Even if she didn’t return his love, she would always be the best thing that ever happened to him.
September 30
Two days later, the last day of September, the last day of Bodega Sofia’s superstar internship program, the Monte del Vino Real was in an uproar. No villager was home. Instead they were filling the tabernas and partying in the town plaza with the tourists and reporters that mobbed the small kingdom, reveling in the wild story and sharing new tidbits. John Hamilton was alive! He’d kidnapped and tried to kill Aish Salinger! Princesa Sofia and her bodyguard of a brother had saved the day! The media—who’d been curious about Roman Sheppard, the reluctant half prince who’d famously rescued an heiress years ago—were now mad to interview the ex-army ranger. Any reservations the people of the Monte had had about the quiet and stalwart American were now gone. Roman Sheppard would be in their nightly prayers for helping their princesa.
Not that their princesa needed help, they bragged to reporters. Their princesa peleadora had saved the harvest season, had reinvented the Monte winemaking industry when all odds were against her, and now had rescued a rock star. They were proud to have a brave and bold princess who never went down without a fight.
The liberal toasting in the streets to their warrior princess—a nickname quickly overtaking party-girl princess—meant that rumors were flying wildly, although none could compete with the spare bits of truth shared in two press releases, released jointly by the rock star’s manager and the princess’s PR rep. John Hamilton was in custody for kidnapping and attempted murder. Juan Carlos Pascual and two additional members of the Consejo Regulador del Monte also were in custody for aiding and abetting, and authorities were seeking hotel executive Manon Boucher for questioning. Both Princesa Sofia and Young Son’s Aish Salinger were in good health and would give complete accounts of what happened to them at an afternoon press conference.
The world waited with bated breath for this 4 p.m. press conference, having spent thirty days watching the courtship of #Aishia stutter then fester then bloom then teeter precariously. After the drama of the last month, not even the most hardened cynic believed the relationship was faked. Would the warrior princess and the devoted rock star finally get their happily ever after? Would Aish go down on one knee? Would Sofia? Or, now that the internship was over, would they shake hands and go their separate ways, leaving the world heartbroken and howling?
As viewers at home bit their nails and watched their clocks, wine flowed throughout the Monte, locals cheered with tourists, and reporters anxiously prepped themselves for the story of their lives.
In the cellar of Bodega Sofia, however, everything was calm and quiet. Quiet, except for the clang of Aish’s boots against the metal steps as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Calm, except for the nerves obvious in his handsome face as he rounded the steps and made eye contact with Sofia, who was sitting behind a white marble bar in the middle of the majestically lit cathedral space.
“Sofia?” he asked, staying near the stairs.
She hated the deep purple bruise high up on his sharp cheekbone, hated the way he held his normally languid body stiff with his aches and bruises. She wished she’d been able to get to John before she’d had to jump into the pool to save Aish from drowning, gotten in a couple of kicks before Roman’s security team had dragged him away.
But she loved the way Aish stood there on her black marble floor under glowing lights, tall and breathing and here and alive, in his long-sleeve black button-up shirt, his black rock star jeans and boots, his blue-black hair pompadoured and perfect. What a glory it was to stare at a beautiful man.
“Come here, Aish,” she called, motioning to the two filled glasses and the bottle of wine she’d set on the bar. Her wine. One of her best.
He stayed where he was. “Shouldn’t we get ready for the press conference?”
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip to hold back her smile. This was a boy who’d asked if he could make her wet within minutes of meeting her, who’d barraged her with questions and touches when she’d seethed at his presence, who’d been ready in an instant to throw away his career to save her dreams. She’d never seen him wary, never witnessed him hesitate.
He truly didn’t know how today was going to turn out.
“We’re doing the press conference here,” she said, picking up her wine. Aish wasn’t the only one with a few nerves. “The cellar is the heart of Bodega Sofia, but you’ve only had bad experiences here. I wanted to show it to you in a better light.”
