Seduced by Sunday (27 page)

“We are.”

“I think that has to be the most spontaneous anything I’ve ever done,” Gabi told him with a sigh.

Alonzo pulled away and his smile fell. “You still have a headache, don’t you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “A little.”

He sat her down and told her to wait for him. When he returned, he had another dose of aspirin and a glass of water.

“You’re taking such sweet care of me,” she told him.

“I promised I would, didn’t I?”

Gabi couldn’t really remember if that was part of their wedding vows. She chided herself for forgetting the words so quickly. Maybe when the headache eased off, she’d remember everything clearly.

Alonzo sat beside her and let her drop her head on his shoulder. The lull of the sea and the medication made quick work of her headache. She was starting to wonder if maybe Alonzo’s medicine from Italy was a miracle worker. She’d never had such a quick turnaround of pain in all her life. In fact, her head floated a little as the pain drifted away.

“Better already?” Alonzo asked as the sun left their company.

“It must be you,” she said.

He stood and reached for her. “Come with me then. I have a meal fit for a new bride ready for you to consume.”

She floated, like the pain scattering, while they dined, drank, and even danced. The night was magical. Everything Gabi thought her wedding day and evening should have been.

The next morning, a bottle of medicine stood next to a glass of water.

Alonzo was once again somewhere other than by her side.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“It’s our third winery and no one’s talking.” Margaret nudged her head between the seats. All Val could sense was the smell of her hair. The hotel had a brand that used grapeseed and oil . . . the perfume intoxicated him. Or maybe it was the woman who used it.

“It’s almost like they’re purposely not talking.”

Michael spoke the words already swimming in Val’s head. They’d walked into the winery to the east of Alonzo’s with Margaret and Michael posing as a couple . . . Val walked in a short time later and stood to the side as they sipped wine and asked questions. As soon as they spoke of the Picano winery, the blinders went on and the smiles shifted off. The second winery to the south was the same. The northern winery held less back, but still said nothing about their neighbor. The property had changed hands a few years past, but nothing more than that. Still, Val thought there was a conversation taking place that he didn’t hear. Not even in Italian.

“I say we switch it up,” Margaret suggested. “The next stop, you stay in the car,” she told Michael. “Val and I can go in . . . I’ll be a
tad tipsy and my Italian hottie will be working hard to get lucky by getting me into Alonzo’s winery.”

Alonzo didn’t have a tasting room, which in and of itself wasn’t completely unheard of . . . but with so many wineries in the region, it wasn’t the best business practice.

Margaret unbuttoned the top buttons on her blouse until the creamy expanse of her breasts met the warm Italian air.

“What are you doing?”

“Stacking the deck,” she said before applying a fresh layer of lip gloss. She teased her hair and blew Val a kiss.

She was lovely. Even in her attempt to look like a common good time. Val knew the woman beneath. She was more frustrated with the roadblock they’d managed to find than he was. Gabi meant something to her.
We’re not going to let her make a massive mistake if Alonzo is playing her.
Her words resonated in Val’s ears. He’d been so wrapped up in his own life, his work, that he hadn’t done his job protecting his sister. He should have investigated Alonzo more. In the effort to ensure his sister’s privacy, he’d taken everything Alonzo presented him as truth.

Val had checked out the fact that Alonzo actually had his name associated with the vineyard. But that was as far as Val checked.

Now, months later, he was traversing the Italian countryside to find fault with his future brother-in-law. The man sleeping with his sister.

Val cringed. His sister was, right at that moment, alone with the man.

A short vacation
, Alonzo had called it.
A way to reconnect with his future bride
. . . Why would a fiancé need to reconnect with his future bride?

Michael drove up to the parking lot and Val guided Margaret out of the backseat.

The second they left the car, Margaret started giggling and stumbling into him.

“Are you OK?”

She sent him a sobering look. “Work with me, Val.”

He pasted on a smile and led her into the tasting room.

Loud and American
was an art form, and Margaret had it down.

“Oh, this one is pretty,” she said as they walked into the air-conditioned tasting room.

“The last one was lovely, too.”

There were a few patrons standing along the tasting bar, swirling wine and sipping. Most drank, where a few of them spit out their offerings.

Margaret zeroed in on one of the male servers and squinted her eyes at the man. Val didn’t consider himself a jealous man, and he knew Margaret was doing her best Hollywood performance, still he didn’t care for the attention she was turning on the young man behind the wine counter.

“What wine is this place known for?” This was how she opened the conversation?

The other man passed his eyes to Val.

“We’ve been all over the region today,” Val told the man in English.

“Our whites are award winning,” he said in English. “Not that you’ll tell the difference with all you’ve had,” he said in Italian.

Val didn’t bother pretending he didn’t understand the man.

The two of them laughed and smiled sweetly at Margaret.

“What did he say?” she asked as she slipped onto Val’s lap like the family dog.

“He said you’re lovely,
cara
.”

It was the attendant’s time to laugh under his smirk.

“Bring us a sample of your award winners,” Val told the man in Italian.

The attendant lined up glasses and started to pour.

Margaret swirled the white and grinned. “Am I doing it right?”

