art wasn’t even a possibility. And they’d lived out in the country where that sort of thing wasn’t popular in the nearby village.
When his shoulder collided with someone, he glanced up. “Scusi.”
He could feel Jules’s gaze on him, but he pretended not to notice. He wasn’t about to let on that her little butterfly had him distracted to the point of not watching where he was walking. After all, he was a DeFiore. DeFiores didn’t allow themselves to be distracted.
Once they were situated in his sleek black luxury sedan, which he only used when escorting around special guests of the DeFiore Vineyard, he turned to Jules. Her body was stiff and her hands were clasped in her lap. He supposed that was to be expected. He hadn’t exactly made her feel welcome. He really needed to try harder. After all, it was important to Dante that this visit go well.
Stefano was about to say something when that darn butterfly once again snagged his attention. It rose and fell with her every breath. He was being ridiculous. It was just an inconsequential tattoo—that teased and taunted him.
He turned and stared blindly out the windshield. “Is this your first trip to Rome?”
“Yes, it is.” Jules turned to him, but he kept his gaze directly ahead. “What happened? I mean, Lizzie was supposed to pick me up.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“No. My phone battery died, so I haven’t been able to talk to her.”
This was his chance to see what Jules thought of the impending nuptials. He was curious to see if she thought they were a bit rushed. “When Dante called, he said that the announcement of their engagement made a big splash with the paparazzi, and the studio heads wanted to figure out how to work the wedding into an upcoming show.”
“What does their wedding have to do with a cooking show?”
“My thoughts exactly. Maybe it’ll delay the wedding.”
“Why would you say that?” Suspicion laced every syllable.
This is where he had to move carefully. He sensed Jules’s defenses kicking into gear, and he didn’t blame her. He’d react the same way if he thought someone was about to jeopardize his brother’s happiness.
Again Jules’s taunting butterfly came to mind as well as her different taste in clothes. Something told him that she wasn’t a traditionalist like his family was. Maybe she was one of those live-on-a-whim types? Even if it meant letting people set themselves up to get hurt?
Like he’d done to himself.
Like he’d done to his late wife.
THE SILENCE STRETCHED OUT.
The longer it took Stefano to answer her, the more concerned Jules became. With her sister’s happiness at stake, Jules couldn’t let the subject drop. Not without some answers.
She turned in her seat in order to gauge Stefano’s expression. “Why do you want them to delay the wedding?”
He sighed. “I just think they are rushing into this without thinking it through.”
“It sounds to me like you’re opposed to the wedding.” Jules sank back against the leather seat. Surely she had to be jet-lagged and reading too much into his reserved demeanor and hesitant words. Perhaps she needed to be more direct. “Will you try and stop the wedding?”
Jules studied his handsome face with its aristocratic features for some indication of his thoughts. Because there was no way she’d let anyone come between Lizzie and her happiness. Over the years, when they’d fantasized about the future, Lizzie had always dreamed of meeting Mr. Right. But neither of them had ever invested much hope in those dreams. Until now. This was Lizzie’s chance to live out her dream.
Though that meant breaking up their small family and the thought saddened Jules, she refused to dwell on it. Lizzie’s happiness had to be the priority. And on a positive note, this meant Jules would at last gain her freedom to make all her own choices. They’d been making decisions together since they were kids, but now it was time they each stood on their own. And for Jules that meant making her own career choice—one Lizzie wouldn’t approve of.
And if Jules was ready to see her foster sister—her only family—move an ocean away so that she would be happy, what possible reason could Stefano find to object to the wedding? Or was she reading him wrong? It was so hard to tell—his tanned face wasn’t giving her any clues about his thoughts.
“I’m waiting for an explanation.” She crossed her arms. No way was she going to drop the subject until they sorted it out.
“Fine. I’ll admit it. I’m not a fan of marriage.”
“This particular marriage? Or just marriage in general?” She could have sworn that Lizzie had mentioned he was married. Maybe that was it. Maybe he and his wife had hit a rough patch. “Aren’t you married?”
“I was.” His knuckles on the steering wheel gleamed white. “She died.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Great job, Jules. Talk about opening your mouth and inserting your size-six boot.
“And for the record, it’s not my place to say whether the wedding should go on or not. My brother has a mind of his own.”
“Good.” She settled back against the smoky-gray leather seat. “I don’t want anything ruining this wedding for them.” She gave him a pointed look, but Stefano didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking her way. “We have a lot to plan between now and next spring or summer. Have they mentioned to you if they’ve picked a date?”
“No. But it sounded to me like it is going to be sooner than next year.”
“They can’t move up the wedding. That would be a nightmare. There’s just too much to arrange. Besides, if they were doing something like that, they’d have told us. After all, you’re the best man.”
Stefano sighed. “I suppose I am. But that just means they’ll tell me when and where to show up.”
“You really think you’ll get off that easily?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Men don’t care about all of that stuff. Weddings are for women.”
“We’ll see about that.” Did he really believe that? Was he that jaded? Or was it grief over losing his wife?
“I guess we will.”
She pressed her lips firmly together. She’d been in Rome less than an hour. It wouldn’t do to wage war with Lizzie’s future brother-in-law.
Jules inhaled a deep, calming breath and noticed the very fine automobile had a wonderful new car scent. Her gaze strayed to the dash, where Stefano’s long, lean fingers were adjusting the controls on a large touch screen. Soon the velvet sounds of an Italian baritone replaced the oppressive silence.
She leaned her head back and turned to the window. She
