1
Enzo
“Don’t look now. Three o’clock.”
Which is the one thing Hayden could have said to guarantee I do look. That’s human nature for you. Or at least it’s my nature. Someone tells me not to do something, and you can guaran-damn-tee I’ll do it anyway. And worse, he knows it.
Even in the dimly lit restaurant, I can see Giovanna clearly, and our eyes meet because she’s staring straight at me.
“Shit,” I mutter, looking away. “She caught me looking. There’s no way she’s not coming over now.”
Hayden makes a sound that I can easily decipher after more than ten years of his antics. It’s somewhere in between better you than me and I’m going to thoroughly enjoy this.
“If I can’t navigate this,” I whisper as the restaurant owner’s daughter starts sidestepping through the tables to reach us, “say goodbye to Wednesday dinner. She’s getting more and more aggressive.”
Hayden’s drink pauses midair. Eyes narrowed, he waits to see if I’ll forgo diplomacy just for the sake of sticking it to him. It would serve him right for deliberately attracting the attention of the woman who’s been pursuing me for months.
But I’m no idiot—if I mess this up, we’ll lose out on the best Italian food in Tribeca.
“Evening, gentlemen.”
Regular patrons of Faustini’s are used to the owner’s daughter. But the two tourist couples sitting next to us openly stare at her. I don’t blame them. Giovanna Faustini is gorgeous in a way that turns heads, from her dark hair to her signature red lipstick. She’s a razor-sharp attorney who has nothing to do with her father’s business, yet she always seems to make an appearance on the one day a week Hayden and I frequent this small restaurant. It’s not a secret we eat here every Wednesday. When the press figured it out, we nearly had to find a new weekly dinner spot.
“Hi, G,” I say.
“Good evening, Miss Faustini. You’re looking lovely, as usual.” Hayden’s playing with fire, encouraging her with his tone. I warn him with a look, but he doesn’t take the hint.
“Congratulations on the Merrick settlement. Well done.”
Hayden hasn’t lost his touch with the ladies. He could charm the habit off a nun.
Giovanna smiles, but not at my friend.
She’s stunning. Smart. But nothing stirs in me as she flashes her pearly white teeth—a lovely contrast to her red lipstick. I could easily picture those lips wrapped around me, but still, nothing.
“Thank you.” She waves her hand as if such a high-profile victory were commonplace. The opposing counsel is considered the best in the business, his track record, off the charts. “So, Enzo.”
Here it comes.
“I hear you’ve just been approved in Switzerland. You must be thrilled!”
It’s obvious the comment is addressed only to me, never mind the fact that my business partner sits across from me.
“Quite. Hayden’s going there in a few weeks for the launch.”
My tone clearly communicates that the conversation is over. Most people respond to that tone, but G, as she insists I call her, is a pit bull. She won’t be put off so easily.
“Maybe a celebration is in order?” she asks. “This weekend, perhaps?”
Hayden bites the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing.
Asshole.
I lift my wine, the beginning of a polite but firm dismissal. “Unfortunately, I’m out of town this weekend.”
“Oh? Somewhere good, I hope?” she says, dropping into an accent she sometimes pulls out like a pair of expensive shoes. She might be second-generation Italian, but G was born here, not in Italy.
“Home,” I say. “For the opening of my brother’s restaurant. Please give your father my compliments on the risotto. It’s especially good tonight.”
I don’t intend to answer any follow-up questions, so I bring the wine glass to my mouth and take a long sip, pointedly shifting my attention to Hayden. Finally, after an excruciating few seconds, she walks away.
“Home?”
Screw a sip. I might need another glass.
“I thought you said you weren’t going?”
The bell over the door rings, catching my attention. The old-school bell is a nice, kitschy touch—a sign that despite the red velvet cushions and chandeliers, Faustini doesn’t take himself too seriously.
Except he definitely takes his daughter seriously. Did she leave? Did I offend her with my borderline rudeness?
One of these days, I’m going to piss off Giovanna enough that she complains to her father. And I really, really don’t want that to happen.
Wednesday night at Faustini’s is the bright spot in a week filled with work and more work. According to everyone I know, I work too much. They’re not wrong, but I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, which is the exact reason I planned to miss my brother’s opening. I really can’t afford to take time off, but the guilt train conducted by my mother and occupied by my brothers and sister, not to mention Hayden, has been gaining steam these past two weeks.
“I wasn’t. Changed my mind.”
Hayden takes a bite of mushroom risotto and groans. His overdramatic enjoyment of food hasn’t changed a bit since college, except now his performance involves slightly more refined food than the ramen noodles we lived on back then.
“Seems kind of an extreme way to avoid a date with G.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her coming from the kitchen. I’m relieved that I didn’t drive her away after all, and even more so that she doesn’t look our way.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
He cocks his head. “And maybe you should just do what every other red-blooded male in this restaurant wants to do with her.”
“Everyone except you.”
Hayden can’t agree with a mouthful of risotto in his mouth, but I know it’s true. The fact that my best friend and business partner is now a married man surprises everyone, me most of all. He’s a far cry from the sex-obsessed frat boy I befriended. Sometimes it’s still hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that he’s a father. And a damn good one at that.
Hayden mumbles an affirmation and continues eating.
I lean back, sneaking another look. Why don’t I take Giovanna’s not-so-subtle invitation? I haven’t been on a date in two months, though not for a lack of prospects.
The kind of money Hayden and I have accumulated these past few years tends to attract women. Lots of them. Just not the right types.
“No, thanks.” The decision is an easy one. I enjoy her father’s cooking too much.
“Your mom will be happy you’re going home.” Finally dropping G as a topic of conversation, Hayden smiles. “Tell her I’m sorry to miss it.”
“You do know Tris is the one who’s opening the restaurant, right?” I say, seeing the subject away from my mother. Though he’s not wrong.
Mom was appalled to learn I didn’t plan on attending the opening.
To her, family is everything. Work is, at best, a very distant second, multibillion-dollar business or not. Tristano’s decision to follow in the footsteps of our father, a pizza shop owner, and open DeLuca’s II Ristorante is a big deal.