Page 69 of Enzo

Amara grinned. I gawked, flabbergasted.

“That’s settled, then,” Margaret announced. “You two stay in the guesthouse.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Oh,nowhe didn’t want to impose!

“We’ll take it, Mama,” Penelope accepted.

“What are you doing here anyhow?” I gritted out. “I thought you had plans, Enzo.”

“We changed them,” Pen answered, glowing like a lightning bug. “Papà, is it okay if Enzo’s boat is docked next to yours? He… We’d like to take it around the island and explore.”

“What kind of boat?” Armani asked, his tone mildly intrigued.

“It’s a Launchpad.”

“How big?” Damiano seemed suddenly interested.

“Three hundred and eighty-seven feet.”

My sons’ eyes lit up. “Can we see it?”

“Sure.”

Armani and Damiano shared a look before asking, “When?”

“It’s docked in Naples, but I’ll have my captain bring it around.”

The buzzing and chatter increased, suddenly everyone wanting to visit his vessel. At this rate, the Marchetti boy would forever remain in Sicily because there were enough events set to fill five calendar years.

My daughter watched him with heart eyes, and I struggled to understand how it was possible that two nights had changed her mind so much. Maybe I should warn her that men were not to be trusted.

A round of laughter broke out, and I decided against it.For now.

It would be a shame to ruin the moment.

I settled for watching the fucking creep stand there, both hands in his pockets, while my daughters made plans that included him.

“Erase that frown off your face, Luca,” my wife warned, releasing a long sigh. “This… them… it might be a good thing.”

“It won’t last,” I said point-blank. “They couldn’t be more different.”

“Same could’ve been said about us,” my wife reminded me. “He’s your son-in-law for life, Luca. Accept it and be happy for them.”

I gave my head a subtle shake. Was everyone losing their fucking mind over Enzo Marchetti?

“Be nice, Papà,” Armani said, appearing behind us. “Enzo said he’ll take me on his yacht. Don’t ruin it for me.”

For fuck’s sake, he was turning my whole family against me.

“We have a yacht,” I gritted.

“Well, he has a superyacht,” Damiano drawled, casting me a glance. “Are you jealous, Papà, that his boat is bigger than yours?”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, deciding not to comment, while my wife laughed so hard that tears rolled down her face.

27

PENELOPE