Page 34 of Perfect Match
His eyes turn glacial. My brothers and I all inherited his unique blue-gray gaze, but thankfully, none of us mastered the icy glare that is trained on me now. I stare him down, and his gaze drops to the desk.
When he looks back up, a fissure of fear forms a fault line in my confidence.
“This won’t take long.” He leans back in his oversized black leather chair, pretending a casualness that defies his forced smile and dead eyes. “Franco Romano and I have decided that it’s time for you to announce your engagement to his daughter, Lucia.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand, and any thoughts of tempering my anger fly out the window.
“It has always been understood that you would both marry as the eldest in the families.” His voice is ominously serious.
“By who? Not me or, I suspect, Lucia. I remember it being joked about when we were kids. But it was just a joke. We’re not carrying on some outdated tradition of arranged marriages between families to guarantee power of the empire. This is a ridiculous idea.”
“Son, it’s time you settled down and stopped living the life of a playboy. You will never be taken seriously in business if you aren’t seen to be a family man.”
“When the fuck would I have time to be a playboy? No, forget that. Actually, forget this whole conversation. I am not marrying Lucia Romano for some fucked-up family pact that you and Franco have concocted.”
“Skipping off to Capri for a day with some unknown woman is not how the CEO of Barbieri should be behaving.” How did he find out about Tori? I don’t know, and honestly, at this point, I don’t care. She’s none of his business. I’ve put up with a lot of myfather’s shit over the years, but this is going too far. I won’t allow myself or Lucia to be dragged into some power play between two stupid old men.
“There will be no engagement between Lucia and me. When and if I decide to marry, the woman will be of my choosing, and it will be for love, not business.” I turn to go.
“You might want to rethink that after you read through this contract.” He shoves a pile of stapled papers across his desk toward me.
What the fuck is he talking about? A contract.
“What kind of contract?” I ask, but based on the number of pages, I suspect I’m not going to like the answer.
“This is a contract with a default clause that could leave the family no longer the majority shareholder of the Barbieri Corporation.”
“Why would you have signed a contract like that?”
His face has turned a deep red, and his hands are clenched fists on the desk. I’ve never seen him this angry, and it worries me more than his usual stony indifference.
“I did what I needed to do to save the company,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. “And now it’s time for you to do the same.”
I’ve no idea what any of this means. And without another word, I snatch up the document that seems to hold the answers and storm out of the room. I can’t remain in my father’s presence without fear that I’ll say something I’ll later regret. Anger courses through my veins, fueling my steps out of the house and into my waiting car.
“Take me back to the hotel,” I growl at the driver, instantly hating how I’m beginning to sound like my father. “Please,” I add. I’ve made it a point to always treat the people who work for me well, and just because I’m pissed off after that meeting, my standards shouldn’t change.
Antonio has remained in Florence this month and is waiting for me to join him in his suite across the hall from mine. I need to speak to my brother before my father does. He and Lucia are close—not just family friends close but best friends. They always have been, ever since we were kids, and I need to find out if he’s heard anything. Our two families have been friends for as far back as I can remember. The Romano family villa on Capri is where we spent a lot of our summer days. It was always more welcoming than our own family villa next door. Lucia—along with her younger brother, Dante, and my brothers—was part of our summer gang as teenagers, and they’ve remained good friends long after. But I never saw Lucia as anything more than a friend, and I’m pretty sure she feels the same. If anything, if she had to choose a Barbieri brother, it would be Antonio, certainly not me.
As the car zips through the Florentine traffic, I message Ant.
Me:I’m done and on my way back. I need to speak to you urgently.
Three dots instantly appear.
Antonio:I thought you were having dinner with daddy dearest tonight.
Antonio’s nickname for my father reminds me of the scorn he feels for the man whose DNA we share. I look out the window to estimate how much farther it is to the hotel.
Me:Not anymore. I’ll be there in fifteen.
I’ve been imagining any number of scenarios on the drive back, but none of them would be a reason for me to have to marry Lucia. The wad of papers on the seat beside me holds theanswers, but they remain unopened until I can go through them with Ant.
After a sharp rap on Antonio’s door, it swings open, and my brother stands eye to eye with me.
“What’s our father done this time?”
“Gone too far,” I grumble, the anger from earlier still coursing through my veins as I follow him into the suite, which is a mirror image of mine. On the coffee table in the sitting room is a glass of whiskey, and he moves to the kitchen to bring one over for me, along with the bottle. He can obviously see that this conversation is going to need more than one standard measure.
