A Taste of Romance

by Rhonda Laurel

  “The faster you relax, the faster you can get a good night’s rest.” He put the tray on the dresser. “I also brought you a shot of Cognac as a backup, just in case the tea doesn’t work.”

  “That’s strong stuff. It’s likely to dilate my pupils and set my lungs afire.”

  “Maybe you should skip it then.” He locked onto the cell phone in her hand. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  She put the phone on the nightstand. “I checked in with Charisma, the designated family delegate who keeps the rest of the extended family in the loop.”

  “It’s nice to have such a big family who cares about you.”

  “Yes, I guess. Sometimes it feels awfully intrusive.”

  “People only pry when they care.”

  “I guess so.” She looked around. “Well, I think I’ll take a shower and get to bed.”

  “Do you have anyone else you need to call?” He wondered if she had a boyfriend. If she did, he was stupid for letting her travel to California by herself.

  “No,” she replied.

  “Well, if you need anything, I’m in the bedroom down the hall. It’s the double doors.”

  “You’ve been so kind. I don’t think I’ll need anything for the rest of the evening.”

  “I’ll get going.” He walked to the door. “But if you can’t sleep, knock anyway. We’ll open a bottle of special Chianti I keep in my wine room. It’s perfect for bringing clarity to the brain.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Buona notte. Sogni d’oro.”

  She laughed. “You do know I don’t understand you when you lapse into Italian?”

  “I think you do. Goodnight, Katrina.”

  She gazed into his eyes for what seemed like an eternity. He felt a slight fluttering of his heart. They were talking to each other, but in a way neither of them could convey.

  “Goodnight to you too.”

  Marco backed away from the door, although there was something in the air drawing him closer to her. He continued down the hall toward his room but made the left and went back downstairs instead. The bottle of chianti was calling him. He padded into the wine room and retrieved a glass, then got out the chianti and poured. He savored the first sip, which always made him think of his father. They’d had many talks over a glass, pondering life and love. He wanted Marco to be successful in his own rite and was confident he’d continue to prosper with the family business. But they also had long talks about love. His father wanted him to find true love. Massimo had said that love was the fuel which prompted him to get out of bed every morning and pick grapes. Love for his wonderful wife and his kids. After all, what was success and riches without someone to share the fruits of your hard work?

  The devotion his parents had for one another was like nothing he’d ever seen. Even as they aged, they still exhibited a passion that could only be shared with people who were true soulmates. He’d tried to mimic that love and ended up with two failed marriages. His first marriage to Gia was a lust-riddled affair. She was pretty, impulsive, and the sex was fantastic. But smoking-hot sex could only take the relationship so far before they realized their differences. She wanted to travel and see the world, and he needed to be at the vineyard tending to his grapes.

  He’d been foolish enough to give marriage a shot a second time around when he’d met Amanda. She was driven, successful, and full of life. They shared a passion for food and wine and seemed perfect for each other. But when it was time for her career as a chef to take off, she’d left for Montana to open her own restaurant without a second thought. Sure, she asked him to go with her, but his heart remained at the vineyard. After the second failure, he poured himself into shallow relationships that were never meant to anywhere.

  He’d been off and on with Graciella for years, but he still didn’t want to commit to her. It wasn’t her fault. He’d known for a long time that she wasn’t the one—the woman who made his heart race and his pulse quicken. The kind of woman who knew that being at the vineyard was important to him. That it was a part of him.

  So why would he want to ruin what he had now chasing another romance? Life was good. Mama was enjoying her time with her sisters. He really did have a great staff and that allowed him to linger in the vineyards for hours on end. The vineyard was a well-oiled machine, and he appreciated their efforts. Then the sexy Trina Reed drops into his life.

  His cell phone ring. He picked it up and flinched. It was his mother. He’d forgotten to call her. It had really been a strange day.

  “Ciao, mamma. Come stai?”

  “Ciao mio prezioso figlio Hai dimenticato di richiamarmi. Cosa sta succedendo?”

  “Sorry. Sorry. I forgot to call. It’s been a busy day.” He paused for a moment. His mother’s English was getting better, but he knew speaking Italian would speed up the conversation. “Molto occupato.”

  “Troppo occupato per parlare con tua, Madre?” his mother said in a stern, loving voice. “What is going on?”

  “Wesley and Rianne are honeymooning. Remember?” He sipped his Chianti. Should he tell her about Trina? No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. Besides, what was there to tell?

  “Have you been taping my game show?”

  “Sì, mamma.” He sighed. “You do know you’re going to have to binge-watch to catch up?”

  “Binge what?”

  “Non importa. How’s Aunt Rosa?”

  “Mi sta facendo impazzire!”

  “She always drives you crazy.” He laughed. “But you always miss her when you’re away from her.”

