Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel)

by Adair, Marina

  As opposed to Trey going, because why the hell would they need to consult the sales end of the business before engaging in a new venture whose success depended on sales? The other day he felt as though he’d made ground with his brothers. That they were all on the same page. That he was finally back in the loop. Apparently not.

  Different project, different day—same old bullshit.

  “I was given strict instructions that until they return, you were the DeLuca to go to if I needed anything,” Regan said, her pacing having no impact on the kid’s vocal exercises.

  “Let me guess, Lamaze falls under the umbrella of anything.”

  “So does diaper changing and midnight feedings,” Regan clarified, while gently swaying Baby Sofie, whose eyes started to flutter closed—thank God. “So I suggest you keep your phone on.”

  He thought staring down his oldest brother with that mean-ass scowl was bad, but his pint-size wife with her little belly was by far the scariest DeLuca he’d ever faced.

  Trey looked at the overflowing inbox on his laptop, the seven conference calls and two interviews he had scheduled, and not a single e-mail from his family telling him they were headed to Italy. He felt like he was being strangled—slowly. “And Lamaze class is…?”

  “A bunch of hormonal women looking at birthing videos, breathing heavily, and complaining about swollen feet and lady parts. It’s very inspiring,” Regan deadpanned and Trey actually felt the walls closing in. “I mainly threw that one out there to make Holly’s audition sound like an easy break.”

  “Right.” He found himself breathing deep. “And Holly’s class is where?”

  “It’s from three to four at the Tap and Barre School of Dance. At the end of Main Street, right next to Petal Pushers.” And suddenly being the go-to guy didn’t sound so bad.

  Holly’s class would give him a reason to see Sara again, to move that “I’ll think about it” to a solid “Name the time and place.” Playing the doting uncle in the process couldn’t hurt. Plus, chauffeuring didn’t include diapers, breast milk, or talk of lady parts.

  “Is one of Auntie Lexi’s babies yours?” Holly asked, looking up at him with her big brown eyes.

  “What? No!” Trey nearly rammed the car in front of him, which earned him all kinds of honks and a stern headshake from the crossing guard.

  The parking lot of St. Vincent’s Academy looked like the starting line at a Formula 1 race. An endless queue of SUVs and minivans, each idling impatiently, each boasting luxury European emblems, and each displaying a placard with their child’s name in the front window, wrapped around the school and down past the corner.

  “Who told you that?”

  “No one. Me and Chloe, she’s the B to me and Lauren’s FF, figured it out because Nonna said Auntie Lexi is big enough to birth a litter of DeLucas.”

  Holly snapped her seat belt, adjusted the chair, and went on as though Trey’s life wasn’t getting shittier by the second.

  “Today was library day, and it went beginning letters first, and since I’m a D, DeLuca,” she clarified and waited until he nodded in understanding before continuing, “I got to pick out my book almost first and we found one on baby kitties. Chapter one was titled ‘The Retroactive Cycle of Cats’ and it was about—”

  “Yup, got it.” Trey didn’t bother to correct her, just like he didn’t complain that when everyone else formed groups of “we,” his life managed to spiral out of control.

  “It said that a litter of kitties can have more than one daddy. So, we thought that maybe Auntie Lexi was going to have all of my uncle’s babies.”

  Three blocks. That’s all he had to do was get three blocks without female talk and he’d failed. The second his niece had scrambled in the car, tossed her backpack in the backseat, and started talking about the mating habits of domesticated animals—apparently her class science project—he knew he should have distracted her with candy. Only he didn’t have candy.

  Gabe would have had candy. He also would have known what to say.

  “Want a breath mint?” Trey offered, reaching into his glove box.

  “No, thanks. They can cause cavities,” Holly said primly. “So if none of Auntie’s babies are yours, then when are you going to have one?”

  “Lexi is only birthing, um, having one baby. And it is Marc’s,” he clarified, and realized he sounded desperate and a bit shrill. Then he thought of what Gabe would say and added, “She’s having Marc’s baby because they are married and in love. And since I’m not married or in love, I won’t be having a baby.”

  Ever.

  Trey popped a mint in his mouth, cavities being the least of his worries, and once he exited the school parking lot, jammed the gas pedal to the floor. If he got to the studio fast enough, she wouldn’t have time for follow-up questions.

  “My mom wasn’t married when she had me.”

  Right. Shit. Regan was a single mom for the first six years of Holly’s life. In fact, Holly’s birth dad, son of a bitch that he was, hadn’t bothered to visit Holly since she was a baby.

  “So, if you want your baby to grow up with mommies and aunties, then you better get on it.”

  Trey ran a hand down his face. God he was screwed. He was not only getting unsolicited advice from his brothers and sisters-in-law, now he was getting it from his niece.

  “I have the book in my backpack if you want to look at it later,” she offered, and Trey made himself two promises. One, to be anywhere but at Regan’s house when later came, and, two, breast milk or not, next time he’d take the snot-monster.

  At least she couldn’t talk.

  Sara hadn’t panicked when she had, in a state of pure exhaustion, accidently sent out fliers advertising the wrong day for the Snowflake Princess auditions.

  Not at first.

