My morning may have been full of relief, but my afternoon was going to be full of yet more prospective women brought my way. I groaned, already fed up with today and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. For the last eight days, I’d been presented sixty-two women—sixty-two prospective wives—and not one of them was right. I needed someone who didn’t want attention and wouldn’t use the family name for her own agenda. It was a delicate balance, one that was proving more difficult than I ever would have thought.
The most important thing was that she would be in name only. I had no intention of being a loving husband to a good Italian woman. She’d want things I wasn’t capable of giving. Like babies, a family, a life where we held hands and I bought her flowers.
I wasn’t that person. I’d never be that person.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, schooled my features into the mask everyone expected of me, then pushed out of my car. I didn’t take one look at Christian, knowing he would follow me inside while also watching my back.
The large double doors opened as I came within a few feet, and there, in the circular entryway, were four women, lined up, ready for me to see.
“No,” I said, flicking my hand in the air in a shooing motion. It took me two seconds to look in their eyes and know whether they were right or not. And none of these were right, not for me anyway.
“You’re too damn picky,” Christian groaned as several sets of heels clicked on the tiled floor and outside. Not one of them said a word as they were ushered out. They knew better than that.
“None of them are right,” I told Christian simply as I turned around to face him. “Whoever it is is gonna be around for years. She’s gotta be the right person.”
“You have thirteen days left,” Christian reminded me, his brow raised. “You may be Lorenzo Beretta, but that don’t mean shit if you turn thirty and you don’t have a bride for the wedding your ma is already planning.”
I growled, frustrated at the whole situation. I hadn’t committed to anyone for a goddamn reason, but now, in one fell swoop, I was going to become the boss and a husband. Fuck. I couldn’t deal with this shit, not right now. The high from this morning had well and truly dissipated into nothing.
“I need a drink.”
“Lorenzo,” Christian snapped, but I ignored him and made a beeline for the kitchen at the back of the house. I hadn’t been in my dad’s office since the day of his funeral, and that was where the good stuff was. Right now, alcohol was alcohol, and I knew exactly where I could find some.
The side door to the kitchen was open, but I didn’t take any notice of it as I headed for the top shelf of the secret cabinet Ma kept. She thought no one knew about it, but we all knew that was where she kept her favorite drinks. They weren’t the same kind of expensive alcohol that was in my dad’s office, but even a weird-flavored vodka was better than nothing right now.
I huffed out a breath. Christian was right. I’d never find a wife, not with the people they kept bringing to me. Maybe I just needed to settle with one of the women and call it a done deal. Maybe I was being too picky.
I sneered at the light-purple color of the vodka, twisted the top off, and took a swig. “Fuck.” I slammed the bottle down. “That’s disgusting.” I darted for the sink, slammed the faucet on, and filled a glass with water, hoping that would take the awful flowery aftertaste away.
“I think you’re meant to mix that with something else,” a soft, lyrical voice said from behind me. “Like, you know, a mixer.”
My back straightened, my nerves on edge. I was always aware of what was around me, and yet I hadn’t even noticed someone coming into the room. Slowly, I turned, wondering if another prospective woman had been sent my way. I was about to open my mouth, to ask her what she was doing in a part of the house she wasn’t allowed in, when Mr. Ricci halted behind her.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Beretta.” He gulped, his wide eyes veering from me to the woman who I now realized was holding a box filled with groceries. “I’m bringing your mother’s delivery for the week.” He shuffled from side to side, unease clearly spreading through him. “I apologize if my daughter disturbed you.”
The woman turned to face Mr. Ricci. His daughter. I tilted my head to the side as I watched her. Her gaze lowered but remained focused on her dad. I could sense she didn’t like him apologizing for her, but she wasn’t going to say anything in front of me to him. She had respect for the people around her. Interesting.
“It’s okay. Don’t let me get in your way.” I leaned against the counter, crossed one leg at the ankle, and clasped the counter behind me. My attention didn’t move off the woman as she entered and placed the box of groceries on the kitchen table. She stared at me out of the side of her eyes, a frown appearing on her face as she spotted me staring. Again though, she didn’t say anything.
Mr. Ricci exited, probably going to get more of the delivery. I expected the woman to scamper after him, but she didn’t. She unpacked the box and sauntered around the kitchen, placing the items in what I was assuming were the correct place.
“You do this often?” I asked her, feeling like my voice was too loud for the room and her ears. I was to the point, but maybe she wasn’t used to that. My wheels were turning, and for some reason, I didn’t want to scare her off. She was the first woman I’d seen over the last week that had me wondering what else there was to her. The problem was that she wasn’t brought to me. Instead, she’d stumbled upon me. Accident? Fate? Coincidence?
“Who? Me?” The woman opened another cabinet but paused to look at me.
“Yeah. You.” I raised a brow, waiting for some kind of comeback, but there wasn’t one. Her gaze veered down to my white shirt, and her eyes widened slightly, just enough for me to know she could see the blood splatter on the material. I wasn’t sure how I was expecting her to react. Maybe she’d clam up and get out of here as fast as she could, or maybe she’d—
“Mrs. Beretta likes her things put away properly.”
I blinked, and she shrugged as if that was enough of an explanation for me. She didn’t mention the blood or acknowledge who I was. It intrigued me. She intrigued me.
She closed the cabinet, swiped her hand down her jean-covered thighs, and for the first time, I got a good look at her body. She was short, but I didn’t mind it on her. The curve of her hips was begging for my hands, and the dip in her waist called for my arm to wrap...
Huh.
I blinked several times. Maybe she could become an option.
“That was the last one,” Mr. Ricci announced, standing in the doorway to the side of the kitchen. It led out into the driveway that nobody knew was there, a secret spot used for deliveries. He blinked rapidly. He’d clearly seen the blood on my clothes and didn’t want to get any closer. Where his daughter was as cool as a cucumber, I could practically see his hands shaking from here.
“Let’s go, Aida.”
Aida. Her name was Aida.
She lifted her hand in a wave, and without saying another word, she exited, her dad following. I couldn’t help my feet moving toward the open door. My gaze refused to move from her, my brain wanting to know more.
Her ass swayed as she walked toward Mr. Ricci’s truck, but it wasn’t something that she put on. It was natural, just like her. And fuck if it didn’t draw me to her even more.