The Passion Price

by Miranda Lee

  Jake laughed. ‘And this from the wild woman who’s planning to buy some run-down winery in the middle of nowhere! Don’t worry, I won’t go over the speed limit. And hopefully, once you see this dump for real, you’ll be happy to stay right where you are and take up pottery.’

  ‘Pottery! What a good idea! There’s sure to be room for a kiln at the winery. The ad says there are ten acres of land, and only five under vine.’

  Jake gave up at this point. But he was sure that Dorothy would see the folly of her ways and change her mind once she saw the place, and where it was.

  ‘If we leave around ten,’ Dorothy said excitedly, ‘we’d get up there in time for lunch. Lots of the larger wineries have great restaurants, you know.’

  Jake frowned. Mr Mastroianni had been going to build a restaurant at his winery. And guest accommodation. He’d also been going to change the name of the winery from its present unprepossessing name to something more exotic-sounding. Angelina had told him all about her papa’s grand plans, but Jake’s mind had been on other things at the time and he couldn’t remember what the new name was. Or what the old name was, for that matter. Though it hadn’t been Italian.

  According to Angelina, the winery had belonged to her mother’s family. Jake did recall her telling him that her mother had been middle-aged when her father married her. She’d died having Angelina.

  ‘I looked up a few of the restaurants on the internet last night,’ Dorothy was rattling on. ‘There’s this really interesting-looking one on the same road as the place we’re going to inspect. It’s at a winery called the Ambrosia Estate. Isn’t that a wonderful name for a winery? The nectar of the gods.’

  Jake’s mouth dropped open. That was it! Ambrosia!

  ‘What is it?’ Dorothy said. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘Did Edward ever tell you the story of how I came to be in his court?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. You…’ She broke off, her eyes widening. ‘Good lord, you don’t mean…’

  ‘Yep. The scene of my crime was the Ambrosia Estate.’

  ‘Goodness! What an amazing coincidence!’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  Dorothy gave him a sheepish look. ‘I—er—I’ve already made us a booking at the restaurant there for twelve-thirty.’

  Jake couldn’t help being amused. What a crafty woman she was. ‘You were very confident I’d drive you up there myself, weren’t you?’

  ‘I think I know you pretty well by now. But honestly, Jake, if you want me to change the booking to somewhere else, it’s easily done.’

  ‘No, don’t worry. I doubt I’d be recognised. I’ve changed somewhat since my bad-boy days, don’t you think? Though it’s just as well you made the booking. If old-boy Mastroianni knew Jake Winters was eating lunch in his restaurant, I’d be fed hemlock. Italians have long memories and a penchant for revenge. He might not know my face but I’ll bet he’d remember my name.’

  Oh, yes. He’d bet the name Jake Winters was burned into Antonio Mastroianni’s brain. And whilst Jake really didn’t want another confrontation with Angelina’s father, the possibility of running into Angelina again sparked an undeniable surge of excitement.

  She would be what age now? Thirty-one? Thirty-two? Had to be thirty-two. She’d been two years younger than him and he was thirty-four.

  Logic told Jake that a thirty-two-year-old Italian girl would be long married by now, with a brood of bambinos around her skirts.

  At the same time he reasoned that even if she was married, she’d probably still be living at the winery, with her husband working in the family business. That was the way of Italians. No, she was sure to be there, somewhere.

  The desire to see Angelina again increased. Was it just curiosity, or the need to say he was sorry for what he’d done? She’d been terribly upset at the time.

  But what would an apology achieve after all these years? What would be the point?

  No point at all, Jake decided with a return to his usual pragmatism. Best he just have his lunch and leave. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of Angelina. And maybe he wouldn’t.

  Who knew? He probably wouldn’t recognise her. It was sixteen years ago after all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘YOU can look for your father when you turn sixteen,’ Angelina promised.