Aish reached up to wrap his long hand around a metal stair rung. “Okay.”
Helpless, she let her smile loose. He was so gorgeous, so vibrant and male. She wanted to warm herself at the flame of him. He was so far away. “Aren’t you going to come here, Aish?”
His hand clenched the rung. “I don’t want to demand anything you’re not willing to give. And if I’m close to you...” He dropped his head, sent that thick pomp of hair tumbling against his forehead.
There’d been no time for just the two of them since they’d been helped out of the tunnel by Roman’s team. They were rushed off to separate hospital rooms for treatment, interviewed by the guardia civil, then petted, praised and scolded by Mateo, Roxanne, Henry, Devonte, Namrita, and Carmen Louisa. There’d been no time for Sofia to tell him what she’d realized. What she wanted.
Now, she could see the muscles jumping in his sleek jaw as her own body quivered at the temptation of him, the unbelievable reality that she’d gotten to him in time. He steeled himself and looked back up, caught her in his sparkling black gaze. “If I’m in touching distance right now, Sofia... I’m gonna touch.” She felt his eyes stroke over her. Felt the same disbelief that they’d made it to the other side. “And I don’t know if that’s something you want. I don’t know if that’s something I’ve earned.”
Sofia ran her hands up through her hair—she’d left it loose and soft—and pushed off the bar stool to stand. She walked to the end of the bar, trailing her fingers over the marble, and then stood to the side of it, letting Aish see her from head to toe. Let him see the black baby doll dress, embroidered with bright flowers, that covered her arms and the tattoo she was thinking about removing, but left her long legs bare from the top of her Doc Martens to upper thigh. Let Aish see all the skin he talked about coveting.
“I know it was John I spoke to that day in the hospital,” she called across the cellar space. “I heard him say it in the tunnel.”
Aish stared at her. His eyes moved over her like he was seeing a mirage. And then, careless if the fantasy was real, he was coming at her, a big man on long legs, barreling toward her and crashing into her, tunneling his fingers into her hair, bending her back over the bar, sleeking a hot hand up her thigh as he took her mouth in a life-confirming kiss. A kiss giving her his heat and breath and pulse.
“Holy fuck, Sofia,” he gasped into her mouth as he pulled back to stare in wonder at her. “Holy fuck, you saved me. How did you fucking find me?”
Her hands moved over him, greedy for the feel of him in her arms again. “It was John. He’s so stupidly arrogant, he went to the trouble of changing his face but not that horrible cologne he always wore.” She buried her nose in Aish’s neck and inhaled the cleansing scent of him. “I realized I’d smelled him, down here and when we were at the bar.” She squeezed his biceps, hot and full of tensile strength, in her fury. “Roman’s security team was coming up the main route but I know a shortcut. Gracias a Dios, you got him talking, I could keep track of you as we were getting close. When I heard him tell you to get in the pool...”
She pulled her head back until she could look into his eyes, take in that spark that she’d been terrified she’d never see again. When she’d watched him dive in and heard the gunshot, she’d felt the nightmarish despair of true never, total and endless. This wasn’t a cold she’d wrapped herself in; this was a dark emptiness that would go o
n forever.
Driven by “He needs me!”, she’d sprinted out of the mouth of the tunnel with Roman on her heels and dove into the freezing water. She’d found Aish’s waving black hair and closed eyes in her headlamp. She thanked the hours of squatting to pick grapes for her ability to swim them to the surface and resist the whirlpool’s tug.
It had been anger, not despair, that had her smacking him upside the head. ¡Absolutamente no! Not after everything. He wasn’t allowed to leave her now.
Now, she pulled him down to kiss her again, to cover herself in his warmth.
His hungry kiss ended too soon, though, when he picked her up and sat her on the bar top. His hands gripped the marble near her hips and he stared grimly into her eyes.
