He cupped her face, his hands framing the beauty there. “I appreciate that you think it’s your job to put up with Eloisa’s bullshit, but it isn’t. This isn’t her event alone. The Ferraro family puts it on jointly. She might talk to the planners, but she can’t fire them without the vote of the entire family. If you’re worried about that . . .” His thumb slid over the little indentation on her chin.
She shook her head. “Eloisa lives for these events. She enjoys them, every step of the planning all the way to the final night. She has a vision and usually, it’s one that is beautiful and successful. We might help her tweak it a bit, but she visualizes what she wants better than any other client we have. Each event has been better than the one before it and raised more money for her causes. If I have to put up with her haranguing me over flowers that should have been here, I’m okay with that.”
He bent to brush a kiss over her upturned mouth, his heart clenching hard in his chest. “I know you’re okay with it, but I’m not. You’re mine. My woman. You’re going to be my wife very soon. She doesn’t get to abuse you any more than I want her to abuse my sister.”
“Your mother vents. She expresses her frustration in anger. She isn’t good at pulling her punches. It’s clear she has few friends and no one to talk to when she doesn’t understand what is happening around her. All of you are grownups now . . .”
“Don’t think of her as being an empty nester.” Abruptly he let his hands slip away from her face as he straightened, his mouth hard, his eyes warning her there were some things he wouldn’t tolerate. Eloisa abusing her was one of them. “She never wanted children and when she had them, she didn’t take care of them. She left that to her oldest son, who was barely school age. Eloisa doesn’t see us as children.”
“Maybe not, Vittorio, but when you were older, she interacted with you. She had someone to talk to.”
“To criticize,” he corrected.
She smiled at him and slipped her hand into his. “Perhaps that’s her way of talking. In any case, as long as it pertains to this business, we’re going to agree to disagree.”
Vittorio swallowed down his decree. He shouldn’t have made the bargain with her. He should have just announced he was the one in charge and gone on from there. Now he didn’t have a leg to stand on, even when he knew how really bad Eloisa could get. Sasha hadn’t put up with her continual criticisms, but Emmanuelle mostly did, which only encouraged Eloisa to leap on her daughter and tear her to shreds emotionally every chance she got. She did the same to Francesca. She tried with Mariko, but not often, respecting her as a rider. Now she had Grace to kick around, but Vittorio wasn’t having it.
“I’m going to warn you this once, Grace. I might not have a say when it comes to your business. I don’t like it, but I promised you, and I keep my promises. Any other time she gets out of line, I will be the one dealing with it. And I expect you to tell me immediately every single time it happens.” He held her gaze until she reluctantly agreed.
They reached Emmanuelle, Taviano and Anne. Vittorio immediately introduced Grace to Anne. Anne held out her hand and Grace took it. “Such a pleasure to meet you. Vittorio has told me so much about you.”
“None of it’s true,” Anne proclaimed with a wide smile. “You can’t believe a word he says.” She leaned over to brush both sides of Vittorio’s face with a kiss.
Vittorio could see the sorrow in her eyes. “Have you been dancing yet?”
“We were just about to,” Taviano said. “Would you care to join us?”
A very handsome man hovering near them smiled at Emmanuelle. “Dance with me, Emme?” He was tall, with dark hair and very dark brown eyes.
Vittorio tried to place him. He looked to be older than Emme by a few years. “You might want to tell me who you are before you take my sister anywhere.”
The man turned to him. “I’m Elie Archambault. I was in the military with Demetrio and Drago, same unit. My father is French, my mother American. He died some years ago and she brought me to the States with her.”
Vittorio recalled one of the famed Archambault riders dying of cancer some years earlier.
“My father was my mother’s world. When he was gone she was so grief-stricken that I came with her,” Elie added as if Vittorio would need more of an explanation. “She passed when I was eighteen. I joined the military and had a good career, but I was injured and had to leave. I needed a job when I got out, and Demetrio suggested I come here and train with Emilio as a bodyguard.” He sounded almost bored, as if he’d repeated his story several times, and Vittorio was certain he had.