  ‘But that’s not till November!’ her son protested. ‘Why do I have to wait that long? It’s not as though Grandpa’s around any more to get upset. I mean…Oh, gosh, I know that sounded bad. Look, I miss Grandpa as much as you do, Mum. But this is important to me. I want to meet my dad. See what he looks like. Talk to him.’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that he might not want to meet you? He doesn’t even know you exist!’

  ‘Yeah, I know that, but that’s not his fault, is it? No one ever told him. He’s got a right to know he has a son.’

  Angelina sighed into the phone. She still could not come to terms with Alex’s sudden obsession with finding his biological father. Every time she rang her son at school, and vice versa, it was his main topic of conversation.

  Of course, when his grandfather had been alive, the subject of Jake Winters had been forbidden. In Antonio Mastroianni’s eyes, the tattooed lout who’d seduced and impregnated his daughter was nothing better than a disgusting animal, not worthy of discussion. Alex’s birth certificate said ‘father unknown’.

  When Alex had been old enough to ask questions, his grandfather had told him that his father had been bad, and that he was lucky not to have anything to do with him. He, Antonio Mastroianni, would be his father as well as his grandfather. In return, Alex would carry the Mastroianni name and inherit the family estate.

  To give her father credit, he had heaped a great deal of love and attention on Alex. The boy had adored his grandpa in return and, in accordance with his grandfather’s wishes, Alex’s father was never mentioned.

  But within weeks of his grandfather’s tragic death late last year, Alex had started asking his mother questions about his real father, wheedling Jake’s name out of her, then every other detail about him that she could remember, before finally demanding that they try to find him.

  Just the thought of coming face to face with Jake again after all these years had put Angelina into a panic, which was why she’d initially come up with the ‘wait-till-you’re-sixteen’ idea. But since then, she’d thought about the situation more calmly and stuck to her guns.

  Because heaven only knew what Jake, the grown man, would be like. The last she’d heard he’d been going to be charged with carnal knowledge and would probably go to jail, something which had given her nightmares at the time. Till another nightmare had consumed her thoughts, and her life.

  At worst, Jake might now be a hardened criminal. At best, Angelina still doubted he’d be the kind of man she’d want her son to spend too much time around. She didn’t agree with her father that Jake had been born bad. But maturity—and motherhood—made her see Jake in a different light these days. He had been from the wrong side of the tracks, a neglected and antisocial young man, something that time rarely fixed.

  ‘I don’t want to discuss this any further, Alex,’ she stated unequivocally. ‘That’s my decision and I think it’s a fair and sensible one.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Yes, it is. By sixteen, hopefully you’ll be old enough to handle whatever you find out about your father. Trust me. I doubt it will be good news. He’s probably in jail somewhere.’

  Silence from the other end.

  Angelina hated having to say anything that might hurt her son, but why pretend? Crazy to let him weave some kind of fantasy about his father, only to one day come face to face with a more than sobering reality.

  ‘You said he was smart,’ Alex pointed out.

  ‘He was.’ Street-smart.

  ‘And good-looking.’

  ‘Yes. Very.’ In that tall, dark and dangerous fashion that silly young girls were invariably attracted to. She’d found everything about J
ake wildly exciting back then, especially the symbols of his rebelliousness. He’d had studs in his ears, as well as his nose, a ring through one nipple and a tattoo on each upper arm. Lord knew how many other tattoos he’d have by now.

  ‘In that case, he’s not in jail,’ Alex pronounced stubbornly. ‘No way.’

  Angelina rolled her eyes. ‘That’s to be seen in November, isn’t it? But for now I’d like you to settle down and concentrate on your studies. You’re doing your school certificate this year.’

  ‘Waste of time,’ Alex growled. ‘I should be at home there with you, helping with the harvest and making this year’s wines. Grandpa always said that it was crazy for people to go to university and do degrees to learn how to make wine. Hands-on experience is the right way. He told me I’d already had the best apprenticeship in the world, and that I was going to be a famous wine-maker one day.’