  Not when Isabel Stark, PTA president who had dance-mom extraordinaire botoxed across her forehead, cornered Sara in the school parking lot with her daughter’s headshot. Not even when Heather called to say she would try to be home by lunch—only it was way past lunch and she was still a no-show.

  But as Sara raced back in the studio after school let out, a sullen Cooper in hand, and scanned the dance floor, the reality of just how crappy her day was going to get set in. The floor was already filled with her Tiny-Tappers class geared up and ready to go, and what could only be described as a herd of mini-dancers with stage moms in tow.

  “But today is design day and Hive Commander Roman was going to help me finish sanding out my car, give it more muscle and less curves.” Cooper frowned. “Plus anyone who doesn’t have a finished car at Mighty Mites tomorrow won’t get their wheels. It’s the rule.”

  “I know, honey.” Sara dropped to a knee, running a hand over his hair. “And I’m sorry, but Heather isn’t home yet and I didn’t want to risk being late for pickup.”

  “But with no wheels, I can’t race,” he whispered.

  And with no car, Sara was running on empty.

  “We’ll get you wheels,” Sara promised, having no idea where she was supposed to buy tiny wheels, only that she would make it happen. Somehow. Right after she figured out what to do with the three-dozen dancers who were already lined up for an audition that wasn’t supposed to happen until next week. “And right after class, we will finish the sanding. I promise.”

  “Will it still look like Cinderella’s carriage?” He was obviously repeating what some jerk had said to him about his car.

  Sara had spent most of the past two nights helping Cooper on his car. No matter how hard she tried, it came out looking more VW Bug than NASCAR. But bugs were cool—right?

  Cooper was a Mighty Mite, not a Mighty Mobile.

  “I thought it looked like a big, bad bug.” Sara gave Cooper her best bad-bug face, complete with fangs and claws and, what Sara thought, a pretty terrifying snarl.

  Cooper just gave her a g
et-real look then toed at the floor, the wet rubber of his shoes squeaking against the hardwood. “Hunter Lock said his dad’s been working on their car all week, and he still isn’t finished, and he’s done it like a million times.”

  Sara wanted to point out that it was Hunter’s car, therefore it should be Hunter’s handiwork, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “He also said you’d probably paint it pink.” His last words came out on a horrified little sob. Suddenly Sara had a pretty good idea why her son had been so quiet the past few days. “He says girls like pink and since I only hang out with girls, it’ll be pink, and I should race it with the Lady Bugs. Then one of the dads said I should go with a more manly color.”

  Sara wasn’t a vicious person, but she was ready to tell Hunter and that dad to butt the hell out. And then ask for a clarification on the hues of manly, since last time she checked that wasn’t a color on any chart. It also wasn’t a word Cooper had used before. Unfortunately, the truth hit home and the truth was that, between her and Heather and the studio, her son was almost always surrounded by women.

  “A pink car would suck,” Cooper mumbled. “I don’t want it to suck. And I don’t want it to look like a bug. I want it to be manly.”

  Sara’s heart turned over. She knew that, although Garrett died before Cooper was old enough to actually miss having a dad around, he was smart enough to know what he was missing out on. Smart enough to understand what having a man in his life could mean. Days like today, Sara did too.

  “I promise that tomorrow when you show up to Mighty Mites, you will have the best car in town,” Sara said, turning around to see if her pants were on fire for that big lie. “No pink. No carriage. We’ll make you a new one. Deal?”

  He nodded and she ruffled his hair, sending drops of rain dotting the floor.

  “Okay, now, go hang up your raincoat and grab a snack out of the back room. When you’re done, you can help me sign in the new kids.”

  “Like be your assistant?” He didn’t sound as thrilled as Sara had hoped. Then she looked around and realized that her son was surrounded by pink, pink, and more pink, with tiaras as far as the eye could see. No wonder he thought today was going to suck.

  “You can hold the clipboard.” Which was not pink. It was blue and gold—Chargers’s colors.

  His eyes went wide. “How about the permanent marker?”

  “If you think you can handle it.” Sara went for nonchalant, although there wasn’t a nonchalant bone in her body. Cooper and permanent markers were a bad combination. If Sara needed a reminder of just how bad, all she had to do was look at the neighbor’s cat, Avalanche, who was still wearing a blue Chargers’s lightning bolt down his side.

  “Awesome.” Then he was gone, his blinking sneakers disappearing around the corner.

  Sara was unbuttoning her raincoat when three more tutus and tiaras squeezed in the waiting room. She was cold, wet, and in desperate need of a nap, which was why, when her phone rang and she saw Heather’s face flash on the screen, she nearly wept.

  “Thank God, are you okay?”

  “Sara,” Heather’s voice exploded through the phone. “You’re never going to guess where I am.”

  “I hope the parking lot out back since the Snowflake Princess auditions start in ten minutes.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “I thought they were next week, after the middle graders?”

  “They were. But the fliers that went out to the schools said today, so please tell me you are walking through that door in two seconds.”

  “Um,” was all she said, but it was enough to send Sara’s stomach into a pirouette.

  “Heather,” Sara whispered, shifting so that she was facing the wall. “I really need you to be here today.”

