Page 32 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“Houdini? Where are you? Come on out, boy. Time for breakfast.”

She searched the room as she called for him, growing more frantic by the second. Not under the dresser or the bed. Not behind the drapes or the desk. Not on the overstuffed chair or in the bathroom. She even checked the balcony because she’d read that some pigs could open doors.

No Houdini.

Great. Less than a week as a pet owner, and she’d already lost the pet. And she was supposed to be the responsible one in the Ryan family.

“Here pig, pig, pig.” What was it you were supposed to say?Sooey?

She did one last sweep of the room without success before tearing out of her room and heading downstairs, taking the steps two at a time in her panic. Maybe Houdini had lived up to his name and managed to escape, and now he was roaming the house, gnawing on the distressed furniture and peeing on the priceless Persian rugs. Or worse. What if he’d gotten out of the house? He could be who knew where doing Lord knew what by now.

I know we’re not exactly on speaking terms, God. But please, please, please let Houdini be okay.

She reached the landing and skidded to a stop. There must be some disconnect between her eyes and her brain, because the scene unfolding in the foyer below was surreal. Dante stood in front of the open door, cradling Houdini in one arm, completely unfazed as the pig contentedly chewed on one of the buttons on his designer linen shirt. On the other side of the door, an elegantly dressed older woman who reminded Zoe of a silver-haired Sophia Loren hitched her Gucci bag up on her shoulder and brushed past Dante into the house.

“I hope you don’t mind me dropping by without notice,” the woman purred, laying a too-familiar, impeccably manicured hand on Dante’s arm and kissing his cheek. “But you haven’t called in days, and I wanted to check on you and make sure you weren’t lonely.”

“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.” Dante inclined his head to the pig. “And far from lonely.”

Zoe watched as he took the woman’s bag, set it down on the foyer table, and put a hand on the small of her back. She knew she should leave, retreat to her room, and pretend like she hadn’t intruded on what was obviously a private moment. She willed her feet to move, but the message got lost somewhere between her brain and her legs, and she stayed put, like a silent stalker.

“I see.” The woman scratched Houdini’s head with a perfectly polished pink fingernail. “He’s adorable. And affectionate. But not exactly who I was expecting to find you here with.”

Zoe’s heart stuttered. Who was this woman? And what was she expecting to find?

Okay, enough was enough. Time to stop snooping. It was none of her business who Dante’s guest was or what she wanted. Zoe’s feet got the message loud and clear this time, and she started back up the stairs. She hadn’t gone two steps when the woman’s voice froze her mid-stride.

“Ah, there you are. You must be Zoe.”

Zoe? This woman knew her name? Had Dante told her about them?

“Don’t run away,” the woman continued, beckoning Zoe with a ringed finger. “Come, talk to me. I’ve been longing to meet you.”

Longing to meet her?

“I’m, uh, not really dressed for guests,” Zoe stammered, still hovering on the stairs, suddenly conscious of how her sleep shorts rode up her thighs and her nipples showed through the thin fabric of her tank top.

Dante eyed her up and down, his gaze warming her already superheated skin. “I’m sure my grandmother doesn’t care what you’re wearing.”

“Your grandmother?” Zoe crossed her arms over her chest to hide the aforementioned nipples. Seriously? This stunning, svelte creature in the exquisitely tailored dress, classic pearls, and suede pumps, looking ten times more put together than Zoe on her best day, was Nonna? What happened to Marie Barone? Where was the sauce-stained apron, the smudge of flour on one cheek, the extra twenty-plus pounds?

“Si.” Nonna—or Carmella, Zoe guessed she should call her, since the woman wasn’t her grandmother—motioned again for Zoe to come closer, this time using her entire hand. “Who did you think I was?”

“Yes.” The corners of Dante’s mouth quivered. Damn him. The bastard was clearly enjoying every minute of her obvious discomfort. “That’s a good question. Who did you think she was?”

“Stop.” Carmella smacked him on the shoulder, and he winced. “Don’t tease the poor girl. I raised you better than that. And I’m sure she pictured me very differently when we spoke on the phone. I don’t exactly fit the media’s image of an Italian grandmother, do I?”

There was no good response to that, so Zoe didn’t even bother trying. She descended the stairs, abandoning any pretense of modesty in her skimpy pajamas, and held her hand out to the older woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Carmella. You have a beautiful home.”

“Grazie.” Carmella took Zoe’s hand in a firm, no-nonsense grip and shook it. “We’re happy to have you here, aren’t we, Dante?”

“Of course,” he said with that self-assured smirk she’d come to know well. “Couldn’t be happier.”

His grandmother gave him a side-eyed glance that spoke volumes and breezed past both of them into the kitchen.

“Come,” she called over her shoulder, her flawlessly styled bob swaying as she walked on sky-high heels that would have tripped Zoe up with her first step. “Dante will make us some of his world-famous cappuccino, and we’ll all have a nice chat.”

“World famous?” Zoe snickered.