“You never said what all that was about at the airport. Where’d you run off to?”
I give him a sideways glance. “Thought I saw a ghost.”
He quirks a brow. “Since when do ghosts wear heels?”
A smile curves my lips as I remember her strutting away.
Riccardo sneers as if he knows more than he’s letting on, swirling the grappa in his glass like he’s a fucking sommelier. “You had that look in your eye. The one that says I’m about to do something deeply stupid.”
I huff out a half laugh. “Appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“I’ve known you long enough, cugino. You only get that look when it’s about a woman… or a murder.”
“Sometimes both,” I say with a huff of a laugh.
Riccardo chuckles. “So, which was it this time?”
I tilt my glass in his direction. “Not a murder.”
“Ah.” His brows lift knowingly. “So it was a woman. Letme guess…” He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Dark hair. Big eyes. Trouble written all over her?”
I lift my grappa in a silent toast. He’s not wrong, even if her dark hair is bleached right now. “Let’s just say it’s unfinished business.”
He snorts. “You and your unfinished business. What’s the play here? Gonna follow her around Rome until she agrees to date you?”
I shrug. “It worked for you.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got charm. And dimples. And a vineyard.”
I roll my eyes. “Not to mention an ego the size of Sicily.”
“Grazie.” He takes another drink, then lifts his glass. “To unfinished business.”
I clink mine against his, the warmth of the grappa dulling everything except the image of her face, the sound of her laugh echoing somewhere deep in my memory.
“You know,” he says, pouring us another round like he’s trying to kill me, “you could’ve told me you were in love before you flew out. Whoever she is, she’s welcome here.”
“I’m not in love with her.”
He snorts. “No? So the whole disappearing act, and sulking at this wedding, is just you being your usual ray of fucking sunshine?”
“I’m not sulking.”
“You look like a widowed mob wife.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “At least I’m dressed appropriately.”
Riccardo glances down at my black suit. “Yeah, you could crash a funeral or a gala. Or a murder scene.” He elbows me. “Now come on, cheer up. There’s free booze, a half-decent DJ, and a bridesmaid who keeps asking me if you’re single.”
“I’m not interested.”
“She’s blonde, leggy, and very flexible, according to the groom’s brother.”
I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me. “That’s exactly why I’m not interested. I’m not having sloppy seconds.”
Riccardo chuckles, then looks at me a beat longer. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
