Page 31 of His to Honor

Matteo rolls his eyes as I smile at Lorenzo. He doesn’t seem to be truly annoyed by my interactions with his cousin. The slight upturn of his lips and the glint in his eye tell me he’s actually amused.

The Italian steers me around to the front of the building and in through the sliding glass doors. We enter a vast, open space, flooded with light. Dozens of people are milling about. It takes me a moment to realize we’ve entered a store. There are shelves along the side walls and tables display various goods for sale.

“We like to support local artisans.” Lorenzo lets go of my arm and I wander around, looking at the various food and drink products, high-end craft items, and merchandise bearing the winery’s logo. It’s a black-and-white image of a wolf howling at the moon. Not the most original design concept, perhaps, but it lets you know exactly what brand you’re buying.

“This is fantastic,” I tell Lorenzo.

He nods, pleased with my approval.

“Through there is our wine store.” He points to a glass door to the left and then directs my attention to an opening in the wall at the back of the space. “And there is our coffee shop and restaurant.”

As he walks in that direction, Matteo reclaims me by slinging an arm over my shoulder. We follow Lorenzo into a bustling coffee shop. It’s bright and modern, with a polished pine floor and dozens of metal tables and chairs. Lorenzo veers to the left, and we walk through an archway into a more formal restaurant space. There’s seating for about a hundred people at the large wooden tables that fill the center of the space, and a hundred more in the booths that run around the edge of the restaurant. The place is huge, but there are only a few tables occupied. I hear several voices speaking in English, so I guess these are tourists.

We head for a booth by one of the large glass windows. It’s set for six people.

“I hope you don’t mind if we eat here,” Lorenzo says. “We have private dining spaces, but I prefer to be out here in the open. I like to see people enjoying the facilities.”

“This is perfect.”

“Giulia’s been hoping for an authentic Tuscan dining experience.” Matteo flashes me a cheeky wink. “She found Damiano’s restaurant in Florence disappointing.”

“Oh?” Lorenzo queries. “Was the food not to your satisfaction?”

“The food was delicious.” I shoot a glare at Matteo. “The company was lacking.”

Lorenzo laughs. “Ah, then it is good my cousin has brought you here. You will not be disappointed by our company.”

Before either Matteo or I can respond to that, a broad grin splits Lorenzo’s face. “Ah, here is my brother now.”

Damiano strolls toward us, wearing his signature tailored suit, but without a vest this time. He has dark glasses on, but removes them to reveal his gorgeous brown eyes as he gets closer. Livvy is at his side, exuding glamor in a pair of black wide-legged pants and a white chiffon top. With her six-inch heels, dark glasses, and crimson lipstick, she looks like a femme fatale. She’s carrying a purse someone like me wouldn’t be able to buy, not just because of its outrageous price tag, but because of its exclusivity. I guess the Volante name carries influence in the fashion world as well as everywhere else.

I’m glad I caved to Matteo’s demands to change out of my jean shorts, even though I’m still pissed that it was because he didn’t want other men to get a good view of my ass. The floral sundress I chose isn’t as elegant as Livvy’s outfit, but I feel good in it.

Matteo greets Damiano with a man hug that lasts all of two seconds before pulling his sister in for a more affectionate embrace. He ruffles her hair, drawing a protest from her. As she smooths down her hair, the corners of her lips twitch. I think she secretly likes that her older brother is playful with her. He’s the only one of the Volante males who openly shows his love for her.

“Giulia!” Damiano kisses my cheek, then steps back to brazenly run his eyes up and down the length of my body. If anyone else looked at me that way, Matteo would punch them in the face. He doesn’t seem to mind his cousins showing their appreciation for my physical attributes. I guess that’s a testament to his trust in them. “Bellissima.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” It’s a total understatement, but I don’t want to test the limits of Matteo’s tolerance by gushing about Damiano’s hotness. He’s behaving himself for now, but I doubt that would last if he thought there was any serious flirting going on. I turn to Livvy. “And you look stunning.”

“Thanks,” Livvy murmurs. “Your dress is nice.”

Her tone is unconvincing, but I’ll take a half-hearted compliment over open hostility any day of the week.

“Shall we sit?” Lorenzo asks.

Matteo ushers me onto the banquette at one side of the booth. The seats are padded in the softest leather I’ve ever sat on. He sits next to me while Damiano and Lorenzo flank Livvy on the opposite side of the table. I’m not sure if they’re being protective or preventing her from fleeing. She certainly doesn’t look comfortable.

A young server rushes over with a couple of bottles of wine. She and Lorenzo speak in rapid Italian. I don’t know what’ssaid in their brief exchange, but the girl seems flustered. Her cheeks redden and she nods repeatedly. From the coy way she peers at her boss from beneath her eyelashes, I’d say she has a crush on him. I can’t say I blame her. Both the Italian and American branches of the Volante family have been blessed with stunningly handsome features.

“This is our latest endeavor.” Lorenzo holds up the bottle. “A Pinot Grigio. It’s a particular favorite of mine for a light lunch.” He pours us each a glass of wine and smiles at me. “Giulia, please tell me what you think.”

Hesitantly, I raise my glass. Despite my heritage, I’m not much of a wine drinker. I sip the wine. It’s cool and crisp. “Oh, it’s nice.”

Lorenzo throws back his head and laughs. “Ah, Giulia, such a harsh critic. My people sweat over that wine for years and you call it nice.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I don’t know a lot about wine.”

Lorenzo makes a gesture with his hands that tells me it doesn’t matter. I’m relieved of my embarrassment as the first course arrives. It’s a Caprese salad. The tomato is sliced thinly, but the mozzarella has been torn and dotted around the plate. The basil appears to have been scattered in a haphazard fashion, but I imagine it’s been placed carefully to give a rustic look to the dish.

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