Beard Necessities: Winston Brothers Book #7

by Penny Reid

  Irritation flared anew and I glared at Beau’s back. This was obviously my family’s idea of a joke.

  Scarlet curled her fingers around my wrist, sliding her palm against mine, sending a warm shock up my arm. “Don’t be cranky. You always look handsome. Today we can be frumpy together.”

  My eyes trailed over her appreciatively. “Impossible.”

  “What’s impossible?”

  “You looking frumpy.”

  Her eyes narrowed on me, like she was unimpressed, but her smile persisted. “Very smooth, Stefano.”

  I grinned again.

  Her cheeks pink, her gaze happy, I decided maybe this wasn’t so bad.

  Scarlet seemed significantly less fatigued and weary today than she had last night. Cletus’s teasing notwithstanding, I was grateful to my brother. Finding enjoyment in the woman I loved, giving her reasons to smile, had been the right answer. My only regret was Scarlet and I hadn’t danced last night, an oversight I planned to rectify as soon as we arrived in Rome.

  Just two more days.

  “We’re here,” Beau announced over his shoulder. “Everyone just wait a sec, let me talk to the reservations person. Cletus will fill you in and we’ll be right back.”

  Scarlet leaned in close. I lowered my head to give her my ear as she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Let me guess, they can only fit two people per gondola.”

  No sooner had she said the words than Cletus stepped forward, turned to face the lot of us, and announced, “They can only fit two people per gondola, so we’re going to have to pair up.”

  Scarlet chuckled, her shoulders shaking as her chin fell to her chest.

  “What are the chances?” I bent to whisper, making her laugh harder. I caught myself smiling too, and that’s when I knew my family had finally worn me down.

  The boats fit more than two people. Canals were full of gondolas with four and five people. But, sure. Whatever. They wanted us to have a boat ride all to ourselves, fine. If I fought against it, they’d figure out a way to make it happen anyway. Additionally, in this case, taking a gondola ride with just Scarlet was my preference.

  I surrendered.

  “Me and Jenn together in a boat, obviously. Beau and Shelly, Jethro and Sienna, Ash and Drew, and—uh—I guess that leaves Billy and Scar-er, Claire.” The Sheriff and Mrs. James, Duane and Jess, Maya, and all the kids had stayed behind at the house. “Now, everyone give me your phones and wallets.”

  “What is this? A stickup?” Sienna asked good-naturedly.

  “Not this time. I have a watertight bag here.” Cletus withdrew a plastic bag from his pocket and waved it around. “Best you give me your stuff to keep it dry.”

  Still chuckling, Scarlet strolled toward my brother, handing over her phone and wallet. “Okay, Cletus. Which boat is ours?”

  I thought I heard Jethro mutter something to Sienna like, “That was a lot easier than I thought it would be.” And I turned to inspect him.

  He gave me a shit-eating grin but said nothing else.

  Soon we were shown our boat and were on the water, but it’s important to mention our gondolier was the largest human I’d ever encountered. He was Italian, appeared to be training for a strongman competition, and didn’t speak any English except the phrase, “Sit there,” which sounded suspiciously like a threat.

  Like Venice, the boat itself was beautiful. Rich, dark wood with detail in the sloping and spiral carvings. Red velvet cushions covered the seats and a red sash had been draped from the bow to the stern. I wanted to question our gondolier as regards to the age of the boat, it looked extremely well maintained and yet ancient, and had just decided to make an attempt at communicating when he pointed to Scarlet—sitting next to me, her hand on my leg, our fingers entwined—and then pointed to the seat at the center of the boat closer to him.

  “Sit there,” he said.

  She glanced at me and I glanced at her.

  “No, thank you,” she said, leaning more firmly against my side.

  He stopped the boat. He pointed at her, he pointed at the seat. “Sit there.”

  “No, grazie. No, thank you,” I answered for her, sensing her discomfort.

  He released the paddle—or the oar?—and stepped forward, his eyes on Scarlet in a way that had me rising to my feet and placing myself in front of her.

  “Back off.” My adrenaline spiked, accompanied by the cool, calm focus I felt every time I found myself in one of these situations.

  That’s not to say I often found myself face-to-face with a surly gondolier the size of Andre the Giant. More like, I’d faced my fair share of big, dumb Iron Wraiths; I’d always been outnumbered, and I’d always kept my wits about me. The oar could be a weapon. So could the sash.

  Undeterred, the man advanced. I crouched lower, bracing my feet apart as I watched him come.

  But then Scarlet stood suddenly and scrambled to move around me. “It’s okay. I can sit on the center seat. It’s okay.”

  I grabbed for her and the boat rocked, unsettling itself, and what happened next still perplexes me.

  One minute, I had a hold on Scarlet, and in the next she’d been picked up and dropped gently into the canal by our gondolier. My stunned confusion only lasted a split second, but my judgment had been compromised. Instead of securing the boat first, I reached over the side for her hand to pull her back in.

  And that’s when I was pushed from the gondola.

  This water was colder than the pool, but my mind was still on Scarlet. I propelled myself to the surface, searching frantically for any sign of her and finding her at once, treading water just a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Are you okay?” She swam to me, cupping my face and searching my eyes.

  “I’m fine. Are you okay?” I smoothed her hair away from her face.

  She nodded, in a daze. “I don’t understand. What just happened?”

  Several gondolas loitered nearby, but I spotted our gondolier some thirty or more feet away, steering his boat through the canals with impressive speed. “He wanted us out of his boat, so he tossed us out.” I said the words even though I still didn’t quite believe them.

  She gave her head a quick shake. “Why would he do that?”

  “Oh hey, y’all.”

