Page 1 of His to Claim

1

CARLOTTA

Leaning forward, I apply more eyeliner and smudge it beneath my lashes. It’s Thursday night which means it’s girls’ night out and, for the first time since we started the tradition, I’m not looking forward to meeting up with Alessia, Hannah, Gabriella and Blake. Even though I love them like sisters, lately it’s been a little hard for me to be around them.

I guess what it boils down to is I feel left out. And a little jealous. Okay,a lotjealous.

My older brothers and their significant others are all gloriously, sickeningly happy and head over heels in love with each other. As fabulous as that is for them, well, for me…it’s been quite lonely lately.

Whether I like it or not, I’m the last one standing. The only single sibling left and the youngest sister of the powerful Rossi family.

With a heavy sigh, I lift the mascara wand and sweep it over my long lashes, wondering why that is. Studying my reflection in the mirror with a critical eye, I wonder for the millionth time what’s wrong with me? Not to be arrogant, but I’m doing okay in the looks department. Sure, I get self-conscious sometimes like every other female out there, but I know I’m blessed with good Italian genes—long, thick dark brown hair, even darker eyes, a permanent bronze tone to my skin. And despite all the pasta I manage to eat, I’m able to keep my figure and my curves are in all the right places.

And that leads me to start questioning other things—things that aren’t very easy to fix. Do I have a bad personality? Is that why men seem to keep their distance? Do I have a resting bitch face? I don’t think so, I decide, looking at my reflection. Maybe it’s my sassy personality that scares them away. Angelo does call me a firecracker sometimes.

Lately, it seems like I’ve been questioning a lot of things, especially decisions I’ve made in the last few years. All, of course, which have led me to this point—painfully alone.

Maybe it’s because Angelo, my closest brother, just got married and he’s the one I thought I could always count on to remain single. Ang had always declared he’d be a bachelor to the day he died, swore it up and down, and I believed it. We all did. He’s far too good-looking, beyond charming and used to say serious relationships were to be avoided at all costs and just the idea of one made him break out in hives.

So much for that.

Blake, a bounty hunter, accidentally kidnapped him instead of her intended target and the rest, as they say, is history. Last week at the wedding reception, they already announced Blake is pregnant. Talk about a complete and total one-eighty.

Of course, I’m going to love being an aunt…again…and I’m genuinely happy for my brothers, their wives and their children.

I think it must be fear of missing out that has me all out of sorts lately. Either that or maybe my biological clock is ticking.I’m only twenty-five, though,I remind myself. There’s no need to be in a rush to get knocked up. I know people who didn’t start their families until they were well into their thirties, even forty nowadays.

I did always have my heart set on being a young mom, though. While I still had the energy and would be able to have my child grow up with all their cousins. Because, let’s face it, my brothers and their wives are popping out kids like they’re Pez dispensers.

Reaching for the hot curling iron, I pick up a strand of my dark chestnut hair and wind it around the wand, contemplating the root of the problem. It’s not that I’m in a hurry to get married and have kids, it’s more that I want to start experiencing life. Things like love and sex are mysteries to me.

Very tantalizing mysteries that I want to explore.

As I continue to work my way around my head, curling my normally straight hair, I inevitably think about the one man I did date seriously. Rendall Smith. God, what a jackass. An image of his stupid face pops into my head. Dirty blond hair, greenish eyes, normal height and build. Nothing like my powerhouse brothers.

Rendall was average in every way. Except, of course, when it came to the asshole scale. Then he was off the charts.

God, I still feel so stupid for spending so much time with him, for believing him, for almost giving my virginity to him. What a complete and total waste that would’ve been. Yes, I want to sleep with a man, but I want him to be a good guy. Or, at least not treat me like shit.

Growing agitated by memories of what happened, my hand slips and the hot iron burns my forehead.

“Ow! Dammit!” I cry. With a frustrated sound, I set it down on the counter with a thunk and stare hard at my reflection in the mirror again.

Maybe it is my looks. Maybe I’m not pretty enough.

God, I hate the self-doubt creeping in, but I can’t help it.

Like my brothers, I have dark hair and brown eyes. Well, except for Vin who has the most amazing shade of green eyes which can’t be missed or overlooked because they’re so stunning. To be honest, I don’t usually remember a person’s eye color. When I’m talking to someone, especially a man, I tend to look everywhere but in their eyes. For some reason, it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe because the eyes truly are the window to the soul, and I feel exposed and vulnerable.

Squinting, I try to remember what color Rendall’s eyes were—I thought greenish, but now I’m second guessing myself. Maybe they were more brown. Hazel? Or wait, no. Gray. Hmm, I’m not sure. Oh well, it doesn’t matter because he is a complete douchebag who I never want to see or run into again.

I lightly trace a finger over the red burn mark that now mars my forehead and frown.Nice.Grabbing some concealer, I lightly cover it as best as I can then check the time on my phone. I should leave in ten minutes, so I head into my bedroom to get dressed.

My apartment is small and cute and located in Greenwich Village. While my brothers live in much bigger and fancier homes, I like my cozy place. It fits me. Lately, I’ve been spending the majority of my time in the corner book nook I put together, lost in romance novels. It consists of a big, overstuffed chair near the window so there’s plenty of natural light, a floor lamp if I need it, and floor to ceiling shelves that I had Vin help me install. I love reading, and I spent days organizing my paperback collection by series and by authors. Lately, it’s the one thing that gives me absolute joy—curling up in my teal chair, sipping flavored coffee from my favorite mug and reading about falling in love.

Because I figure it’s that or nothing. What can I say? It’s a sad state of affairs.

I think part of the reason I feel lost is because I’m not exactly sure what I should be doing with my life. My parents live in Sicily on a vineyard and our family owns a successful wine company, Rossi Vineyard, and Vincentius runs the day to day operations. Miceli, my oldest brother, handles the mafia side of things and has his fingers in everything. He’s practically the Don of New York City and runs everything. Nothing gets past him. And Enzo is a genius when it comes to stocks and investments. That man makes so much money, he could probably buy this entire city and everyone in it.

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