Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (3 page)

“Actually—” Trey began and Sara cut him off.

“That’s okay, really, I’m fine,” she lied. She wasn’t fine. She felt like a grade-A ass. “Like I said, the damage is only cosmetic, plus I really need to be getting home. But thanks for…”
For what? Not laughing at me when I obviously made a big something out of an embarrassing nothing.
“Helping me with my jacket. But I’m kind of tired and need a shower.” She exhaled hard, took a step back, and clarified, “A hot shower. To warm up.” She wanted to slap her palm on her forehead because, damn it, that didn’t sound any better.

“Hang on, let’s just make sure that everything is all right.” Trey stepped closer, so much concern on his face she felt hers flush with embarrassment. She stuffed her cap low on her head and took two huge steps—backward. In every way possible.

“I’ll call my insurance adjuster when I get home and have him contact you in the morning. In case you find a scratch or paint on your bumper or something. Which you won’t, but, okay, yeah, nice meeting you. Both. Nice meeting you both. Bye.”

Sara turned and rushed out the door, shuffling her sequin-clad butt toward her car. And if that wasn’t a big enough clue to take dating off of her newly formed bucket list, then the really big, hard balls of ice falling from the sky and pelting her head sealed the deal.

Sara Reed. Dance instructor. Widow. Single mom.

Period.

CHAPTER 2

C
UPID
W
ANTS
Y
OU.

Trey stopped in his tracks when he saw the giant banner with glittery silver and pink letters, which hung between a plasma screen showing ESPN highlights and a N
INERS
’ T
ERRITORY
sign. It was a poster of his niece, Baby Sofie, dressed in nothing but a gummy smile, a diaper, a heart-tipped arrow, and a sash reading W
INTER
G
ARDEN
G
ALA
.

He’d seen the posters plastered around town. He understood Valentine’s Day was fast approaching. He even understood why all of the local stores had rolled out their rose-petal welcoming mats, and why people were farting hearts and talking about love that lasts forever. But to invade his favorite sports bar was wrong. On so many levels.

The Spigot was the only place left in Trey’s world that wasn’t dripping with domestication or girly shit. They didn’t serve skinny drinks or run their hours around nap time or offer a gluten-free menu. It was about beer, bros, business, and ball. Which was why Trey felt himself relax when he saw his three brothers lined up at the bar, shoving each other and arguing about, Trey assumed, who was going to win the Super Bowl.

“You made it,” said Nate, the second oldest and most tightly-wound of the brothers, from the far end of the bar. “Good.”

It was good. Trey had been home for three days, due to a disappearing passport that “somehow” wound up in ChiChi’s purse, and this was the first time that everyone’s schedule had allowed for any kind of brother bonding.

Trey slid up to the bar and pulled out a stool. “I was just on a call with our buyer in Paris and he wants to reschedule—” He froze.
What the hell was going on?
“Is that an umbrella in your drink?”

Nate slid a pink, foamy concoction, complete with pineapple slice and cherry skewer, down the bar. That was when Trey noticed that each one of his brothers was double-fisting not beer, not Jack, not even a glass of wine, but the most un-manly drinks ever ordered at this bar—and they were smiling about it.

“Frankie wants to finalize the Frankie-Nate signature drink for the wedding. She’s calling it Pink Paradise and asked me to help narrow down the choices,” Nate said as though
that
wasn’t the pussiest sentence in the history of mankind.

Signature drink?
This had to be a joke. There was no way ball-buster Frankie with her steel-toed boots and wicked right hook would go for this. “Pink? Really? Are you shitting me?”

“Hey, real men drink pink,” Marc said and Trey choked.

Only two years apart in age and sharing common interests, mainly their love of women and freedom, Marc and Trey had always been close. Until Marc hooked up with his high-school crush, Lexi. Now his big brother was married, expecting, and so damn happy you could smell the marital bliss wafting off on him.

In fact, all of his brothers stank of happiness, something Trey hadn’t smelled on a DeLuca since his parents were alive. Proving that, once again, right when Trey thought he’d finally caught up to his older brothers—in his newly appointed position as VP of Sales for DeLuca Wines, no less—he came home to realize he was still several steps behind, and now even playing in the wrong game. A place he’d spent his entire life trying to outgrow. Without much luck.

“Yeah, well, do real men walk around with babies attached like accessories?” Trey asked, flagging down the bartender to order a real drink.

“Says the man who uses the word
‘
accessories,
’” Gabe, the oldest
brother, laughed. “Besides my girls are the cutest damn accessories I’ve ever had.”

