Chapter 5
FRANKIE
My father has officially ruined us.
It’s apparent judging by the looks I get as I step into the new restaurant on the edge of Napa, Bella Notte.
Despite the fact that the place just opened recently, I spot half a dozen family acquaintances at the tables in the dining area—which is only to be expected when you live in a small town.
Their eyes drill into me as I approach the hostess stand.
I give a little wave to a woman and her partner, both looking straight at me. They snub my greeting and turn back to their meals. Another couple stares at me in distaste, but most of the familiar faces are turned away now, blatantly ignoring me.
An older woman hazards a brief smile, and I smile back, but it seems that whatever my father did to ruin our family name was unforgivable. People aren’t quick to let go of grudges around here, especially where their wine is concerned.
What will people say when they find out I’m engaged to Dante Bellanti?
Damn my father to hell.
The hostess takes my name and shows me to a secluded private table in the back. It’s empty. I sit and immediately notice there are place settings for three.
“Has Mr. Bellanti arrived yet?” I ask.
“No, ma’am. Would you care for a glass of house red while you’re waiting?”
Of course Dante is running late to a dinner he set up. Men like him are always making power plays. Or maybe this is my punishment for showing up uninvited to the Bellanti offices today. I wonder how long he’s going to keep me waiting.
“The house red sounds perfect,” I say. “Thank you.”
God knows I need something to calm my nerves.
I glance around and take in the beautiful ambiance.
Large wood beams, stained dark, span across the white stucco ceiling.
Soft lights glow from modern iron fixtures overhead, while soothing jazz music plays in the background.
If the substance of this meeting were different, I might actually be able to enjoy myself.
My wine arrives. The time ticks on and I’ve downed half of it and still no Bellanti. I’ve got my flaws, but being late isn’t one of them—and honestly, this isn’t a good look on a man of his supposed power. Is it a personality flaw, or is he doing it on purpose?
“Ah, you’re here.”
My attention is pulled to the deep voice with an unmistakable bored tone. Dante approaches with the barest look at me, the complete opposite of my reaction.
I can’t look away.
His suit fits him like it’s been hand molded to his tall, fit body. His hair is perfectly combed back with a touch of sexy waves that look hard to contain. The forest green stripes on his tie compliment his coloring and accentuates the lines of his masculine throat. Jesus.
Focus, Frankie. I’m here to grow a pair and negotiate, yet my eyes wander lower, lower, wondering about his pair…
“Drinking alone? Looks like you’ve almost finished your wine.”
The female voice coming from behind him takes me by surprise.
Jessica. Shit.
She sidles up to Dante with a brilliant smile on perfect red, glossy lips.
She’s draped in an emerald, off-the-shoulder dress that makes her red hair pop and her cleavage, well, it’s out there for the world to see.
There isn’t a thread on this woman out of place and I suddenly feel very second class in the dress I’d loved only moments ago.
I don’t respond to her taunt.
Dante pulls a seat out for Jessica to his left, then sits between me and her. My skin tingles at his proximity, the feeling going lower as I catch the woodsy-citrus scent of his cologne.
“Jessica is here to take notes on this meeting, of course.” Dante juts a finger into the air and a waiter immediately appears with a tray of drinks.
I nod in agreement, even manage to give Jessica a warm smile as if it doesn’t bother me a bit that she’s here.
She licks her lips, puckering them a little as Dante glances at her before taking a slow sip of her wine.
Her gaze darts back to me, probably to see if I noticed her seductive little gesture.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Dante says.
He flips open a leather folder. Papers on official Bellanti Vineyards letterhead are tucked neatly inside, as well as some legal documents.
He thumbs through them and withdraws three copies of a single page, handing one to me and another to Jessica.
It’s a list of apparent topics we need to discuss.
I barely have time to scan it—wifely responsibilities, household duties, expectation of heirs—when Jessica clears her throat and slides on a slim pair of reading glasses. She tilts her head studiously, putting on her best sexy librarian show.
“Item one,” she reads aloud. “Wedding details.”
“Wedding details?” I repeat softly. An actual nuptial ceremony hadn’t really crossed my mind; I’d assumed we’d simply sign papers at the courthouse and be done with it.
“It’s ten days from now.” Dante’s voice is tinged in annoyance, as if he’s explaining the obvious to someone not quite able to comprehend.
I look squarely at him, the force of it drawing his attention. Our eyes meet and I damn near lose my breath. “Right. We’re getting married in ten days and we still haven’t had proper introductions.” I thrust out a hand. “Francesca Abbott. So very nice to officially meet you.”
He hesitates before sliding his palm against mine and wrapping his strong fingers around my knuckles with a little more grip than is probably necessary. One side of his mouth turns up, but only for a fraction of a second before his tempting lips resume a neutral line across his face.
“Dante Bellanti, but presumably you already knew that.”
I nod. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Bellanti.”
There goes his lip again. Huh. So he likes being called Mr. Bellanti. I make a mental note to never refer to him that way again.
Jessica clears her throat again and taps her pen against her list. “The ceremony will take place at Bellanti Vineyards. Intimate, but lavish. The guest list is small. Your immediate family has been invited, of course. Please provide me with a list of any additional guests you’d like to invite by end of day tomorrow.
Do you have any requests for decor, music, food? ”
“I’m happy to leave the styling to the wedding planner. Although,” I add sweetly, “it’s a real shame we don’t have a special song for our first dance, isn’t it? But I’ve got a couple of suggestions. How about, ‘What’s Love Got to Do with It?’ by Tina Turner. Or…”
“‘You Give Love a Bad Name,’ perhaps,” Dante suggests.
His quip robs the words from my mouth. I narrow my eyes and regroup. “‘Love is a Battlefield.’”