  We both spun toward the sound of Cletus, finding him and Jenn safely lounging in their gondola, reclining on velvet cushions. Jenn held a glass of champagne and had the decency to appear sympathetic.

  “You should swim over there,” she called, pointing to some place behind us. “I see a ladder leading out of the water.”

  But Scarlet shouted over her, her voice full of fury. “Cletus! You did this! You hired that man to shove us out of the gondola. I will get you for this if it’s the last thing I do!”

  “Your accusations are unfounded, and frankly insulting. And I would please ask you to moderate your tone. We are family, after all. Or will be soon enough.”

  “Cletus.” Jethro’s voice sounded from a boat to our right. “When you said that thing about the horse, I didn’t know you meant to literally drown them.”

  “Oh, they won’t drown, they’re both real good swimmers.” Ashley—from her gondola—was responsible for this pragmatic observation, adding, “Now you know what I had to deal with growing up, Claire. I’m so sorry, I had no idea what these hooligans had planned.”

  Shelly leaned over Beau to chime in, “Make sure you’re on time for the tour reservation tomorrow.”

  “You might want to clean up first.” Beau sent a sparkly smile down to us, his gondola the farthest away. “I don’t think that sewer water is appropriate for the places you’re going.”

  “So this is why you wanted us to dress in these clothes.” Now it all made sense.

  “Beauford Faulkner Winston! This was your idea?” Scarlet pointed at the redhead. “You are on my last nerve.”

  “That’s not true, Claire. You still got a lot of nerves.” He smiled at his sister affectionately but was clearly enjo
ying himself.

  “Since this was your idea, Beau, I think you got a lot of nerve,” Cletus chimed in.

  “You’ve definitely gone overboard with this one, Beau,” Jenn added.

  Despite the circumstances, despite everything, I chuckled at her play on words.

  Scarlet’s head whipped toward me, her big eyes searching my face like I was a stranger. “You’re laughing?”

  I stopped laughing.

  “Come on, y’all. Please. Go swim to that ladder,” Jennifer urged. “I promise, your day will improve.”

  With one more scathing glance for Beau, Scarlet swam toward the ladder. I looked around at my siblings, each in turn, and then swiftly caught up with her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, already plotting my revenge against the twins.

  She nodded tightly. But then she laughed, closing her eyes. “I can’t believe Beau. I can’t believe him.”

  “He and Duane have always been big on practical jokes. Where Cletus might lock us in a basement for an hour, Beau and Duane always seem to take things to the next level. I’ll set them straight.”

  “No.” Her eyes narrowed and glinted dangerously as she pulled herself up the first step of the ladder. “Let me deal with them.”

  As soon as we climbed the ladder to land, we were greeted by a group of kind folks with big towels who seemed to be expecting us. A woman stepped forward and introduced herself as Mrs. Olsen, our hostess for the next hour or so. She ushered us into a nearby and exceptionally fine old house. Scarlet was directed one way and they attempted to direct me another way.

  “No. We’re staying together.” For the second time in fifteen minutes, I stepped in front of her, grabbing her hand. I’d had enough of the practical jokes.

  Mrs. Olsen broke away from the assembly again and approached us with a big smile. “Ah, perhaps this note will help?”

  She handed me an envelope, which I opened. Within was a card with an address scrawled on one side, a key, and a note in Cletus’s tidy scrawl.

  * * *

  Dear William and Scarlet,

  We got tired of y’all finding reasons to sneak off, throwing yourselves out of boats and such, so you’re on your own tonight and tomorrow.

  Please enjoy the very romantic dinner Jennifer arranged, bought and paid for. The food and wine have already been selected, no ordering required, and she was there early this morning to make your dessert.

  The clothes you’ll be wearing and all of Scarlet’s fussy hair and makeup are provided by Jethro and Sienna’s Italian team of stylists and clothiers. Let them clean you up.

  Mrs. Olsen is a good friend of Jess and Duane’s, you can thank them later for the use of her house.

  Ashley and Drew (and Bethany) were responsible for your accommodations this evening, if you’re looking for someone to blame for that, please see the Warden. When you check in, they’ll show you how to get to the restaurant (spoiler alert: it’s right next door).

  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 bas
ked 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.”

  “Here?” I questioned, though I realized immediately she was right. The restaurant had a small balcony off the back overlooking the ocean, and the music was soft, sounded like an Italian version of 1940s big band or the equivalent. It would be perfect for slow dancing.

  “Yes.” She nodded once, her smile growing and her gaze lowering to my lips. “Or we could save the dancing for our second date and head back to the hotel now.”

  I hesitated, debating. Both options seemed selfish. Is this what I could expect from our life together? I suspected every moment with Scarlet, no matter where we were or what we were doing, would feel like an indulgence.

  Unable to sit still any longer knowing she could be in my arms, I covered the hand on her lap with mine, entwining our fingers, and pulling her to her feet.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re dancing.”

  Reaching the balcony, I took her to the farthest edge, right against the railing where we stood among the stars above and the reflection of moonlight on the water below. I brought her body flush with mine, lifting her arms to my neck, and settled my hands low on her waist. She watched me with a soft smile as I did this, her nails scratching the back of my neck with light pressure.

  After a short while of me holding her and our bodies moving to the music, Scarlet said, “Why yes, Billy. I would like to dance instead of heading back to the room quite yet. Thanks for asking.”

  My lips curved, pulling to the side. “Is this your way of telling me I’m bossy?”

  “No. Why would I tell you? You already know it.”

  I chuckled and she grinned, her eyes dropping to my smile. The song was in Italian, a tenor crooning some romantic ballad I didn’t recognize, but I was glad for the slowness of it. Whoever invented the concept of slow dancing was a genius.