“Real babe magnets too,” Marc laughed. “Lexi sees me cuddling Baby Sofie and she is yanking me out the door back to our place.”

“Holding Baby Sofie and Holly’s hand at the same time, potent stuff.” Nate and Marc high-fived and Trey wanted to punch someone.

“
This
is my problem.” He dropped his head to the counter, everything making sense. His dry spell, why he was so drawn to Little Miss Manners the other night, why he couldn’t even look at a baby without breaking out in a sweat. “This is why I haven’t gotten laid in three months.”

“You haven’t gotten any in three months?” Marc asked, sounding pretty damn shocked. That was all right, Trey was shocked himself. He hadn’t gone this long without a woman since high school.

“How can I, when every time I meet someone, we start talking, vibes start flying, she gives me
the
look, and before I know it, my sexy one-nighter suddenly morphs into a pregnant woman in a wedding dress?”

Although Sara hadn’t morphed and she had given him
the
look. Then again, she was too sweet to morph and too nervous to follow up on
the
look. Hell, she couldn’t even follow up with returning his call.

Still, as far as Trey was concerned, there was nothing settling about the idea of settling down. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d developed a severe allergic reaction to commitment, compromise, and kids the day his parents died.

The bartender set down his beer and Trey took a large swig. “I don’t want to talk about this. I came here tonight to let you all know that I can’t escort Nonna to the Gala.”

“Sorry, bro,” Marc shrugged. “Rules are rules, you drew the short straw.”

“Rules my ass,” he mumbled. “We all know there was only one straw. And I’m turning it over to Nate.”

Nate was the peacemaker of the family, the problem-solver go-to guy. There was no way he would say—

“Nope. Sorry.”

Trey choked on his beer. “What?”

“Frankie’s my date. I’m still making it up to her for taking Sasha Dupree to the prom. And since Frankie already has a dress for the waltz, and I like my nuts right where they are, I’m taking my fiancée. Sorry, bro,” Nate said, not sorry at all.

“Marc?” Trey asked, his voice sounding a little desperate.

“I filled in for you last year and, I believe, three years ago as well. Plus, Lexi is really looking forward to this, and I am looking forward to her in red.”

“Nonna expects me to brush up on my ballroom. By taking dance lessons,” he explained.

Marc flashed a smug-ass grin and added, “Time to man-up, Trey.”

“Don’t look at me,” Gabe said before Trey even had the chance to look his way. “Regan is convinced that this is her last time to dance before she looks like a beached whale, her words not mine, because if you ask me, when she’s pregnant—”

“I’m not asking you, nor have I
ever
asked you, so can you—not.” Trey held up a hand. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t listen to one more detail about married, pregnant sisters-in-law who rocked his brothers’ worlds. Tonight was supposed to be bro-time. And bro-time didn’t include talking about feelings, swollen feet, or color palettes—ever. “Bottom line is, I can’t stay.”

“It’s three weeks, Trey,” Nate said as though Trey could just clear his schedule at will.

“I don’t even have three days. I walked out of a meeting with one of our biggest French buyers, and if I don’t get back to Paris ASAP, they might decide to go with someone else.”

Gabe shrugged. “Do it by phone.”

Was he even serious? “And get the kind of numbers you guys are expecting? No way. Not to mention, I’m meeting with a company in Long Beach to take over all of our domestic shipping and tracking. I need to get down there and see their setup before we can finalize the contract.”

Last summer his brothers had signed a deal with one of the nation’s largest retailer food and beverage distributors, and as a result, DeLuca wine was available in supermarkets around the globe. Making sure the wine got to its destination on time was becoming a hundred-hour workweek on its own, meaning Trey was falling behind on their other customers. Which was why he was meeting with a logistics company, hoping to outsource some of the work—and outsource some of the burden.

“I can do it,” Marc offered, sucking his drink through a dainty little straw. “I’ll be in Santa Barbara the week after Valentine’s Day. I’m taking Lexi on a little babymoon.”

“Nice, man,” Gabe said, as if Marc were making complete sense.

“This isn’t just something you can tack on to a few days away,” Trey said. “I’ve been researching this for months, know the process, know what to ask, what to negotiate.”

“It isn’t rocket science,” said the guy who was just getting all girly over a freaking babymoon—whatever the hell that was.

“Maybe not, but it’s my job and I can’t drop everything to hang out here and take dance lessons. I have plans.”

“Yeah, well, change them,” said Abigail, his sister, sliding up to the bar next to him. She was so tiny that even with him sitting and her standing, she barely reached his chest. “I need you to help finalize the sale for the Fairmont Hotel and make sure everything runs smoothly for a big delivery in Santa Barbara.”