  ‘I fully agree with him. And I’d never ask you to go to university and get a degree. I’m just asking you to stay at school till you’re eighteen. At the very school, might I remind you, that your grandfather picked out for you. He was adamant that you should get a good education.’

  ‘OK,’ he replied grudgingly. ‘I’ll do it for Grandpa. But the moment I finish up here, you’re getting rid of that old fool you’ve hired and I’m going to do the job I was brought up to do.’

  ‘Arnold is not an old fool,’ Angelina said. ‘Your grandfather said he was once one of the best wine-makers in the valley.’

  ‘Once, like a hundred years ago?’ her son scoffed.

  ‘Arnold is only in his sixties.’ Sixty-nine, to be exact.

  ‘Yeah, well, he looks a hundred. I don’t like him and I don’t like him making our wines,’ Alex stated firmly, and Angelina knew her son’s mind would never be swayed on that opinion. He’d always been like that, voicing his likes and dislikes in unequivocal terms from the time he could talk. If he didn’t like a certain food, he’d simply say, ‘Don’t like it.’ Then close his mouth tightly.

  No threat or punishment would make him eat that food.

  Stubborn, that was what he was. Her father had used to say he got it from him. But Angelina suspected that trait had come from a different source, as did most of Alex’s physical genes as well. His height, for one.

  Alex had been taller than his grandfather at thirteen. At fifteen he was going on six feet, and still growing. And then there were his eyes. An icy blue they were, just like Jake’s. With long lashes framing them. His Roman nose possibly belonged to the Mastroianni side, as well as his olive skin. But his mouth was pure Jake. Wide, with full lips, the bottom lip extra-full.

  He’d probably end up a good kisser, just like his father.

  ‘I have to go, Alex,’ she said abruptly. ‘I’m needed up at the restaurant for lunch. It’s always extra-busy on a Saturday when the weather’s nice.’

  ‘Yeah. OK. I have to go, too. Practise my batting. Kings School are coming over this afternoon to play cricket. We’re going to whip their butts this time.’

  Angelina smiled. For all her son’s saying he wanted to be home at the winery, he really enjoyed life at his city boarding-school. He’d been somewhat lonely as an only child, living on a country property.

  Located on Sydney’s lower North Side, St Francis’s College had come highly recommended, with a sensible balance of good, old-fashioned discipline and new-age thinking. Their curriculum included loads of sports and fun activities to keep their male students’ hormones and energy levels under control.

  This was Alex’s fourth year there and he was doing very well, both in the classroom and on the sports field. He played cricket in summer and soccer in winter, but swimming was his favourite sport. The shelves in his bedroom were chock-full of swimming trophies.

  ‘Good luck, then,’ Angelina said. ‘I’ll give you a ring after you’ve whipped their butts. Now I really must go, love. Ciao.’

  She hung up, then frowned. Cricket might distract Alex from his quest to find his father for the moment, but she didn’t like her chances of putting her son off till his birthday in November. That was nine long months away.

  Nine months…

  Angelina’s chest contracted at the thought that it was around this time sixteen years ago that she’d conceived. Late February. Alex’s birthday was the twenty-fourth of November.

  Today was the twenty-fourth, she realised with a jolt. And a Saturday as well. The anniversary of what had been the most earth-shattering day of her life.

  Angelina shook her head as she sank down on the side of her bed, her thoughts continuing to churn away. She did not regret having Alex. She loved him more than anything in the world. He’d given her great joy.

  But there’d been great misery to begin with. Misery and anguish. No one could understand what it had been like for her. She’d felt so alone, without a mother to comfort her, and with a father who’d condemned her.

  Antonio Mastroianni hadn’t come round till the day Alex had been born, the day he’d held Angelina’s hand through all the pain of childbirth and finally realised she wasn’t just a daughter who’d disappointed him, but a living, breathing human being who was going through a hell of her own.

