The No Falling Rule (Holiday Rules #4)

Chapter 1

Diego

“Are you seriously holding a business meeting during your daughter’s wedding week?”

I’m not sure how we’re related, but where I love the sun and the heat, my brother, Armando, seems to be allergic to it. His shirt is already drenched in sweat.

“Diego, we don’t stop being Grossos just because we’re in paradise.”

“Right,” I mutter, glancing around the marble lobby of our resort in La Romana, Dominican Republic.

Bellboys move in precise choreography, guests drift past the check-in counters, and somewhere behind us, ocean air pushes through the open doors.

“Because God forbid any of us try relaxing for five minutes.”

Armando doesn’t even blink. He’s already back on his tablet, probably scrolling through financials. “All the Grosso Enterprises executives are here,” he says. “We’re meeting to see what needs to be done before the year ends to meet our goals.”

An easy smile spreads across my lips. I know he thinks he’s got me.

“My assistant will send you a copy of my end of the year report. I’ve not only met my goals, I exceeded them.

” I raise an eyebrow at his shocked expression.

“If you have any other questions, I’ll be happy to meet with you after the holidays. ”

I take one step and decide to say one more thing. “With all due respect, who the fuck in their right mind thinks we can meet goals that haven’t been met in a year during one week?”

“I’m not so sure you have what it takes to be a Grosso, little brother,” he spits once I pass him. “Besides, we’ll also be talking about the Chile acquisition.”

I laugh under my breath. “You mean the one I’m closing?”

His jaw tightens. “You’re still learning.”

There it is. The same damn line I’ve been hearing since I was old enough to reach the conference table. The youngest Grosso. The oops baby. The one still “proving himself.”

I clap him on the shoulder—a little too hard. “You’re right, big brother. Still learning how to enjoy my success while you stress about everyone else’s.”

Before he can answer, I turn toward the pool bar.

The humidity hits like a second skin. The scent of coconut oil, salt, and grilled pineapple drifts through the air. Somewhere near the tiki bar, a DJ remixes Christmas songs into reggaetón beats.

This—this is what I love about the Caribbean. No boardrooms. No quarterly reports. Just sun, rhythm, and people actually living.

The bartender spots me and grins. “Welcome back, Mr. Grosso.”

“Buchanan on the rocks.”

He slides a napkin and my drink across the counter. “On the house, jefe.”

“Gracias, amigo.”

I take a sip, and for the first time in days, my shoulders loosen.

Someone shouts my name, and I turn on my heel.

A soft body bumps my back, a gasp fills the air, and in slow motion, I see a woman’s wide brown eyes, a flailing suitcase, and—

Splash.

Water erupts behind me.

“Shit.”

I drop my glass and dive in.

Cold hits like an electric current. She’s sitting at the bottom, disoriented, frozen. I kick down, wrap my arms around her waist, and push off hard.

We break the surface, and I haul her toward the edge, sputtering water and barking orders at the nearest staff.

“Call paramedics!”

Hands grab her from mine. I drag myself out beside her, suit clinging like glue.

“What the fuck happened?” Of course—my father’s voice. Loud. Commanding. Every staff member within twenty feet straightens.

Before I can explain, a woman comes running, frantic. “Mia!”

She drops to her knees beside the girl—Mia—who’s coughing but awake.

Then the woman turns on me like a storm. “You! You knocked her in!”

I hold up my hands. “I’m truly sorry. It was a silly accident.”

“A silly accident?” she snaps. “My sister’s luggage is ruined! Her clothes are ruined! We’ve been here five minutes!”

Dad steps in, calm and authoritative. “Okay, let’s take a step back. I’m truly sorry you and your sister had to experience such a shocking event on the first day of your holiday, but let me assure you it was not intentional.”

The sister blinks, taken aback by his polished diplomacy.

I’ve seen him calm furious guests, politicians, and crying brides with that same tone.

Her gaze darts from him to me a couple of times.

She’s weighing his words, and I’m not sure she’s going to let us off the hook so easily.

I know tourists on a budget—they try to get free stuff whenever they can.

And this is a prime opportunity for a complimentary hotel stay, if I’ve ever seen one.

“Are you okay?” my other brother, Fernando, asks me.

I nod, not able to form words.

“Fuck, I was just calling you to see if you wanted company,” he says, releasing a breath through his teeth. “I didn’t think something like this was going to happen. Imagine if she dies. We’ll be in so much shit.”

“Quiet, Fernando. No one is going to die,” Mom admonishes as she comes to stand beside me.

When I glance at Mia, she’s already sitting up, towel around her shoulders, eyes downcast.

She’s soaked. Shaking. But her voice is steady when she says, “I’m okay. Just embarrassed. I think a good cup of tea and some dry clothes will bring me back up to speed.”

It’s a soft, warm voice—Southern, maybe. I shouldn’t notice that.

“You should still get checked,” I say, kneeling to meet her eyes. “Please.”

She looks at me, brows drawn, lips parted slightly. Her gaze lingers longer than I expect. “Fine,” she says. “Check.”

Her skin is ashen, maybe due to the lack of oxygen. But besides her skin color, I can see so much beauty in her. The most perfectly curled lashes frame a pair of brown, almond-shaped eyes. Her bottom lip is plump, and the cupid’s bow on her top lip is perfect—it makes me want to kiss her.

Fucking hell. Why am I such an asshole? She could’ve died, and I’m here thinking about kissing her?

The paramedics arrive and conduct their tests—no concussion, no injuries. As they help her up, I offer my hand for balance. Her fingers are small and cold against mine.

“Let me walk you to Guest Services,” I say. “We’ll get you new clothes. Maybe ones that dry faster.”

That earns me a breath of laughter. “Is that a common amenity?”

“Only for VIPs.”

Her smile widens, and something low in my chest tightens.

Inside, my father is already at the desk. “Move them to Bungalow Six. Oceanfront. Send a wardrobe.”

I’m shocked my father gave them my bungalow, but I just nod at the attendant, then at Mia. “They’ll handle everything.”

She studies me. “Are you… the owner?”

I tilt my head. “Depends on who’s asking.”

She laughs softly. “Thank you. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” I say—and mean it.

Her sister waves her toward the exit, and just before she disappears, Mia glances back. Our eyes catch—hold—and I don’t look away.

When they’re gone, I drag a hand through my wet hair, my soaked linen shirt cooling in the lobby air.

“Handled well,” Dad says, appearing beside me.

“Thanks,” I manage.

He claps my shoulder once. “Try not to make headlines before the wedding, hm?”

When he leaves, the noise of the resort fills in again—the chatter, the laughter, the faint music from the pool deck.

My watch buzzes with reminders about tomorrow’s meeting. I swipe them away. For the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking about the Grosso brand, or the Chilean expansion, or the pressure to prove I belong at the table.

I’m thinking about the woman who looked at me like I was just a man who made a mistake, not the youngest son of a luxury empire.

I go to the concierge and scribble out a request:

Bungalow Six. Flowers—sunflowers and white roses. The biggest bouquet that can be delivered within the hour.

I hesitate, then add a spa appointment. She’ll be sore tomorrow. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

Then I handwrite a note to go with the bouquet, fold it neatly, and join the line. Time to figure out where I’ll be staying now that my bungalow isn’t available anymore.

Dad’s voice echoes in my head—you’re not the baby anymore, mijo. Maybe he’s right.

Because tonight, I don’t feel like the kid brother or the corporate afterthought. I feel like a man who has just met someone impossible to forget.

And as I look out toward the pool where it all started, the sun glinting off the water, I can’t help but think—

lesson one, big brothers: watch me close a different kind of deal.