Revenge at Bella Terra Read Free Page A

manager of the Bella Terra resort and, to all appearances, the most well-adjusted. That was possibly the truth . . . although it didn’t say much.
    Eli walked over to him and peered over his shoulder. “What are you doing, man?”
    “Rafe is making eggplant Parmesan casserole and I’m making chicken Parmesan.”
    “That’s not how you make chicken Parmesan,” Eli said. “And—eggplant Parmesan casserole ? What’s wrong with this picture?”
    His two brothers turned on him. In unison, they asked, “Do you want to fry the chicken and the eggplant?”
    There was only one right answer. “No.”
    “Then pour for us and get to work.” Rafe was a military hero who now owned his own security firm. He gave orders well.
    Briefly Eli toyed with the idea of taking wine to the ladies first, but decided he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. So he uncorked three different Di Luca varietals, chosen to please each brother’s palate, and while he did Noah said, “I don’t mind cooking, and besides, I couldn’t sit in there and listen to Nonna talk about some guy’s tushie anymore.”
    Eli nodded. He could understand that. He poured the wine, put the glasses at his brothers’ elbows, and said, “I’ve got to get the champagne. For, you know, the wedding toast.” He bumped his shoulder against Rafe’s.
    “Pretty cool, huh?” Rafe stopped layering the casserole and turned. They bumped chests and hugged; then he did the same with Noah.
    Eli supposed they should be civilized and have a wine toast, but they were guys, and somehow the body slam expressed their glee so much better.
    After years of never making it work, Rafe and Brooke had finally tied the knot in a runaway marriage to Reno.
    Nonna and Kathy wanted a real ceremony in a church, but all Eli could think was—thank God Rafe and Brooke hadn’t waited. Thank God they had snatched at happiness while they could. There had been too much pain in the Di Luca brothers’ lives; it was good to, at last, see one of them find happiness.
    Thanks to Tamosso Conte, Eli had a chance for happiness, too, as good a chance as any person who ever tied the knot.
    If that was cynical, so be it. He had planned to say “I do” someday.
    He had simply never planned to walk down the aisle for money.
    “I am proposing a marriage of convenience. Yes. A marriage between two people based on property values arranged between the prospective groom and the bride’s father with an eye to a successful union that provides for the bearing and raising of offspring.”
    “You want me to marry your daughter?”
    “I’ve researched you, Eli Di Luca, and you are Italian, from a good family, a responsible winemaker. You trusted a friend. Your accountant stole your money and fled to South America. Now you’re desperate to save your winery. So if you can convince my daughter to wed you, we have a deal. I’ll pay your debts. You give me grandchildren.”
    “Grandchildren? With a woman I’ve never met? I don’t even know her name.”
    “Chloë Robinson. My daughter’s name is Chloë Robinson.”
    Now Eli had a decision to make, and he had to make it . . . soon.

Chapter 2
    N oah finished spraying the chicken and opened the oven. He waved his hand inside. “Damn it! I forgot to turn it on.”
    His brothers chortled.
    “Like you guys could do any better.” Noah shut the oven and flipped the temp to four hundred.
    “I turned mine on.” Rafe indicated Nonna’s much-loved second oven.
    “If God had meant me to cook he wouldn’t have made me the manager of a resort with a five-star restaurant,” Noah snapped.
    “That’s not helping you now.” Eli headed back down the hall to the front door, and as he passed the front room, the women were groaning—apparently a football player had bruised his tushie.
    Kathy was offering to rub it for him.
    He shook his head, walked out onto the wide, white-painted front porch, and stopped to take in the view.
    Nonna’s house sat on the crest of a hillside,