AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His voice catches as our eyes lock.
Tristano DeLuca.
The Greek god is even hotter than usual in a tux. Hair so black it almost looks purple, long on top with a lock falling into his eyes. Sharp cheekbones under chocolate-brown eyes. Tristano’s perpetual five o’clock shadow and deep, smooth voice give him the distinction of looking partly like his billionaire brother and partly like the kind of guy you might normally find in this barn. Envisioning him sitting atop a horse with a cowboy hat does nothing to force my gaze away.
“What table are you at?” Zara whispers.
“Five.” I break eye contact with my rival, the owner of the second-best Italian restaurant in Bridgewater, and look at the table signs.
“Me too. I think it’s this way.”
Tristano’s talking again, but I ignore him, as much as it’s possible to ignore someone like him, and follow Cole and Zara to our table.
It’s going to be a long night.
2
Tristano
“To my baby brother and his wife. Salute.”
The toast finished, I raise my glass, and as the echo of clinks die down, I sit. Next up, Chari’s maid of honor. I listen to her kind words about my brother and her best friend, the woman Enzo will spend the rest of his life with.
“Nice job,” my other brother says, nudging me. “Except for the stumble.”
It’s just like Gian to point that out.
“Thanks,” I mutter back.
My gaze wanders to the reason for my midspeech stutter. Who the hell is she? I’d ask Gian, but the last thing I need is my brother ribbing me for the rest of the night. She’s sitting with friends of Chari’s, so my guess is maybe someone she knows from out of town?
Bridgewater isn’t so small that I know every resident, but between Dad’s pizza shop and my restaurant, I know most of them. And she is certainly not someone I’ve seen before.
I’d have noticed.
An off-white lacy top with only two little spaghetti straps is at odds with the bottom half of her dress. Deep green and pleated, it’s like the reserved half to its flashy partner. Not unlike me and my brother. My mother loves to call me the responsible one, Gian the loose cannon, and Enzo somewhere in the middle.
She peeks at me, pretending to look at the bride.
Caught you.
My eyes move from her dangling gold earrings to her mouth. So damn full. She brushes her long, dark brown hair to the back, fully revealing her shoulders. I imagine slipping a finger under that strap.
“A toast to my best friend in the world and her new husband. To Mr. and Mrs. DeLuca. Cheers.”
This time when she peers up at the head table, she doesn’t look away. When she takes a sip of champagne, my thoughts go from mildly dirty to downright salacious. She’s nothing like my usual type—“borderline trashy,” as my sister calls it. It’s true, I like a woman with a bit of an edge. The good-girl types, like the beautiful stranger who’s now actively attempting to ignore me, usually can’t keep up.
“I can’t fucking believe it. Enzo is married.”
Leave it to Gian to keep it classy.
“How is this a surprise?” I tear my gaze from the mystery woman. “Enzo is crazy about Chari. She’s good for him.” I look at Enzo, sitting to the left of me. He only has eyes for his new wife and is totally oblivious to our conversation.
“I know, it’s just . . . married. Can you imagine?”
Chuckling, I answer immediately. “For you? No.”
Gian is the very definition of a player. He has more women in his life than I have recipes I want to try.
