He took his hand back like she’d burned him. “I wasn’t looking for a true love this evening.”
Common sense and practicality was a good thing for them both to have. “Good, because I wasn’t saying I believed in her happily-ever-after nonsense. I would, however, appreciate the ride to Paris your mother offered.”
He held his wine but again didn’t drink a drop. “What’s in Paris that has you rushing there?”
Chelsea had no reason to hide the truth. There was no way she’d ever live on a vineyard and make wine with this man, no matter how sexy he was. “I have to go meet the man I think I should marry.”
He jolted back as if he saw straight through her. “Does he think the same?”
She sipped her wine and let the silliness of the day get to her head. She shared, “He doesn’t know me yet, but he will.”
Alexandre studied her as if deep in thought. Finally, he said, “I told you that I’m having a dinner for my workers tomorrow. Do you mind staying an extra day, and meeting them, so they know who they rescued? Then I will gladly drive you the day after and we can get you there before noon if we leave early.”
A ride and not a bus. Somehow, she’d explain to her mother about the car accident after they’d arrived and he left her on her doorstep. She gave a curt nod. “I’d like to tell them thanks. One day on a vineyard might be nice. Thank you, Alexandre.”
A nice day in the country might do wonders for her mind and help her relax. Soon she needed to transform herself but for now she’d let nature remind her that beauty really did still exist in this world.
He nodded at her. “Alex. Please call me Alex while you’re here.”
This time they both drank wine, and she dug into the meal. Whoever cooked the food clearly knew what they were doing because the chicken was perfectly seasoned and moist.
She behaved with caution. If she said too much, she’d probably flirt and the last thing she needed was for her sister to be right. What if in the strange universe Alexandre was her true love? She’d give up on proving to her parents she was capable of taking care of them and that they didn’t need to only depend on her sister? She stood and ignored how her skin trembled. “Great, well thanks for dinner, the wine, which was yummy and the temporary use of the bedroom for the night.”
He also rose. “You’re quite welcome.”
“I’m off to bed.” She ignored the part of her that wanted to flirt and have him join her. In her old life, she wouldn’t have cared, but now… well she had responsibilities. So she held her tongue.
“Good night.” His words reverberated through her. This wasn’t fair. True love was just a fairy tale for people like Cassidy, but the truth was cold and hard.
She closed the bedroom door, determined not to dream about Alexandre. It was better this way.
Someone knocked on the wine production factory door that housed his automated machines for the production line. Alexandre ignored the knock, but whoever it was entered anyhow and coughed as a way to announce his presence. He recognize Henri Beauchamps’ signal.
Alexandre stayed under the vat with his tool chest and held still. Hopefully Henri didn’t see him under the machine—nobody else had so far this morning.
However Henri’s boots stopped in front of the stainless steel mechanic vat and he poked his head down. “There you are, Alexandre. Your mother is looking for you.”
Of course, his mother was all about being polite. But if he went inside his own house, he couldn’t help but eye the half-naked woman who showed off her tight backside and perfect body. The last woman he’d been so attracted to had ended up being absolutely wrong for him.
So was Chelsea Bright. After she went to bed, he Googled her and found countless nightclub photos of the “party princess from Avce.” He also saw her sister, the Countess of Sky, and remembered Cassidy from last year.
Clearly he lived in a small world, but old-world aristocrats with money and no sense were the last thing he needed in his life—ever.
Henri still stared at him. Alexandre climbed out from under the vat, brushed his oily hands on a towel and shrugged. “My mother probably wants to ensure I ate breakfast. I’ll stop by later.”
The older gentleman in his late fifties had long gray hair with blue eyes that sparkled like the sky. “The woman you pulled from the car is quite beautiful.”
Yes. He was aware of Chelsea’s charms, but he wasn’t into her. He clenched the screwdriver from his tool belt and motioned with his head that he needed to get back to work. “I’m not into painted, fake prima donnas.”
Henri leaned against the broken machine, clearly not caring about Alexandre’s time. “Well, whatever she’s painting on that canvas must be intriguing. Your mother keeps bringing her more water and complimenting her art.”
Alex stilled and frowned. Prima donna ladies should not expect his mother to bring them anything. His mother was no one’s waiter. Not anymore. Not since he’d taken over this vineyard. Memories of his own childhood where his mother worked in a cafe all day crowded his mind, refusing to leave France even though his father had nothing to do with them. He tucked the screwdriver back in his tool belt and nodded. “So my mother is acting the part of servant, again. Thanks for the tip.”
Henri straightened. “You’re not in a good mood this morning.”
He’d been hiding to not stare at Chelsea’s obvious attributes. When the time was right, he’d find a nice girl that would fit into his life, and that girl was nothing like Chelsea. He kept the thought to himself and simply stared at the underside of the machine. “I have a lot of work to do. Lady Chelsea is a distraction that I must take care of tomorrow.”
Henri winked. “Well, good luck with that.”
Alex waited until Henri walked out of the warehouse. He fiddled with his tools and rearranged everything to their proper numbered order. After a few minutes, Alex understood that he’d have to protect his mother—who was too kind.