Val wanted to bite his lip, but didn’t. “Only with red,
bella
. Just smell.”

“Oh, OK.”

Margaret smelled and gulped.

“Tastes like roses.”

Val turned to the attendant, who shook his head with a subtle movement.

Val took his turn, spit out the wine. There wasn’t a hint of floral anything in the mix. Not to his palate in any case.

On the third taste, Margaret exclaimed, “Oak . . . I smell oak.”

Again, the attendant shook his head. “We don’t cask our white in oak.”

Margaret tossed out her bottom lip and put out her best blonde moment. “Sucks. I thought I had that one. I bet the winery up the way has oak. What was the name of it?”

“Picano. We’ll go there next,
cara
. No worries.”

The attendant shook his head. “They don’t have tastings,” he told them.

Margaret offered an even bigger pout. “Why not? This is Italy, isn’t it? Home of wine and love?” She nuzzled Val’s neck long enough to make the man behind the bar squirm.

“I’m not sure why they don’t host tastings.” The attendant removed a red from behind the bar and presented it to Val. “For the lady?”

Val offered a short nod and said, “I know I’ve sampled their wine in the States. Is there a place to purchase?”

If the discussion about another winery’s brand bothered the kid behind the bar, Val couldn’t tell. “Not locally. I believe they export exclusively.”

Margaret sipped the wine and listened.

“Is that normal?” Val asked.

The attendant lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think they might be intimidated by all the names surrounding them. The new
owners are seldom there . . . chances are the quality isn’t where it should be.”

Margaret slid her glass to Val. “This one is good.”

Val tasted and agreed. After buying a few bottles of the red Margaret said she enjoyed, they walked back to the car.

They told Michael what they’d learned as they drove to the final surrounding vineyard to the Picano property.

“Who makes Italian wine and doesn’t sell it to Italians?” Margaret asked.

“I’ve never heard of such a practice.” Michael turned up the road to the next winery. “What’s the plan with this place?”

“I think you should go into the tasting room and gather a crowd. Val and I can take a little walk in the vineyard . . . maybe get a glimpse of Alonzo’s place.”

“Trespass?”

“Stumbling out of one vineyard to the next. They all look the same,” Margaret told Val with a tiny bat of her eyelashes.

“I knew you were more devious than my background check found on you,” Val told her.

“Life is too short to stay on the straight path all the time.”

Michael laughed. “You can say that again.”

There were several cars parked in the lot. They pulled away from the crowd and found a shade tree in the back. Michael slipped on his glasses before opening the door. “Give me five minutes.”

“Go get ’em, Mr. Hollywood.” Margaret patted his back and he slid out of the car.

They both watched him walk into the tasting room and disappear from sight. “I like your friends,” Val said.

“Michael is good people. The entire family is grounded, genuine . . . it’s hard to explain.”

“Does his family know about . . . him?” The two of them had yet to vocalize Michael’s sexuality, and Val wasn’t about to now.

“You mean the Ryder factor?”

Even Margaret skirted around the obvious.

“Yes.”

“Most. His parents are still clueless, his youngest sister. It’s only a matter of time.”

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugged. “Hard to pinpoint why I feel that way. He’s changed a lot in the last few years with his brother and two of his sisters knowing. We’ve talked. He knows his secrets are a burden for his family to keep from each other. None of them want to be the one who slips and screws up . . . ya know?”

“The lies must be difficult.”

Margaret settled her eyes on his. “I hate that we live in a society where he feels he needs to
act
like someone he’s not.”

“Things are changing.”

“Not fast enough.”

There it was again, the drive and passion about right and wrong that Margaret displayed when it came to the people she loved. Val reached out and placed her cheek in the palm of his hand. “Your friends are lucky to have you,” he murmured.

She blushed with the compliment. “None of my friends have
had me
. . . though I’m sure they wanted to.”

The woman made him laugh when he least expected it. “So humble,
bella
.”

“If you have it, flaunt it, Masini.”

He leaned forward and kissed her as if he had every right. When he pulled away, she had a dreamy quality in her eyes. “I’ll let you flaunt, and remind anyone trying that they can’t
have
you.”

“Oh?”

He cocked his head to the side, reached over Margaret, and pushed open her door. “I don’t share.”

I don’t share . . . I don’t share . . .

Meg had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, and act like she’d been drinking more than tasting most of the day. Truth was, she had a little buzz going and Val didn’t help with all his
I don’t share
talk.

Those three words sent an unexpected wave of pleasure through her body. And since when did that happen? Sharing is caring . . . right?

Monogamy is commitment.

And why was commitment such a hard word to swallow?

Something about
I don’t share
shook and thrilled her at the same time.

They’d walked a few yards into a vineyard and Val stopped her. “Stand over there,” he told her.

Lost in her thoughts, she narrowed her eyes. “What?”

He motioned to their right and she noticed a few employees glimpsing their way.

Val removed his cell phone and pointed it at her as if he were taking a picture. “Smile,
bella
.”

That’s right, they were on a mission. Sharing, commitment, suits, artists, and all thoughts in between would have to wait. Right now, they needed to make sure Gabi wasn’t committing to a criminal, which was exactly where Meg’s thoughts were headed.