Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
And not even that, if Fino came through in time.
My father groused from the head of the table. “Wrong daughter, Cavalieri. The one you’re buying is over there.” He gestured wildly, spilling his drink on a passing servant. “Antonia! Get away from Alessio and go sit next to your groom.”
Antonia stamped her foot under the table. “Why should I have to sit next to him? Make him sit next to me!”
“Get your ass out of that chair and sit next to him.”
With a glare at me, she deliberately knocked over her water glass with a swipe of her hand, saturating the tablecloth and seat cushion after rising. Since I was the one switching seats with her because everyone else was already seated, there was no mistaking that she did it deliberately to punish me.
It would be a miracle if I survived this dinner without bursting into flames from embarrassment.
Bracing my palms against the edge of the table, I moved to push back my chair when Matteo placed his hand over mine. “Don’t move.”
He faced the man on his left. “A lady should not have to rise once seated, wouldn’t you agree?”
After a moment, the man tossed his napkin onto his plate, rose, and made room for Antonia.
An anxious glance down the table to the end told me my father was deep in conversation with his consigliere and had not witnessed the exchange.
I leaned over to Matteo. “It’s fine. Really. My father will be angry if he learns I allowed one of his soldati to sit on a wet chair.”
Matteo winked at me again. “Then it is a good thing the servers are already taking care of it.”
Sciatiri e matri! A wink should not be so charming and sexy and adorable all at once.
Facing forward so he couldn’t read my reaction, I saw the servants had indeed already replaced the chair with one of the extra ones that usually remained in the corner of the dining room and placed several cloth napkins under the plate to cover the water damage.
Antonia slouched in the chair to his left and folded her arms with a huff.
A servant approached from behind to pour the prosecco as other staff members brought the antipasti platters. The sharp, pungent aroma of anchovies and oil rose from the platter of pitoni a la missinisi someone placed to my right. It battled with the crisp, clean scent of the ’nsalata ri limuni e arancia's orange and lemon slices, their chartreuse and coral colors vivid against the crystal bowl.
Antonia spat out, “Don’t give me prosecco, you idiot. I hate the bubbles.”
When her arm stretched out to swipe the glass, Matteo, with lightning-quick reflexes, snatched the glass off the table before she reached it.
Without missing a beat, he leaned over to her and said softly but just loud enough for me to hear, “I’d be happy to drink yours, babygirl.”
My stomach twisted.
Babygirl.
He had called me babygirl last night.
Open your mouth, babygirl.
In a breach of etiquette, I reached for my glass and drained the contents before the toast. A nearby servant rushed to refill it as I tried to ignore Matteo’s questioning look. “Thirsty?”
“You could say that.”
Antonia leaned forward. Her lower lip thrust out in a pout. “Stop talking to my sister. You’re supposed to be paying attention to me.”
Matteo laid his hand over his heart. “My apologies.”
Not finished, she continued in a fit of pique. “And don’t call me babygirl. I can’t stand that nickname. It makes me sound like an insipid child’s toy.”
Matteo grinned. “You liked it well enough last night.”
I choked on my sip of prosecco, the bubbles going up my nose.
Antonia frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Before Matteo could repeat himself, I reached over my shoulder and snatched a small pewter tray from a passing servant’s hands. “Would you like some preserved artichoke hearts, Matteo? Our cook makes them with Sicilian oregano. It’s way more intense than the oregano in Italy.”
Antonia grabbed the glass of Moscato Bianco offered to her. “What the hell is wrong with you, Ella? You’re acting weird. Put down the stupid platter and let the servants earn their keep.”
I leaned back in my chair, cradling my glass of prosecco to my chest. “Yes, Antonia.”
I needed to calm the fuck down.
If Antonia, the Queen of Narcissism, was noticing my behavior, it meant it was painfully obvious.
Matteo cleared his throat. “So, Antonia … have you read any good books lately?”
She eyed him up and down. “What are you, eighty? No one reads books anymore.”
To cover my sister’s rude response, I answered without thinking. “I’m reading Bread and Wine by Ignazio Silone.”
Matteo turned and stared at me for so long, I thought I may have somehow given myself away.
He cocked his head to the side as his brow furrowed. “Book two in the famous trilogy about Abruzzo?”
Uh oh.