  After that, things had been better between them, but nothing would change the fact that she’d become a single mother at the tender age of sixteen. By the time Alex had been born, she’d long left school, plus lost all her school friends. When she’d come home from the hospital, there had just been herself in the house all day with a crying, colicky baby and her father, who tried to help, but was pretty useless. Some days she’d wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. Instead, often, she’d just sat down and cried along with Alex.

  Meeting Jake Winters that summer sixteen years ago had sure changed her life forever. And the thought of meeting him again scared the living daylights out of her.

  Not because she felt in danger of falling in love with him again. Such an idea was ludicrous. But because of the danger of Alex falling under his father’s possibly bad influence. She hadn’t sacrificed her whole life to raise a secure, stable, happy boy, only to surrender him to someone she didn’t really know, and possibly couldn’t trust. Alex needed good male role models now that his grandfather wasn’t around to direct him, not some rebel-without-a-cause type.

  Angelina tried to imagine what Jake would be like today. Could he possibly have come good, or had he gone down the road to self-destruction? Was he even alive? Maybe she should start looking for him herself, do a preliminary reconnoitre. She didn’t have to hire anybody, not to begin with. She could ring all the J Winters in the Sydney phone book first.

  Yes, that was what she would do. She’d get on to that tomorrow. She would try in the evening. Most people were home on a Sunday evening.

  Another thought suddenly popped into her mind.

  What if he was married, with a wife and a family?

  Angelina knew the answer to that as surely and instinctively as Alex had known that his father was not in jail.

  No way!

  The Jake who’d chatted her up that summer had been a hater of all things traditional and conservative. Marriage would never be for him. Or family life. Or even falling in love. She’d grown up sufficiently now to see that Jake hadn’t cared about her one bit back then. All their intimate conversations whilst grape-picking together had been nothing but a way for him to get into her pants.

  Which he had. But only the once. And even that must have been an anticlimax, for want of a better word.

  Looking back, it was ironic that she hadn’t enjoyed the actual event that had ruined her life at the time. She might have borne the memory better if she’d been carried away on the wings of ecstasy to the very end.

  Jake’s lovemaking had promised well to begin with. He’d been more than a good kisser, actually. He was a great kisser. His hands had been just as effective, with a built-in road map to all her pleasure zones. Her breasts. Her nipples. And of course the white-hot area between her legs. Soon she’d been
all for him going all the way, despite some last-minute panic over getting pregnant. But the sharp pain she experienced when he penetrated her had swiftly brought her back to earth. All she’d felt during the next ten seconds or so was a crushing wave of disappointment.

  Even if her father hadn’t watched over her after Jake like a hawk, Angelina had steadfastly refused to become one of those single mums whose son woke up to a different man in his mummy’s bed every other week. She’d made her bed, as her father had often told her, and she’d bravely resolved to lie in it. Alone.

  To be honest, however, her opportunities for having even a brief fling hadn’t exactly been thick on the ground to begin with. As the stay-home mother of a young child, she’d rarely been in the company of eligible men. Her weekly shopping trip to the nearby town of Cessnock had been her only regular outing. In fact, Angelina hadn’t been asked out by a single member of the opposite sex till three years ago.

  Two things had happened around that time to greatly change her life circumstances. Alex had gone off to boarding school and she’d enrolled in a computer course at the local technical college. She’d known she had to do something to fill the great hole in her life created by her precious son going off to school.

  Once she had some computer skills under her belt, Angelina had felt confident enough to try working on the reception desk at the resort. To her surprise, she’d taken to the service industry like a duck to water. Soon, she’d been also escorting groups of guests on tours of the property, serving in the cellar and helping out at the restaurant at lunchtime on the weekends, its busiest time. She just loved talking to people, and they seemed to like talking to her.

  Before this, she’d only done behind-the-scenes jobs around the resort such as cooking and cleaning, hardly esteem-building activities. Not that she’d had much self-esteem by then. Her stay-at-home years when Alex had been a baby and a toddler had gradually eroded her confidence and turned her from an outgoing girl into a reserved, almost shy woman.