He cleaned his hands in the sink and headed back to the main house. As he approached he saw his mother with Lady Chelsea, both women on the green lawn between the house and the vines. He checked his fingers for oil and brushed them against his towel he’d tucked in his back pocket.
Chelsea wore gray pants and a pink cardigan with gray trim and even pearls around her neck. She knew how to dress like a lady as well. He released his breath and ignored the buzz in his veins as he stared at her. He walked over to where Chelsea was seated in a folding chair, painting before an easel as his mother sat nearby with a small pitcher of lemonade at the ready. “Mother. Chelsea. What’s going on?”
His mother stood and poured him a glass of lemonade. As he approached, she handed it to him and said, “Chelsea found your grandmother’s easel in the backroom and wanted to test it out. Her painting is coming out just beautiful.”
A grandmother he’d never met, as his father hadn’t bothered to raise him or let him know much about a vineyard. Alex had been shocked to learn of the inheritance and vowed he’d transform the failing vineyard into a financially successful venture. At last, this was the year he’d find out if his hard work had paid off.
Chelsea had a blush on her cheek and told his mother, “I told you I’d get this landscape right for you, Mrs. Travers.”
The Mrs. moniker irked him. Technically his parents had been married but his father hadn’t cared about either of them. Growing up, his mother had used her maiden name, Valliere, when she introduced herself. He kept his mouth closed.
His mother walked over to Chelsea, studied the painting with a critical eye and squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to.”
Chelsea beamed at her like she cared. “It’s a gift.”
Alex gulped the lemonade, put it on the table and crossed his arms as he stared at both women. “You’re getting along well, I see.”
His mother turned toward him as if he made no sense. “Why wouldn’t we? Chelsea is a lovely girl and clearly talented.”
Right. He’d not change her mind
. He understood that his mother made her own choices, and she liked Chelsea. “As long as Chelsea doesn’t have you taking care of her every whim while she paints.”
Chelsea put her paintbrush down on the shelf attached to the easel and stood. She glared at him with fire in her blue eyes as if he’d insulted her. “Absolutely not. Alex, your mother asked me to paint this for her. If you want me to stop-”
He interrupted her and waved his hands. “No. I apologize. My workers clearly misinformed me of what was happening.”
Chelsea’s mouth tightened, and she said nothing.
Right now, he felt his own skin jolt, urging him to kiss her. He would never do that—he kept still.
His mother broke the spell when she asked, “Will you be joining us for brunch then?”
Fair enough. He stepped back and turned toward his mother as he said, “One of the vats isn’t sealing properly. Once I fix the machine, I’ll join you both.”
His mother nodded with pleasure. “And after lunch you can give our guest a tour of the vineyard. She’s never been on one before.”
Again, his gaze returned to Chelsea. Her blue eyes challenged him. He bowed toward her. “If you wish…” Then he took a step back. “See you soon Chelsea. Maman.”
As he turned toward the warehouse he heard his mother say, “My son means well sometimes, but since his almost wedding five years ago, he’s been closed off.”
He slowed his tread, ears burning. Chelsea knowing about Monique felt personal. He wished he’d told his maman not to talk about that.
Chelsea said, “Almost wedding sounds more painful than broken engagement. What happened to him?”
With a sideways glance, he saw his mother return to her seat. “She left him on his wedding day, for his former best friend.”
Chelsea, who had picked up her paint brush to begin again, almost dropped it. “Ouch. Thanks for letting me know.”
So, she knew the biggest mistake of his life. It wasn’t like he’d ever see her after tomorrow when he dropped her off in Paris. She’d have some party to attend and he’d return to his life, here. So why did the fact that she knew such a personal thing about him, sting?
Hours later, the vat switched on and seemed to work. He let the wine pour in and checked the gages as the liquid settled.
Everything was fixed. Another potential problem avoided.
The warehouse door opened, and he turned to see who it was as he hung up his tools. His mother poked her head inside. “Alexandre, why are you still here? Our guest finished her landscape for me and it’s drying. The food for brunch is getting cold.”
The last thing he needed was a lecture on manners. Not today. He grimaced and cleaned his hands thoroughly in the sink. “Start without me.”
His mother walked beside him and crossed her arms. “Chelsea isn’t Monique and she’s only here for today, at your invitation.”
Fair enough, but this wasn’t all his making. She could have taken the bus, but now that he thought about it, Chelsea’s vulnerability mixed with her penchant for parties and good times made her ripe for issues. He’d feel better if he dropped her off at her own door and drove away rather than risk a bus ride. “You asked me to drive her, Maman. If I finish this, then I can take a day off tomorrow to drive to Paris and back.”
She dropped her hands. “Work on the vineyard is never done.” She inspected his clothes and without a word wrinkled her nose, letting him know she didn’t approve of the oil stain on his shirt. “For now, go and entertain your guest, my son.”
“Very well.” His mom had stuck by him during the lean times on the vineyard and she’d earned his respect as well as love.
For the rest of the day, he’d be pleasant and cordial. Tonight’s party was for his workers who not only helped him all season, but had risked injury to put out the fires before the harvest could be ruined. The brunch his mother and Chelsea set up was a bonus for everyone.