“As I was just explaining, I am kind of strapped for time right now. At the rate DeLuca Wines is growing, there’s no way I can take on Ryo.”

Four years ago, Nonna ChiChi and Abby opened Ryo Wines, a boutique winery in the valley. Female-owned, female-run, and female-branded Ryo Wines was estrogen in a bottle. Every time Trey set foot in that office, he felt his nuts shrivel.

“Sorry, sis. Your sale, your mess,” Trey said. “And last I checked, I have too much penis to be a part of your woman-run company.”

“Could have fooled me,” Marc choked out and Trey slid him a wanna-go-there? look.

“Come on, when have I ever asked you for a favor?”

She had a point. Abby hated when her brothers interfered with her life. So of course, the DeLuca brothers had mastered interference. But this time, she was here on her own.

“I have some deals already on the table that need finalizing. In Europe,” he explained.

“Please?” Abby begged, batting those big lashes his way.

Oh, hell no.
This was a no-lash-batting-allowed, Y-chromosome-required event.

“No. And since when do you join in on guys’ night?”

He’d already lost his brothers the other six nights of the week, but Thursdays were their nights. If they broke man-night code for Abby, it wouldn’t be long before the wives started coming. Immature or not, he didn’t want to share.

“Since a Mr. Rossi e-mailed me about a perfect piece of property in Italy.” Abby pulled up a stool and slid a packet, complete with photos, across the bar. “It’s fifty hectares.”

“About one hundred and twenty acres,” Nate said picking up the photo and studying it. “And it looks to be nearly all planted.”

“It is,” she went on, her face one big smile. “Half Sangiovese and half Barbera grapes. It’s located right on the coast, making it a perfect destination-villa. Think about it: I could design it, Marc could oversee the facilities end, and you three could add the vineyard to the DeLuca umbrella.”

Great, more wine to sell.

Trey spread the aerial photo of the property out on the bar top. It was an incredible piece of land. And Abby was an incredible designer, specializing in wineries, but lately the only jobs she’d been getting were small remodels. This was the kind of project that would put her on the map. It would also mean some serious family time with everyone working together.

Another reason to say no.

“Abby,” Gabe said quietly. “This is amazing, it really is, but there is no way we are in the position to expand right now. Not into Italy.”

“I know that this isn’t the best time with all of the new contracts and Nate’s new property.” Abby shrugged. “I figured, what’s the harm in checking it out? The owner promised he would give us first option, but that generosity expires at the end of February.”

“No way.” Trey could barely manage his schedule now. Fitting in a trip to Italy, on top of the meetings he already had to reschedule because of his unscheduled trip home, was out of the question. At the rate he was already pushing himself, he’d need a permanent vacation from his life. “I can’t fit in another trip.”

“No one is asking you to,” Abby said.

“Not that he’d have time, what with Nonna looking at dance shoes online. Men’s dance shoes,” Marc said, and Italy suddenly seemed doable. “Wing-tipped ones. Black and white. Very Fred Astaire.”

The corner of Gabe’s mouth tilted up. “She was bragging to all her friends about how she is going to out-waltz Deidra Potter. With you on her arm.”

“Will you two stop?” Abby said, reaching around and smacking Marc on the shoulder. Eyes back on Trey, she said, “I am just asking you to cover a few of my meetings this week so I have time to do more research and check out the land. And if I think it is a good move for the family, that you all back me.”

Gabe opened his mouth, no doubt to say
hell no,
when Marc sat up straighter, his eyes going wide. “This is the same town that Great-Grandpa DeLuca grew up in.”

“It’s the same property. The house where Great Grandpa was born is still there. It needs some love, but it’s still standing.”

Her statement was like a fist to the gut. There had been a time when Trey would have loved the idea of creating something with his family. Even as a kid he’d had a clear vision of how the family business would grow, and where he’d fit into it. Things were different now that his parents were gone, and being around his family, especially while reconnecting with their roots, would be a constant reminder of what he’d cost everyone.

“That house,” Marc said, pointing to the map, “right there?”

“Yup,” Abby said, a little hope back in her voice because, just like that, Marc was in. She knew it. Trey knew it. Hell, the whole damn bar knew it. “When his parents moved to the United States, they sold the family’s vineyard to Mr. Rossi, who owned a neighboring vineyard, and it has been in the Rossi family ever since. Only now, they are looking to sell.”

“That’s a lot of grapes,” Nate pointed out and Trey allowed himself to sit back and relax. There was no way Nate would sign off on this. Not after he’d recently sunk over seven million dollars into a piece of land that was only worth five.