Her rant cuts Drake off, and I deliberately turn my body away from his, well, because I’m a fucking child. And the look I just saw in his eyes said he was definitely not about to demand I show him the contents of my boots.

More like he was about to demand I show him the content of my panties.

For real this time.

I finish the rest of my wine and don’t argue when Brody fills my glass. For all of his jokes, he’s my best friend, and if anyone around this table has to see how much Drake affects me then, well, it may as well be Brody.

I tip the glass to my lips right away, much to my baby brother’s amusement. And my elder brothers’ disdain, but whatever. They know what to expect after having lived with two Bond women before I was born.

We Bond women breathe cupcakes, wine, and profanity. And marriage. Unless you’re me. Then you breathe all but marriage.

I sit in silence as Nonna catches up on everyone’s lives, because the kids’ school tests have changed since she called two days ago, and like there’s been another suspect in the murder everyone except Devin seems to be working on.

“Did you know-a Lena bought all-a her salads from Rosie’s Café?”

“What?” Drake and Trent ask simultaneously.

“She and Rosie were-a good friends,” Nonna sniffs. “Every day-a she was there!”

I narrow my eyes. “How do you know that?”

“I like-a her coffee.”

“Every lunchtime?”

“Si.”

I grab my napkin, tap around my mouth to wipe away any stray pasta sauce, and reach for my glass. “Thanks, Nonna.” Then I throw the rest of my wine back and push my chair out.

The reaction of my brothers—and the way Drake’s face sets into a mask—tells me that they had no idea about Lena’s eating habits.

“Did you drive?” Mom asks.

“Nope. Apparently, my brother has been stalking my Friday night habits.” I cock my thumb toward Brody, who grins. “Picks me up like a good little Bond boy so there’s no drinking and driving.”

“I will drive,” Silvio, my four-year-old nephew offers, holding his arms out like he’s holding a steering wheel.

I look over at my olive-skinned, tiny nephew. “It’s okay, cutie. Uncle Brody will take me home.”

“I got it,” Drake offers, pushing his chair back. “Mrs. Bond, your Bolognese was to die for, but I’m afraid I can’t eat another darn thing. So I’ll make sure your daughter gets herself home safe.”

Mom blushes. What the hell? “That’s very kind of you, Drake. Thank you.”

“Yeah. Kind.” I roll my eyes and stand. Focusing on my niece and nephew, I give them my weekly warning about being good, and they agree wholeheartedly. Little shits. Good thing they got my cute.

Nonna eyes me speculatively as I shrug my jacket on, and I stare at her, daring her to say anything. Anything at all. Just even goodbye.

When nothing happens and Drake passes me my purse, I give her one final glance.

“Drake,” she calls.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Sei italiano?”

Oh, fuck no. “We’re going. Caio!” I shove him out of the house and slam the door shut behind us. I’ve had more than enough abuse from my family tonight. Drake Nash does not need to be subjected to such a horror.

I take a deep breath and climb into his truck, dumping my purse at my feet. I get the feeling that that was a very narrow escape. It’s one thing for Nonna to invite him to dinner, but it’s another entirely for him to be even one-hundredth Italian.

If the woman sniffs Italian on his breath, she’ll hound his ass until, in this case, we either marry or I kill him.

The latter is the more likely option. Let’s be honest—we can’t be together five minutes without jumping down each other’s throats. And sadly, it’s not a physical jump.

Sadly? This wine is going to my head.

“Your grandmother is…something,” Drake notes, his voice hesitant.

Oh, good. He understood her last question.

“Oh, she’s a lot of freakin’ somethings. Not many of them good.” I push my hair from my face and let out a long sigh. “Did she invite you tonight?”

He nods. “After her performance in the station the other day, it was obvious why she invited me. Trent said I should come just to get her off my back. Yet there she is asking me if I’m Italian.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s like a bloodhound. As soon as she sniffs potential husbands, she’s asking the guys to run background checks and research their family trees.” I shake my head. “She’s fucking crazy.”

Drake’s lips curl into a smirk, and he glances at me. “Good thing she hasn’t researched my family tree. I wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

“If you have Italian blood, stop the car. I’ll walk home. Screw that.”

He laughs, deep and goose bump inducing. I fight my shiver.

“I won’t tell you then,” he says through his laughter. “And I certainly won’t tell your nonna.”

I shift in my seat as he pulls onto my street and parks behind my car on my driveway. “Save yourself, Drake. Leave town. I’m already fucked. I won’t drag you down with me.”

Another laugh. He unclips his seat belt and turns to me. My front porch light is on, and the dim glow casts shadows over his face, making his eyes seem brighter than should be possible. I swallow when he leans forward.

“She’s wasting her time,” he murmurs, his eyes hot on mine. “I might be a quarter Italian, but you and I would be locked up on attempted murder charges by the end of the first date.”

“You clearly have a different idea of wasting time than she does. She and Nonno fought every day. And when I say fought, I mean she threw plates and he screamed that he was divorcing her ‘crazy fuckin’ ass’ because she would give him a heart attack before he was fifty.”

“Did he?”

I smile at the thought of my late grandfather. “Never. They hated each other for at least two hours a day, but the way they loved each other for the other twenty-two canceled that out.” I shrug. “Even if she did give him that heart attack. Never quite managed to kill him, though.”

“Sounds like a pretty fucked-up marriage.”

“You’re familiar with my family, aren’t you?” My lips twitch as I meet his eyes again. “Nonna thinks the best kind of love is the one where you hate each other at least once a day. Something about caring enough to get pissed off.”

“Touché.” His smirk mirrors mine. “Don’t worry, Noelle. I’ll keep my heritage under lock and key, just in case.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I’d hate to have to shoot you again.”

The glint in his eye… It’s almost like he wants me to. Challenging and daring and heated.

“I’d have to arrest you if you did,” he says in a low voice that flows over me like ice-cold water on a red-hot summer’s day. “Speaking of shooting… How many guns do you have with you right now?”

I reach down and grab my purse, then sit up to unclip my belt and open the door. Swinging my legs out, I glance back at him. “Two. I knew you were coming for dinner.” I grin and jump out.

Drake roves his eyes down my body. “Where is it? The one not in your boot.”

I run my fingers through my hair, smiling. “Somewhere you’ll never find it.” Then, with one last look, I tug up my tank top to cover my cleavage and turn toward my house. My hand is diving into my purse to find my keys when Drake calls my name. When I turn, he’s leaning out of his window, looking at me seriously. “Yeah?”

“Make sure you set your alarm system tonight,” he says, a darkness I don’t like in his tone. “And lock every door.”

“Should I ask my neighbor if I can borrow his guard dog, too?” I joke.

Drake’s answering silence lets me know that he thinks that might not be too much of a bad idea.

I swallow. Hard. He knows something I don’t. Something about me.

“Thanks for the ride home.”

“You’re welcome.” He waits until I’m inside before he pulls away.

I set the alarm system and yank the deadbolt on the front door. After checking that my back door is locked, too, I kick my shoes off, remove my gun from the ankle holster, and grab my phone. It’s only eight p.m., so I dial Ryan’s number as I pull the bottle of wine out of my fridge.