  “I am so sorry, but there’s no way I can make it. I’m actually on my way to New York. Can you believe it?” At the rate that her life was spiraling, Sara could. “They offered me the lead. As in permanent. On the condition that the chemistry between me and the male lead, who is totally hot by the way, is there.”

  “And is it?” Sara asked, forcing a little smile in her voice because Heather was okay. She was safe and excited and this was a huge moment.

  “Scorching. As in call the fire department. And I know that this puts you in a bad spot, but I’ll be back tomorrow night. They are literally flying me out to meet the rest of the cast and then back home.”

  “Okay.” She could make it until tomorrow. It would be tough and exhausting and she’d have to master the pinewood derby car in under twelve hours, but she could handle it.

  “But Sara,” Heather said and Sara pressed the phone harder to her ear. She tried to ignore the awful feeling in her chest, the one telling her that everything was about to change—again. “If I take the role, they’d need me back in New York on Monday. And it’s a two-year contract.”

  That was when Sara panicked. It wasn’t the quiet, dignified kind of panic that she used to be able to pull off. It was a full-blown, chest-closing-in, tunnel-visioned kind of reaction that had her sitting down—on the floor.

  “Breathe, Sara,” Heather said, her voice laced with concern. “I told them I had to think about it and talk to you. Monday is so soon and two years is a long time to be away. From you. And from Cooper.”

  Sara forced herself to calm down. She didn’t want to ruin this for Heather. “What do you mean you told them, you had to think about it? You are taking this job, even if I put you on that plane myself.”

  “But you and Cooper—”

  “Will come visit. This is an incredible opportunity,” she forced out. Because really it was.

  Heather couldn’t stay in St. Helena forever. She was too talented to teach dance her entire life and deserved the amazing life that every dancer dreamed of.

  “I called Madison. She had a huge falling out with her studio and already gave notice. She’ll be free after March first and sounded excited about living in wine country,” Heather said. “She actually wants to head up the ballroom program. Which is perfect if you ask me, since you hate teaching ballroom.”

  “I don’t hate teaching ballroom.” It just wasn’t her specialty. Sara was a classically trained ballerina with several years of contemporary and jazz under her belt. Plus, ballroom classes were always at night when she wanted to be home with Cooper. “Even though she would be the perfect answer, I can’t afford Madison.”

  Madison was a two-time grand-champion ballroom dancer who was beyond talented and great with kids and seniors alike. Only she’d cost a small fortune to hire.

  “You can when you get that five thousand from the Garden Society,” Heather reminded her. “And with all of the new kids the studio will get from the Gala exposure, you’ll be able to focus on day classes, and Madison can handle all of the ballroom so you can be with Cooper. This is a great opportunity for you and the studio.”

  “It is, and you’re right.”

  Hiring Madison would give Sara the freedom to be the kind of mom she’d moved to St. Helena to become and allow for the kind of life she wanted her son to grow up having.

  The only thing she had to do was manage until March. Balancing her class load and Cooper would be hard enough, now that she had the Winter Garden Gala to add to her pile—and she couldn’t mess that up.

  Then there was Trey. Whatever, if anything, that even meant.

  “Thanks for calling Madison. I wouldn’t have thought of that, and,” Sara swallowed, “about the role, I’m really proud of you, Heather. Garrett would have been too.”

  “Yeah,” Heather whispered. “It’s why I took the meeting, because I could hear him in my head lecturing me about going after my dreams, living life—”

  “Balls out,” they both said and started laughing.

  “God, I miss him,” Sara half choked, half laughed.

  “Me too,” Heather s
aid, then fell quiet.

  It stretched on for so long that Sara could feel it pressing down on her, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of what to say. It was Heather who broke the silence, but when she did, Sara wished they could go back to the quiet.

  “I heard that Trey came to Swinging Singles last night and that you two had another moment. And you booked him for a private.”

  “How did you hear that?”

  “Small town, remember? Please, tell me you’re not going to ‘think’ yourself out of a great opportunity.”

  Too late.

  She had thought about it. Almost the entirety of last night was spent weighing the consequences of saying yes. Like, they probably would do a whole lot more than dance. And that scared her. Trey scared her. Which was why she hadn’t returned any of his calls.

  He was sexy and gorgeous and so damn charming he brought up feelings that she hadn’t dealt with since Garrett’s death. He was also a notorious playboy.

  “Before you tell me all of the reasons you should say no, picture his ass.” Heather paused and Sara laughed. “Still not convinced? Then four words. Lipstick. On. The. Face. And you were glowing, Sara. Glowing. I haven’t seen you look that happy since before Garrett died.”

  “I know, that’s what scares me,” she admitted.

  “Why? Because you’re attracted to a guy who makes you feel good?” Heather asked and Sara wanted to cry. “You’re young and a total catch, and it kills me to think that while I’m in New York, you’ll be in that big house, lonely and thinking about what could have been instead of what might be.”

  “I’m not lonely.” Even as she said the words, Sara knew they were a lie. She went to bed early because it was easier than facing an empty house, and ate lunch at the studio since a table for one in a crowded restaurant was depressing. Sara had mastered being alone in a crowd of people.