought domesticity was bliss.

  “I was going to leave a little later,” he said, “but this snow… I’ll just run upstairs and collect my things and get going before the storm gets worse.”

  All the men volunteered to drive him to the airport. Matteo said thanks, but no thanks.

  “I have a rental car parked right outside, remember?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t have four-wheel drive,” Jake said.

  “No need for four-wheel drive,” Matteo said, trying to ignore the way Luca was staring at him. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You won’t make it to Dallas.”

  What was he going to have to do? Fight his way out of this house?

  “Really, Jake, I’ll be—”

  “The keys to the Silverado are on a red leather tag in that big bowl near the door. Take it. Just let us know where you park. I’ll have one of my guys drop your rental at the airport tomorrow.”

  Matteo felt a twinge of guilt, but the Golden Retriever puppy chose that second to squat in front of the fireplace and pee, one of the kids chortled and promptly tumbled into the resultant puddle, and the twinge of guilt vanished.

  “That’s great. Thanks.”

  “No problem. We just wish you could stay, that’s all.”

  “Yes. Me, too.”

 
He smiled, avoided looking at Luca and hurried to the guest wing where he tossed his stuff into his duffel as quickly as possible. Then he headed downstairs for a round of handshakes and backslaps, hugs and kisses, baby drool and puppy slobber.

  Part of him felt like a rat for lying to all these people he’d come to love—and that kind of love, the fraternal kind, was definitely understandable—but a bigger part of him was already breathing sighs of relief.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Luca said.

  “No need,” Matteo said, scooping the keys to the Silverado from where Jake had said they’d be. “I’ll just—”

  “I said, I’ll walk you out.”

  It was the tone of voice meant to remind him that Luca was older. By only two minutes, but still, he was older. They’d joked about it as kids, but rarely since then. Now, seeing the steely glint in Luca’s eyes, Matteo decided it was best not to argue.

  The door opened onto the porch. The steps had been cleared, as had the long driveway, but snow clung to the meadows and to the hills beyond the house. The sight was beautiful. Even a cynic could admit that.

  “Sorry about having to leave early, but—”

  “Bullshit.”

  Matteo almost stumbled. “What?”

  “You heard me.” They’d reached Jake’s truck. Luca opened the passenger door, snatched Matteo’s bag from his hand, tossed it on the seat and slammed the door. “You no more have an appointment tomorrow than I do.”

  “Hey. You calling me a liar?” Matteo asked, trying to sound indignant.

  “I’m calling you a man running for his life.”

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  “It means that announcement about a party tonight and maybe you’d meet the woman of your dreams were the straws that broke the camel’s back.”

  “Ridiculous,” Matteo said.

  Luca folded his arms. Matteo folded his. After a couple of seconds, he groaned and gave up the defiant posture.

  “Cristo! Was I that obvious?”

  “Too much for you, mio fratello? All that domestic bliss?”

  “Hell. I was that obvious!”

  Luca relented enough to grin. “Only to me… and, maybe to every other man in the room. We’ve all been there before, you know. Convinced that we need no one, that love is nonsense.”

  “Look, Luca, it isn’t that I’m not happy for you—”

  “You think love is an illusion.”

  Matteo thought of denying it, but what was the point?

  “You used to think the same thing.”

  “Si. I did.”

  “And then—and then you changed.”

  Luca smiled. “I met Cheyenne.”

  “That’s what I mean. You met a woman and… Don’t get me wrong,” Matteo added quickly. “She’s beautiful. She’s smart. She makes you happy. But—”

  “But, why on earth would I get married?”

  Matteo sighed. “You’re going to tell me it’s because you fell in love with her.”

  Luca chuckled. “You see? I knew you had a brain somewhere inside that head.”

  “But love is—it is—”

  “Back to where we began. You think love is a joke.”

  “No,” Matteo said grimly, “I don’t think it, I know it. Did our father love the women he married? We both know the answer to that. He did not, or he would not have caused them so much pain.”

  “He didn’t mean to cause them pain,” Luca said gently. “And I’d bet he did love them, in his own way.”

  “He knew he lied to them. Are you saying that didn’t hurt them?”

  “This is hardly the time for an existential discussion of pain felt and pain perceived.”

  “There’s nothing existential about love having all the staying power of—of—” Matteo bent down, snatched up a handful of snow, spread his fingers and let the wind carry it away. “Of snow. And if that isn’t enough, think about all the people we know whose ‘I do’s’ have turned into ‘I do not’s’ before the ink is fully dry on their wedding licenses.” He paused. “Luca. I wish only the best for you and Cheyenne, but—

  “But you don’t want to see me get hurt.”

  “Yes.”

  “Or perhaps,” Luca said softly, “perhaps you saw something these last few days that made you wonder if being alone is all you’ve told yourself it is.”

