Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(84)

The private tour of the Venetian glassworks we’ve got scheduled for you in the morning is with one of Shelly’s old school chaps from University of Chicago. I really think you’re going to like it. It’s something special.

Simone and Roscoe send their love since they can’t really send much else, seeing as how they’re both under the care of nurses at the Payton house back in Tennessee. But I figured, given how big their hearts are, love is enough.

Enjoy yourselves. Or else.

-Cletus





“I can’t decide if the best thing about Italy is the art, food, or people.” Scarlet set her fork down, staring at her plate, her hand covering her stomach. “I can’t finish this, but it’s so good. And that makes me sad.”

I smiled at her conundrum, though I was relieved she was full. Every time the waiter set a new course down in front of us, she’d taken a bite, rolled her eyes back, and sighed with pleasure. From where I sat next to her, dinner had been full of distractions. To say the least.

“We can always box it up for later.” I set my napkin on the table, leaning back in my chair and enjoying the view, where the view was Scarlet with scarlet red lips, scarlet red nails, in a delectable form-hugging scarlet red dress.

My brothers had outdone themselves.

It took a bit more convincing after Mrs. Olsen handed over Cletus’s note—mostly just Scarlet assuring me she was fine with us separating—but I’d ended up alone in a room with a shower, a brand-new suit, and Italian shoes in just my size. After a long, necessary shower, I pulled on the clothes and almost forgave the twins. Almost.

The cut was perfectly customized to my measurements, which made me wonder whether Jethro had contacted my tailor in Knoxville.

A barber had come in with an offer to trim and shape my beard. I declined, but I did allow him to cut my hair. I’d been neglecting it for weeks and it was much longer than was my custom. Satisfied with the appearance of my hair, the barber left muttering unknown Italian words. I decided, before I returned to Italy again, I would learn the language.

I then left the room and strolled through the house, retracing my steps to the grand entryway where we’d entered. A large spiral staircase curved upward from a black-and-white marble floor to a skylight ceiling with leaded glass. In the center of the entryway stood a large, circular wooden table with a quantity of huge sunflowers rising out of a cobalt blue vase.

The house had been beautiful, unreal. Like a dream. But then Scarlet had appeared, attired in her red dress, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, a big, happy smile on her gorgeous face.

If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

“Do you think the hotel room has a fridge?” Scarlet reached for her wine and took a sip. “I’d hate to waste it.”

“And we still have dessert,” I reminded her, also reaching for my wine. I’d lost count of how many glasses we’d had. Though they’d been short pours, there’d been a new wine pairing with each course, so maybe eight? “Even if the room has a fridge, I think Cletus will murder us if we don’t eat the dessert here.”

The card Mrs. Olsen had handed over earlier contained the address for the boutique hotel where Ashley and Drew had arranged for accommodation. We’d checked in earlier and were shown to our room, a spacious suite with a water view.

My family had also left champagne cooling and two boxes on the bed—one labeled Hers and one labeled His. Rather than peek inside, we’d walked on to the restaurant so as not to be late. I’m not quite sure what qualifies a hotel as being a “boutique hotel.” If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say refined details, small size, and willingness to be bribed by well-intentioned yet meddlesome families.

“I’m sorry. I can’t eat any dessert.” She sounded truly dismayed. “You’ll have to eat mine, and you’re going to have to help me get this dress off.”

“Okay,” I agreed quickly, too quickly, and that pulled a smile out of her.

“Not like that.” She narrowed her eyes on me. “I meant, it’s a miracle it zipped up in the first place.”

“Then you should definitely take it off.”

She heaved a beleaguered sigh, her gaze narrowing further, but she was also smiling. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I have some ideas.”

Now she laughed, rolling her eyes, her cheeks turning from pink to red, and I laughed too.

This was so great, and I didn’t mean the food or the impeccable yet understated ambiance of this upscale restaurant. We could’ve been eating at a café, or an open-air pizzeria, or anywhere as long as we were together.

“You know this is our first date.” Scarlet crossed her arms under her breasts, tilting her head to the side as her gaze moved over me.

I thought about that, realizing she was right. “The first of many.”

“Yes, well said. The first of many. Though this one will be hard to beat. What should we do for our second date?”

“You’re assuming my family hasn’t already planned it.”

She laughed again and I basked in her happiness, leaning forward, needing to be closer, placing my elbow on the corner of the table between us. “But if I get to choose, I say we go dancing.”

“Dancing?” She also leaned forward, mimicking my posture, bringing our faces within inches. “We could dance now.”