7
CANDI
I have a new office.
Armani has set me up inside the building that houses the Bellanti Vineyards tasting room. It’s not where Armani and his brothers work, but itisright next to Frankie’s office, which is far preferable (even if it does throw a wrench in my spying). I’m just relieved I’ll have a friendly face close by, considering there haven’t been many of those since I moved into the main house.
For some reason, Armani’s brothers have been weirdly cold to me. I’ve never had a problem with Dante or Marco in the past, and I’ve been working for the Bellantis for almost two years now, so I’m not sure what’s changed all of a sudden. I’m definitely not imagining it, either.
They avoid me, for one thing, and they speak in Italian whenever I’m around—clearly to leave me out of the conversation. They’ve never been rude to me before, so the only thing I can think is that they might assume I coerced my way into their home, instead of being here at the behest of Armani. Or maybe they just don’t like the idea of me dating their brother at all.
Either way, I’m not in a position to confront them. I can’t risk any conflict or the possibility of getting kicked out. I have to keep my head down and do the job I came here to do.
But the more I pretend to not be bothered by their behavior, the more I start to worry that they think I’m just another gold digger trying to weasel my way into getting a Bellanti ring on my finger. It wouldn’t be the first time an employee tried to seduce her way into snagging a Bellanti…like this woman Jessica, who was honestly kind of vile, though I don’t like to speak ill of those who have passed on. I wish Armani would just tell them that me moving in here out of the blue to play house was his idea to begin with. I can’t ask him to do that, though.
Because, in another fun twist, I think Armani is avoiding me, too. Yet another thing that doesn’t make sense. He asked me to move in for six months, presumably because he wants me here for…reasons unknown. I assumed it was sexual, some kind of game to him. I was to be his new toy, for a limited time only, with no strings attached. And yet.
The man doesn’t even step foot into “our” bedroom until after I’m asleep. I feel him climb into bed in the middle of the night, but by the time I wake up the next day, he’s already gone. I set my alarm to go off extra early today so I could try to catch him, maybe see if he wanted some company in the shower…but I heard the door click shut as I opened my eyes and sure enough, no Armani. Is he hiding from my cat, or me? I really don’t know.
It goes without saying that we haven’t been intimate since that night on the yacht. He hasn’t spared me so much as a kiss on the cheek, which is frustrating as hell. I never pegged him as an affectionate man, so I’m not overly surprised—the Armani I’ve come to know is cool, aloof, and difficult to get to know—but I guess some part of me had hoped, deep down, that he’d been sincere when he said he wanted me. Had hoped our arrangement might open the door to seeing another side of him that he doesn’t show the rest of the world.
Now I realize it was foolish to think that way, considering why I’m really here. I need to bury any and all notions of romance and just focus on digging deep into Armani’s life so I can pull out whatever’s useful. But my heart cares little for logic. I want toknowhim. I want to be with him, spend time talking and laughing with him, even if this relationship is completely fake.
Ugh. Why did I think this would be easy?
Hands on my hips, I assess my new office space. I’m not quite sure what to do with it. I’m used to working at my kitchen table, or out of my car in between phone calls and meetings with distributors. Most of my time is spent driving from winery to retailer, sourcing and securing distro deals for my clients’ wines. While Armani knows I’ll still be working with other wineries from time to time, he thought it would be best if I had a home base.
Which, I’m not complaining. This is a very luxurious arrangement for me, on all counts. I just think it’s odd, after all this time, that he wants me situated inside the Bellanti compound now. It’s no coincidence that my office is right next to Frankie’s, either. I’m sure I’m being babysat. I just don’t know why. Armani’s motives are still a mystery to me. But I can roll with the punches. Play along, make the man happy. And in the meantime, I’ll keep ticking off the boxes until I can put the pieces together to find out what he’s really up to.
There’s a rap on my open door. I glance up to find Frankie standing there, nine months pregnant but still wearing a big smile and holding a potted fern.
“Well hello, neighbor.” She ambles over to me and hands me the plant.
“It’s a beauty! Thank you.”
As I get the plant settled on top of the bookshelf by the window, Frankie eases into my desk chair with a sigh. I feel a pang of sympathy for her. She is so very pregnant, yet somehow finds the motivation to keep working.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “Really.”
I’ve known Frankie since high school, but we were never more than passing acquaintances until she married Dante just over a year ago and we started crossing paths left and right here at the winery. I’m a little sad for all the years we wasted not being better friends—because she’s easy to be around and fun to talk to. She’s also genuine. I really do enjoy her company. Especially right now, when the male Bellantis have me feeling so isolated.
“Ready to pop,” she says with her usual good humor. “Any day now.”
“Mm,” I say with a nod. “I bet you can’t wait to hold that baby, too.”
“You have no idea,” she agrees, sounding a little dreamy. “Not just me, either. We’re putting the finishing touches on the nursery and the toys won’t stop arriving in the mail, even though we already got everything from our baby registry at the shower. And then my mother—God! I think she’s bought the kid an entire wardrobe full of ruffly dresses and playsuits and overalls. And Livvie is knitting booties! My anti-domestic tomboy sister. Who knew?”
“Uh-oh. I have a confession,” I tell her gravely. “Imayhave bought the baby a few pairs of footie pajamas. They’re kind of like costumes—one has bunny ears and a little puffball on the butt, and one has a unicorn horn and a tail. They were justso cute, I couldn’t help myself.”
Frankie laughs. “I don’t blame you. But seriously, though. This little girl is going to be so freaking spoiled.”
She watches me move my files—which usually live in a couple of cardboard banker’s boxes in my trunk—into a filing cabinet, then arrange a few knick-knacks on the bookshelf.
“How do you like your office so far?” she asks.
I spread my arms wide and look around. “It’s great, but…I’m not quite sure what to do with all this space, honestly. I’m used to working in my car. Or snagging a corner of your desk when I come here. This is…a lot. I have an entire couch in here!”
Frankie nods and rubs her belly. “Well, you know Armani doesn’t do anything halfway.”