The smile he’s been trying so hard to fight blossoms now, just enough to transform his expression from stone cold to slightly evil with a side of hella-sexy. “Yes, Ms. Abbott, if you’re not careful it certainly can be.”
Jessica interrupts. “We can revisit this topic. In fact, let’s just scratch it all together. Next item, catering.”
Dante waves a dismissive hand. “Nonnegotiable. The menu has already been decided. The order is in.”
“Fine with me,” I say coolly.
“Okay,” Jessica says, checking it off. “Expectations of wifely duties pertaining to—”
“Also nonnegotiable.” He spears me with a look. “You’re expected to act as any wife would. Attend events by my side, host parties, decorate, plan menus, and whatever else women in this position do.”
I draw back. “I…don’t decorate. Or cook. If you’re expecting me to throw lavish parties and refresh the interior decor, I’m going to need to hire that out.”
Jessica huffs a quiet, stunted laugh. “If you’re really that inept, I’m sure we can arrange a stipend.”
“I wasn’t raised to be arm candy, sadly,” I shoot back.
“I was raised to know what kinds of fertilizer help virgin vines get their best start, what time of day is ideal for harvesting grapes, how to choose the opacity of wine bottles to cure the best vintage. None of that came with cooking lessons, I’m afraid. ”
Dante makes a sound and looks to his hands.
Jessica purses her lips. “Living arrangements?”
“It’s night time, by the way,” I say. “The heat of the day alters the acidity and sugar composition of the grapes. As for living arrangements, I prefer to keep my residence at my—”
“You’ll reside at Bellanti House, with me,” Dante interrupts.
I don’t like that one bit. Attempting to assert myself, I say, “Well, maybe I can split my time between there and my father’s house—”
“Absolutely not,” my fiancé says.
This is pointless. Dante and Jessica are overriding my every thought. But that doesn’t mean I’m going down without a fight. I can still lay down some boundaries.
I tilt my head. “Fine, then I want my own rooms.”
“Perfect! No sharing a bed,” Jessica agrees flippantly, jotting it on her paper. Dante and I both look at her. Her eyebrows jet up, her porcelain cheeks growing pink.
Dante says, “Thank you, Jessica. That will be all for this evening. You may go.”
She smiles, not budging. “Why don’t I just write down which rooms you’d prefer Francesca to take? That way I can be sure the decorators…”
Her voice trails off as Dante levels her with a stare. Her attempts to backpedal have clearly failed.
Seeing Dante’s narrowed eyes, my stomach drops—and the look wasn’t even meant for me. Jessica’s throat moves quickly as she swallows hard, puts on a tight smile, and gathers her things. With a nod, she scurries for the door, just as the waiter appears with a tray of appetizers.
“We didn’t order yet—” I start to say, but Dante waves away my comment.
“I took care of it.”
The food smells delicious, but my insides are so twisted up, I’m not sure I can partake of any of it. “Of course you did.”
The waiter refills our wineglasses and leaves us. Dante turns to me. It’s the most he’s been fully attuned to me since he got here. His dark eyes on me. His powerful body angled toward me. His attention, one-hundred percent on me. I’m afraid and turned on at the same time.
“Now, then.” His voice is seductively low and edged with gravel. “I expect an heir. We will have children, thus we will be sharing a bed.”
A pang hits me between the legs and I have the sudden urge to squeeze my thighs together. He hasn’t come close to touching me, yet my mind wants to prance around with sudden dirty thoughts of this man putting a baby in me. Ridiculous.
“You have brothers,” I point out. “They can provide an heir. I see no need for us to have anything beyond a marriage of convenience.”
“The Bellanti name will live on through my line.”
I take a generous sip of my wine and then challenge him with, “I was never consulted on whether or not I wanted children.”
He leans forward. A deep, shocking warmth spreads over my thigh, and I realize he’s put his hand there. His fingers tighten and the needy pulse between my legs goes haywire. All of a sudden, he’s all I can focus on, my insides gone taut as a wire.
“You’re to be my wife,” he says. “Wives give their husbands children. Your opinion on the matter is neither required nor welcome. I will have sons.”
He slides his hand up higher, sliding the silk of my skirt with it. The fabric flutters and bunches over my bare skin, creating a rush of sensation as he kneads my inner thigh.
“Fine,” I say. “But you can’t sleep with anyone else.”
Little lines gather at the outer corners of his eyes, marking his sarcastic smile before his lips do. “Don’t be a child.” His hands moves higher again, and I find myself holding my breath as his fingertips almost reach my underwear. “I’ll be discreet. No one will know.”
Anger begins pushing the lust aside. My fingers curl into my palms as I war with my body. “Then no sex until I’m fertile. There’s no need to engage in intimacy unless it’s time for impregnation.”
I lift my chin and glare at him, the fire in his eyes scorching me. But I don’t look away.
“You don’t have a leg to stand on, Francesca. You can’t negotiate with me. I own your winery and I own you. Whether I wanted you or not, you’re mine and you’ll do as I say.”
My breath comes hard and fast. I’m shaking as my fury builds and builds. Suddenly his fingers feel like a predator’s claws and I want to slap his hand away. How could I have been turned on by a man like this? He never wanted me at all. Was it my baby sister he craved?
I’m a few years younger than Dante, but Livvie…she’s practically still a girl. The thought that he may have had his eye on her all along disgusts me.
Slowly, he moves back, taking his hand with him. Without another word, he chooses a foie gras toast from the appetizer tray and sets it in front of me.
“Eat,” he commands. “By the way, I appreciate this dress on you. It brings out the color of your eyes.”
He smiles, and I silently vow to never wear the damn thing again.
In fact, maybe I’ll burn it when I get home.