“I’m not. It’s all I ever knew.”
Knowing the cobblestone driveway might be a little tricky for Ginevra in her stiletto heels, he wrapped an arm tightly around her side, and pulled her close to him. He didn’t miss the shiver that raced through her body, but he did his very best to suppress his own reaction to it. It wasn’t like he needed to walk the rest of this very long driveway with a hard-on.
Right?
Apparently, he did.
Fucking hell.
“Oh, wow,” Ginevra said softly, her gaze drifting over the pots of roses that lined the middle of the driveway about midway, leading the rest of the way to the mansion. Twinkle lights colored the grass on either side, and hanging from the maple trees were rows of silk and chiffon that matched the white roses and lights. “This is something else.”
“I am sure the inside will be just as ... excessive,” he settled on saying with a laugh. “And all for a birthday party, too.”
“Hey, it’s something different than balloons and streamers.”
Right.
Except the balloons were roses.
And the streamers were made of silk and chiffon.
Right.
“It’s the Guzzi way,” he murmured. “And you’ll fit right in looking like you do tonight.”
Ginevra glanced up at him, those brown eyes of hers reminding him of an ocean. Expansive, dark, and deep. Oh, so dangerous, but pretty, too.
Just pretty enough to drown him.
He swore the music filtering out of the mansion, and the low tones of chattering people as they neared the grand, marble entrance faded away. There were far too many things about this woman that continued to draw him in, and ensnare him in her web of trouble. And then there were parts of him that recognized things in her that didn’t fit him at all.
Things that fit someone else in his life far better. Except she didn’t know that, and neither did the man who needed to know what was happening here.
This was a mess.
How many times had he said that now?
It didn’t make it less true.
Corrado cleared his throat, needing to break their connection.
Because they couldn’t have that at all.
That connection.
Not now.
Not ever.
“Let’s have a good time, hmm?” he asked, turning back to face the mansion.
Ginevra glanced down at the ground. “Sure, Corrado.”
24.
Corrado
The most crucial thing to know about Corrado’s mother?
Nothing and no one would ever be as important to Cara Rossi as her five sons, and husband. By most standards, one could absolutely consider her a mama bear. And yet, on the flip side of that same coin, she was also fiercely protective of her sons’ freedom and happiness. She, like his father, Gian, had made every effort to ensure their sons thought for themselves. That they understood the right choice was sometimes the hard one. They gave them protection and privilege, but also space to grow, and figure out who they wanted to be.
Never once had Corrado felt pushed to be one thing by his parents. He knew, safely, that his brothers felt the same way, even if they had clearly chosen a path more like his father’s. But his mother?
Cara was the voice of reason.
The loudest voice, too.
She made it her first priority to know that her sons were happy, even if she didn’t pry for the details as to why. Maybe that was why, when Corrado called his mother’s name across the hall, her soft smile stayed permanently affixed in place as she laid eyes on the woman at Corrado’s side, and his arm tucked around Ginevra’s waist.
She didn’t act surprised.
Not concerned.
Cara simply smiled wider, and opened her arms to Corrado like it had been far too long since she had seen her third oldest son. He let go of Ginevra to hug his mother. She took him into her embrace—lest she find trouble somewhere she shouldn’t be because someone pried too much, and she slipped up.
Behind his mother, Corrado found the hoard of his brothers waiting, and their father standing behind the Guzzi sons. Chris stood next to Marcus, and beside the oldest, the youngest at only twenty, Bene and Beni smirked at one another like they were sharing some kind of secret. The second set of Guzzi twins very well could be doing exactly that. Those two shared a bond with each other like even Chris and Corrado didn’t have.
Sometimes, it could be unsettling.
He was used to it now, though.
Cara leaned back, her hand still pressing against Corrado’s cheek, and he took that chance to pull Ginevra close again. God, he loved his ma. There was just something about her that felt like home in a way nothing else could. “Happy birthday, my boy.”
Corrado smiled. “Little old to be a boy, Ma.”
“Not to be my boy.”
He knew better than to argue.
She would always win.
Another lesson from his father.
“And who is this?” Cara asked, her smile turning on Ginevra in an instant. For the first time, Corrado loosened his hold on Ginevra, but not by much. Just enough to allow her to lean away from his side and take his mother’s hands that she offered. His mother looked back to him, asking, “A friend?”
Nice.
That was smooth of his ma.
Cara wouldn’t outright ask about his personal business—she never did. He was sure his mother assumed things, and put two and two together when she could about him and Alessio, but she never verbally confirmed it. It probably helped that his mother was a therapist, and always had a knack for knowing—or being able to pry—all her sons secrets from them, sometimes without their help at all. He figured seeing him without Alessio at his side would be a surprise.
Hell, it was a shock to him, too.
“Yeah, Ma,” Corrado said, “Ginevra is a friend.”
Cara still smiled, unfazed. “Ciao.”
Ginevra’s gaze darted to him, a silent question there, and he nodded. “Ciao. You have a beautiful home.”
“A bit much at first, don’t you think?”
To her benefit, Ginny didn’t miss a beat.
“Not at all.”
Cara shrugged. “I always thought it overwhelmed you a little coming up on it for the first time.”
The first time ...
Corrado shot his mother a look, but she studiously ignored it. If that was his mother’s sly way of saying Ginevra had never been here before, well, he heard it loud and clear.
“Actually, I thought it should be in a magazine.”
His mother laughed. “Oh, it’s been printed a few times. Not magazines, though. More the newspapers. Usually, from reporters trying to catch us coming in, or out.”
“Cara.”
All it took was the dark call of his mother’s name by his father, and Cara rolled her eyes upward like she thought it was ridiculous. Ginevra pressed her lips together, probably in an effort to keep from smiling. Corrado found he had to do the same when his mother muttered, “Yes, Gian, don’t talk about that ... I know, I know.”
Gian made a soft noise, and then turned to take a small flute of champagne from a server as she passed, but otherwise, he said nothing.
Corrado chuckled, knowing he should probably change the subject. “The place looks great, Ma.”
“It better,” she replied. “But back to this beautiful woman ... Ginevra, you said?”