Page 25 of Bellini Born

Bianca’s rosebud lips twisted into a scowl. “She hurts my hair when she brushes it.”

“Principessa,you can’t bite people,” Matteo scolded.

Stomping her tiny foot, she yelled, “I told her to stop! She didn’t listen!”

My eyes flashed up to catch the look of pure exasperation on Matteo’s face. Taking pity on the man—even though he didn’tdeserve it after our little argument—I addressed his daughter, “It can be very frustrating when you use your words and people don’t listen, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm,” Bianca agreed.

Extending a hand, I touched the tangled strands of black hair hanging loose over her shoulder. “Your hair is so very pretty. I bet it would look really cute braided. I can do it for you if you want?”

Her eyes widened, and she bounced on her feet, clutching both hands together over her heart. “Yes, please!”

“I will have to comb your hair, though. Is that all right?”

That gave her pause, and she shifted uneasily.

“I promise to go slow. If you say something hurts, I’ll stop.”

Bianca mulled it over for a minute before giving a firm nod. “Okay. I’ll get my brush!” With that, she darted out of the room, and I rose to my feet.

Only to find myself staring directly into Matteo Bellini’s intense, dark eyes.

Chapter 7

Matteo

SummerReynoldswasinsidemy home, and being near her made my skin feel like it was two sizes too small. All I could think about was how in the world I was going to make her stay.

There had been a fleeting thought of cuffing her to my bed, but I wanted her there willingly, not by force.

Then Bianca’s little biting act broke the tension swirling between us, but with it came inspiration.

She took instantly to Summer when she’d seen fit to terrorize every other woman she had come in contact with for the past eight months. And by some miracle, my daughter was sitting on the couch inside my office, not only allowing the rat’s nest of her hair to be brushed but to have it tugged on until twin braids curved down the sides of her head to hang over her shoulders.

Brown eyes, filled with delight, met mine from across the room. “Papa! I look pretty!”

The chuckle that worked its way up my chest sounded foreign to my ears. When was the last time I allowed myself to laugh, to smile?

“Bellissima, principessa.”

Bianca turned to Summer, translating my praise that had been uttered in Italian. “He said I’m gorgeous.” Her cheeks pinkened. “And he called me his princess.”

The blonde woman, who was quickly becoming my obsession, fiddled with the end of one of my daughter’s braids, avoiding eye contact with me.

“Bianca, do you like Miss Summer?”

That had those bright blue gems snapping up, and a thrill of victory shot through me.

“Yes, Papa! I love her!” Bianca cried, clapping in her excitement.

My eyebrows rose. That was quite a declaration from the girl who had wanted nothing to do with any woman who wasn’t her mother these past eight months.

“How would you feel about her being your new nanny?”

A piercing squeal split the air, causing me to wince and Serafina’s lower lip to wobble before she let out a displeased wail. Bouncing the baby on my hip in an effort to soothe her, I caught the murderous glare Summer aimed in my direction from the corner of my eye.

Bianca grabbed Summer’s hands, begging, “Please, please, please! We can play all day!”