“My apologies thirty days ago would have been for the wrong reasons, apologizing for the wrong things. Can I try to tell you I’m sorry the right way now?”
She nodded solemnly.
Aish took a steadying breath. “John’s not to blame for what happened to us. I made the decision to break your heart after I told you to trust me, and I put you in the position to believe him when he answered my phone. If I hadn’t hurt you so bad, you would’ve known it wasn’t me. Then you wouldn’t have been...” Aish stopped, shook his head, and pressed his face into the bend of her neck.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her skin, and Sofia rubbed her cheek against his hair.
She let his words soothe the wound.
“I’m so sorry you were alone. I wish I’d been there.” He nuzzled his face in, but then sniffed and straightened. He cleared his throat then looked her in the eyes again, ready to take a bullet. “I let you go,” he said. “I didn’t fight for us. I used you in my songs, but I didn’t contact you. John didn’t do that; I did that.”
“Why didn’t you ever reach out?”
“I was afraid,” he said immediately. “I’d convinced myself I was reaching out, with the songs and the tats, that I’d done the work and the ball was in your court. But really...” He shook his head. “I was just chickenshit. If I never tried, then I could live in hope of one day. But if I tried and failed, it—” He stopped, and his gaze ran over her face like he was afraid it was one of the last times he’d have the privilege.
He took his hands off the bar and stood straight, so tall and fierce for a languid boy. “When I say what I’m about to say, I don’t expect anything in return. Know that. I don’t think you owe me because of what happened ten years ago or what’s happened this month or because you’re glad I’m alive. I’m not going to demand anything from you.”
He swallowed and clenched his fists. It made her flutter, silly, like a girl, that golden-boy-rock-star Aish Salinger was nervous over her.
“I love you, Sofia. I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you. There is nothing I need more than you, no song or friend or tour, and if...if it’s too far gone and I’ve hurt you too much and waited too long for you to love me back then I’ll accept whatever you’re willing to give me, even if it’s just...friends or, coming back here to help with harvest or...”
She reached for his clenched fist and gently pulled it into her lap. “Won’t your uncle miss you at harvest?”
He moved closer, a flash of hope on his face. “He’ll understand,” he said. “He was tired of me raving about how brave and brilliant you are when I was being such a coward.”
That made her lower her head, stare at his hand. “Brave and brilliant?”
He tucked her hair behind her ear so he could see her face. “The bravest. The most brilliant.”
She turned his hand over and unsnapped his cuff. “I would have said needy and desperate. I thought I was weak.” She folded up his cuff, ran her thumb over the thick blue veins of his wrist. “I thought my desire to be... How did you put it? Essential? I thought my need to be essential led me to make bad decisions.” She began rolling up his sleeve. “But I tried 284 chemical compositions to eliminate cork taint until I found the right one. I built a winery and enacted a wild and successful plan to save my kingdom.”
With his sleeve folded up to his elbow, she turned his forearm back over and slowly traced the compass there, the needle pointing to his heart. “And I found you. You were a needle in a haystack and I found you.”
His free hand was tender as it stroked over her jaw. It was gentle, undemanding, as it tilted up her chin.
“My need makes me brave,” she said as she looked into his sparkling eyes. “It makes me attempt the impossible.”
“Like loving me again?” he asked. “¿Es eso lo imposible?”
Is that the impossible?
This man, this gorgeous man with a Midas touch, looked like he would give her whatever she wanted. But he had to know the truth before he made any promises.
“I can’t have children, Aish,” she said, looking into his eyes for the impact. “I can’t have your children.”
His eyes went wide like she’d slapped him, and both hands came up to surround her face. “Jesus fuck, I was just hoping you’d let me sleep at the end of your bed. I wasn’t even praying for...family. Fuck, Sofia.” He gripped her hair. “Family. We can be the favorite aunt and uncle or we can adopt but...family, Sofia. I just want you to be my family.”