Tomorrow he’d bring Chelsea to her home in Paris, and his life would become normal again. If he ran that through his head enough, he’d feel more confident about facing the headstrong beauty.
He walked with his maman back toward the house. Inside, he quickly changed his shirt and returned to the impromptu brunch.
On the lawn he now saw that his maman and Chelsea had set up a picnic area and his workers sat at various tables as Chelsea floated around and checked on different people, like she was hosting an event.
His heart stirred, or more likely, his body reacted. He buried the feeling. His maman winked at him and headed into the house as he went to the table piled with food and made himself a plate.
Chelsea came beside him, blinked as she stared at him and then made herself a plate as well.
His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. Instead he motioned for her to join him at an empty table and held out a seat for her.
She sat like a perfect lady and didn’t pick up her fork or knife until he joined her. He scooted in and said, “Chelsea, you didn’t have to wait for me to eat.”
Now she picked up her own fork and plate and fixed her napkin. “I was checking on the painting for your mother. If I had more time, I could make it perfect.”
Seriously? If he hadn’t seen her last night in next to nothing, he’d think Chelsea was sweet. He ate some of his food his maman and Chelsea and the other women brought together in a pot luck brunch in silence. Once he finished, he said, “My maman already loves it.”
Chelsea glanced around the lawn. “Where is your mother?”
She’d noticed? He motioned toward the house. “Maman went in for her afternoon nap and intends to join us tonight at the party.”
“I see.” They both ate the grilled lemon chicken in a buttery sauce and green beans in silence while his workers ate and drank from this lunch. Once they were both done, Chelsea sat back in her chair. “I’m looking forward to seeing your vineyard today. This morning was super relaxing and for the first time in months, I slept peacefully.”
They both stood and brought their plates and forks to the massive sink next to the house where Erick, his foreman, Marie, his wife and a few others were washing everything. They handed them the plates and silverware as he said, “Well that’s good to hear. Glad you are enjoying your day.”
She followed him as they walked toward the vines. He brought her into the Grenache Noir vines, where they pruned the vines short. Would she care that these vines did well in wind, which was why they were planted closest to the end?
Chelsea touched her string of white pearls. “Did I do something to offend you, Alex?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “No. Well, yes.” Chelsea needed to understand tomorrow they were both better off—separate. He took a breath. “The whole true love conversation we had last night put me off. There is no way anyone like you would be my true love.”
“Like me?” She blinked, and her eyes seemed watery.
His spine tingled as he glanced down at his feet. He guided her away from the first row of grapes and brought her inward toward another set of more fragile vines. “You clearly love social gatherings and care more about how you look than what’s inside your heart. The woman I would eventually like to find would be much sweeter and kinder and not care at all what she looks like physically.”
The words tumbled out of his mouth, and he regretted them the second they did.
She crossed her arms, but she trembled which only made his stomach churn. “Well, I’m not my sister. She’s the perfect one. Too bad for you she’s taken.”
Now wasn’t a good time to say that he’d met her sister and her now husband. His face felt hot, and he turned toward the next vines, that made Mourvedre. They needed constant heat at night and to be more secluded. Again, he hadn’t explained anything. He paused at the row they were to walk down and said, “Understandably, if she’s all those things. Are you ready for your tour? We can talk about anything you want.”
“Yes, let’s do this.” She pushed her hands in her back pockets as they
walked. Part of him still tingled with remorse. He knew better than to insult a lady and overnight Chelsea had changed. He’d clearly spent too much time on his own because he’d lost his manners. As he explained the Mourvedre vines, he swore to himself he’d never insult Chelsea Bright ever again. She’d been nice to his maman and that counted more than the buzz of awareness in his veins.
Chelsea looked out the window of the house toward the lawn and saw at least a hundred people, all in dresses or slacks, at various picnic tables with wine and food everywhere. Alex’s workers had spruced up for the occasion, but no one was as proper as the royal baptism brunch her sister had just hosted. Here, more people laughed and danced before the music even started, and everyone genuinely smiled at each other, long before they had a drink in their hands. Her friends at home would hate it here, but somehow this party felt more real and alive.
For a last minute, “thank you” this backyard party had sure filled up. At home, her sister’s baby christening took months of planning and seating charts for an outdoor luncheon.
Caterers were called.
At Alex’s vineyard the smiling, happy faces struck something deep within her.
Had she ever been as happy as any of the people outside the window?
Alex’s mother, Louise, walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine. Chelsea turned toward her and said, “This party is much bigger than I expected.” She’d easily assisted in brunch as that was just talking to a few other women, but here she wasn’t sure where to start.
Louise stood next to Chelsea to look out the window. “We invited our neighbors as well. It’s the end of the growing season and it will be fun to relax.” She motioned with her head toward Alex as he walked into view from the right, like he’d just gone to check his vats one more time. His mother relaxed her shoulders. “There’s Alex! Why don’t you go see if he is ready to welcome everyone?”
Forbidden Monsieur: Princes of Avce Page 3