  That made Matteo laugh. After a couple of seconds, Luca laughed, too.

  “Okay. Forget I said that. The perennial bachelor. That’s you.”

  “Yes. Absolutely. But I—I want you to know I’m pulling for you and Cheyenne.”

  Luca grinned. “Well, that’s something.”

  “I mean it. I hope it works. It’s just not for me, you understand? This love and marriage thing. Definitely, not for me.”

  “Sure.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “It isn’t what I believe that matters, brother. It’s what life has in store for you.”

  “Man, you sound like that old lady in Palermo. Remember her? The one who claimed she could read the future by letting a drop of olive oil fall into a bowl of water.”

  “Except I’m not dressed in head-to-toe black.”

  “You don’t have hair growing out of your ears, either.”

  Both men grinned. Bad moment averted, Matteo thought, and clapped his brother on the back.

  “It was good spending these last few days together,” he said, and meant every word.

  Luca nodded. “Absolutely. But if you’re leaving, you’d better do it now. The wind’s picking up, and the snow is getting heavier.”

  “Don’t worry about me, mio fratello. I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course you will.”

  The brothers moved into a quick embrace. Matteo got into the truck, closed the door and stabbed the key into the ignition. The engine purred; he shifted into gear and started down the long driveway, checking his brother’s image in the mirror, watching it grow smaller and smaller.

  Amazing, that Luca should think he might be missing something by not letting himself get caught up in the idiocy people called love.

  Matteo snorted. “Never,” he said. “Absolutely never.”

  When he glanced in the mirror again, Luca’s image had been lost in the blowing snow.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As soon as he reached the highway, the old jokes about good news and bad news became reality.

  The good news? Traffic was light.

  The bad news? It was light for a reason.

  The storm had changed from Christmas-card perfect to intimidating. The snowfall was steady and heavy, and even with the windshield wipers going at top speed, visibility wasn’t great.

  Matteo had deliberately acted unconcerned about the weather, but he wasn’t a fool. He was an excellent driver, but this kind of storm changed things. It changed things for flying, too. Would the plane he’d chartered to take him to and from Texas be able to take off?

  He took his iPhone from his pocket and called his pilot, who answered on the first ring.

  “Yessir?”

  “Change of plans,” Matteo said. “I’m on my way to the airport. We need to fly out ASAP. How bad’s the weather there?”

  “Let me check and get right back to you.”

  He did, less than five minutes later. They had a one, maybe a one and a half hour window to get out before things got, as he put it, tricky.

  “Does that work for you, Mr. Bellini?”

  It didn’t. Not really. Under normal conditions, the drive would take just about that long. Now, with the snow…

  Matteo drummed his fingers against the steering wheel of the Silverado.

  He could always turn back, hole up at El Sueño the way the entire family had suggested.

  “Mr. Bellini?”

  “It’s fine. I’ll see you in—” Marco checked his watch. “In an hour.”

  Hell, he thought, as he checked his mirrors, why not? He was a good driver. Good? Why be modest? He owned Lamborgh
inis and Ferraris, and he often drove them on roads that made the one ahead look like a well-maintained autobahn.

  The only question was, how much speed could get from a truck?

  Matteo grinned.

  There was only one way to find out, he thought, and he pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

  * * *

  He made Dallas in time, if just barely.

  The storm had strengthened. His was the last plane off the ground before the control tower shut things down, but except for some bumpy air over Oklahoma, the weather was good all the way to La Guardia airport.

  By mid-afternoon, he was home.

  Home was a two-level penthouse on Central Park West. He’d yet to fully furnish it, but it held the requisites a man who led a busy life required. The master suite was comfortable, the workout room contained the necessary equipment he needed to keep in shape, and the massive kitchen freezer was always stocked with meals prepared by his housekeeper.

  He’d bought the place only a few months ago after representing a client who’d purchased a unit in the building.

  Matteo had never thought of himself as a homeowner. Real estate was something you bought for investment purposes. Yes, he owned a house in the islands. Actually, he owned an island, but that was vacation property. It was simpler to own such a place than to have to think about where to go those rare times he could fit a break in his schedule and get away for a few days.

  But owning actual real estate, a place to call home, had never been for him. Ownership implied a sense of permanence, and permanence wasn’t his thing. He’d been perfectly happy renting an apartment on the Upper East Side, until the day he’d met his client at the building on Central Park West.

  The building was forty stories tall and housed thirty-eight condos.

  The penthouse took up the top two floors.

  On a whim, he’d asked to see it

  It was—there was no other word suitable—magnificent.

  The floor plan was open, the ceilings high. The walls were almost entirely glass. Matteo had felt as if he were standing in the sky. He’d experienced the same thing at Luca’s place, and there was no denying the sensation was electric.

  Still, it was what had happened when he’d walked onto the wraparound terrace that had sealed the deal.