She put her hand on his chest, over his heart, over the star that flamed there. “If I hadn’t miscarried, if we had stayed together, I still would have gotten an abortion.”
He nodded. “Yeah, and I would have driven you to the clinic and taken care of you afterwards. Sweetheart, I’m not going to romanticize what could have been.”
She smiled. He got her. He saw her. “Okay,” she said. “I just don’t want it to be confusing when not being able to have children aches sometimes.”
“Let me share it with you, baby,” he said. “All this success and happiness in my life, it’s not meant shit without you to share it with. Let me share your sadness, too. I love you.”
As the cellar door above them opened and feet rang on the stairs, as she quickly kissed Aish but pulled away from his hold and jumped off the bar, she didn’t miss the disappointment on his face that she didn’t say it back. She shook out her dress and casually mentioned that he should roll up his other sleeve, let his tattoos shine, as Namrita, wine blogger Amelia Hill, and a crew of camera, lighting, and sound technicians came down the stairs.
“Sofia?” Amelia asked in wonder as Sofia walked toward her, kissed her on the cheeks. Namrita directed the camera and sound people to set up at the bar with the barrels aging Bodega Sofia wines as backdrop.
Sofia led the woman toward Aish. “You had every right to be skeptical when you arrived here, Amelia, and you pushed me to do better.” When they met Aish by the bar, he too looked at her with curiosity. “We’re all a little tired of the spectacle of #Aishia. You’re the best person to tell the real story of Sofia and Aish.”
“This is the press conference?” Aish asked.
Sofia smiled. “If Amelia doesn’t mind...”
The wine blogger had to shake her head to free herself from shock. “I...you want to hand me the story of the year? No, no, I don’t mind at all.”
Ten minutes later, the lights were set up, Aish and Sofia were seated together on matching bar stools while Amelia faced them, and a technician was counting down with her fingers three...two...one...
Amelia spoke into the camera, introducing herself, the name of her popular wine blog that was about to go very viral, and then introduced Sofia and Aish. The feed, whose web address had been announced five minutes earlier, was going live worldwide.
Amelia’s first questions were about the kidnapping, and Aish and Sofia spoke candidly about what had happened, about the interference of John and the Consejo in the winery launch, and about what charges had already been brought against the responsible parties.
“I understand the Consejo has decided to dismiss the current board
and elect new members. They’ve requested you lead it?” Amelia asked.
Sofia nodded, her hands crossed over the bare thighs her dress showed off. It had been a while since she’d dressed this way; after the press conference, she’d probably reserve it for more intimate moments with Aish. She liked her winemaker garb.
“The Consejo has asked, but I have declined, for now. I suddenly have an overbooked hospedería and wine member list with a two-year wait to get on it. Instead, I’ve asked my mother, Queen Valentina, to serve on the board and represent the interests of Bodega Sofia.”
Aish looked at her sharply. There was still so much she needed to share with him. Like the morning tour of the winery she’d given her mother, and the awkward but sincere conversation that their future could be different than their past.
“There’s a tremendous demand for Monte del Vino wines internationally. Will Bodega Sofia be able to satisfy it?”
Sofia grinned. “We won’t have to. Thanks to our new partnership with Mexico’s Trujillo Industries, the kingdom will be able to offer low-interest loans to anyone in the Monte interested in starting a new winery or modernizing older ones.” That’s the favor Sofia had called in, and the vice president of the company had answered with a yes in less than half a day.
Once again, Roman’s connection to industrialist Daniel Trujillo benefited a tiny kingdom a half a world away from Mexico. And yet, no one in the Monte had ever met the man.
Amelia turned her attention to Aish. Sofia looked at him, at the ocean waves and compasses that licked down his forearms, and marveled that he was there.
“Aish, you’d had a press conference planned when you were kidnapped. What did you want to say?”
“Mostly, I wanted to get the heat off Sofia. She didn’t do anything wrong. She has more integrity and bravery in her little finger than I have in my whole body.”
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