“Did they have a big, beautiful wedding?”

“They did. Then they had a short, unhappy marriage.”

“Why?”

“My mama was used to travel, to diamonds, to writing cheques without thinking. My father was wealthy, but he wasn’t an Earl. After I was born mama patched things up with Nonno and took me back to Naples and lived in his household for weeks on end. Sometimes she wouldn’t even tell my father she was leaving. He would just come home from work and find us gone.”

“She kidnapped you?”

I snort. “Don’t be melodramatic, bella. She always returned to New York. Not that it did any good. After my sisters were born, things got worse.”

January gapes at me. “How?”

“It just did. My father loved my mama, but he couldn’t make her happy. They separated not long after my brother was born.”

“Oh.” January lifts her glass and takes a deep swallow of wine.

I raise my knee, jostling her. “Did I disappoint you? Do you want to think love conquers all?”

She doesn’t smile. “Do think your parents’ marriage would have been better if your father had a mistress?”

“I think people should be rational about what makes marriage work.”

“And have you ever been married?”

I frown. Sass is one thing, impudence is another. “No, and neither have you, Miss Whitehall.”

January holds her tongue. I shift my hand to her abdomen, feeling her flat belly tense beneath her dress. “Are you so sure you don’t want to live here and play mistress, bella?”

“Do you mean to you? Or to… all four of you?”

I rub my cheek against hers, stroking her silky skin with my stubble. “Does it matter?”

“I guess. I thought you wanted me all to yourself?”

“I did, but seeing how happy you made my brothers tonight, I’m considering other options.”

January finishes her wine.

Amused, I take the glass and put it on the table. “Is that a ‘yes?’”

“I don’t think I can…”

I bite back a smile. From what she’s already done with Doc and Bobby, there’s nothing she’d like better than being our little whore. But she’s not ready to know that about herself yet. I’ll have to show her. I kiss the side of her neck. “Well, what do you want to do with yourself, Miss Whitehall?”

“I’m not sure. It changes every day.”

“I very much doubt that. You’re domestic. You want to sing and prepare food and prance around a pretty kitchen being a beautiful little girl.”

Her mouth falls open. “That’s so… I don’t want that.”

“Ah, bella, don’t protest. It’s lovely.”

“But you’re saying I’m an idiot!”

“No, I’m saying your heart belongs in your home. And it always will.” I press my hand between her legs. “Would you like me to buy you a pasta machine? Fill the cupboards and let you cook us dinner every night?”

My fingertips brush the wet petals between her legs, and she squirms against me.

“I don’t want to be your mistress.”