  “How are you? You sound ehhh…strano. Different.”

  “Sto bene.” He turned in the chair. “Just relaxing with a nice glass of chianti after a long day. I haven’t had to do day-to-day operations in a long time.”

  “I talked to Matteo today. He said he’d call you a few times at the winery. He’s given up getting you on your cell phone. You should never be too busy per tuo fratello. His new show has been on for over a month. It would be nice if you’d acknowledge that.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Is that it? Are you telling me everything?”

  Everything he wanted to share right now. If he kept answering her questions, she was bound to find out something. He’d suspected his mother was psychic in some way because she always knew when there was something weighing on his heart. But maybe this time she was off. Because he’d just met Trina, and how could he have alien feelings about a woman he’d just met?

  She wouldn’t let up and began firing questions at him about the vineyard. He knew his mother’s interrogative tactics. She was working around to what was really going on. He needed to change the mood and the subject.

  “Enough about me. How was the trip to the beach? Did you go for a swim?”

  As Marco’s mother began to retell her experience at the beach, the world was beginning to sound familiar again. He missed the Mediterranean seas and did not go back as often as he would like. Still, there was something pulling at him, wondering about the woman upstairs. It was a good thing she was leaving in the morning. He’d be liable to have to figure it out if she stayed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As the sun filtered into the room through the beige fabric shades, Trina knew she wasn’t at home. Some people started their day with a cup of coffee. She started hers with a phone call to Grandma Reed. The habit started when her mom moved the family to Charlotte to be closer to her family when their father died. She missed the Reeds something terrible. So did her sisters Dana, Beverly, and Melina. One by one, they’d migrated back to Pennsylvania to be closer to the Reed side of the family. She still visited her mom often in North Carolina, but she felt more connected to her Philly roots.

  She hadn’t been in daily contact with anyone at home except Grandma, and she was itching to know what was going on.

  She’d already missed three Sunday dinners and felt out of the loop. She’d kept up with her sisters mainly via texts, but it wasn’t the same as dropping by thei
r homes and catching up on their lives. She missed her Grandma affectionately chastising her to sit down and eat her food. She missed her wellness talks with Uncle Curtis as they set the table together. It was adorable that he still worried about her even though she was a grown woman. Having him, Uncle Lucas, and Uncle Marcus made the pain of not having her dad in her life bearable.

  As soon as her grandma answered the phone, she could hear the music playing. It was “At Last” by Etta James. Etta playing meant Grandma Reed was feeling nostalgic about Grandpa or she was baking up a storm.

  “Good morning, Grandma.”

  “Trina-Beana.” Grandma Reed said. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t get my morning call from you.”

  “It’s the time zones. I’m still adjusting.”

  “How’s my songbird this morning?”

  “Feeling better than I did yesterday.” She stretched her arm. “I hear Ella in the background. Does that mean you’re baking or are you thinking about grandpa?”

  “I got up thinking about your grandfather, and that put me in the mood to make one of my apple pies. He loved my pies,” Grandma Reed mused. “I love it when you sing this song. It showcases your strong diaphragm.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.” She grinned. “Your pies are so delicious. It’s the reason you win the church bakeoff every year.”

  “I win because I don’t change my recipe. Every year somebody gets the bright idea to improve a good recipe. I say, it’s not broke, don’t fix it.” She laughed. “I’m also making applesauce for the kids.”

  “I remember your homemade applesauce. There’s nothing else like it. You missed your calling as a world-class baker.”

  “I’d hate it if I had to do it for a living. You know I always say, cooking with love for a small audience—”

  “—is the best way to cook,” Trina finished for her.

  “That’s right. How’s the weather?”

  She looked at her arm. “I’ve got a nice, but uneven tan going on.”

  “Are you using sunscreen? You know your skin peels like a banana when you don’t use it.”

  “I have plenty, and I keep it in my purse.” She cleared her throat. There was no other way to say it except to blurt it out. By now someone in the family must have told her grandma about the gossip that had been circulating. “I guess you heard about my drama.”

  “I did. But if I’ve learned anything about my granddaughters’ high-profile lives, it’s to wait and hear the truth from them.”

  “Good. I was afraid you thought something else.”

  “I raised all of you right. You may stray and act up every now and again, but you remember you who are.”

  “Reed women.” Trina smiled. “There’s no one else like us.”

  “You got that right.”

  “I’m still figuring all this out. It’s a strange world here. I miss home.”

  “I was afraid of that.” Grandma Reed sighed. “How was the road trip?”

  “Good. I think it helped clear my head.”

  “Good. I’m glad you arrived safely at the vineyard.”

  Word did get around fast. “How did you know I’m at the vineyard?”

  “Charisma. She told me.”

  “Right.” Charisma didn’t keep anything from Grandma.

  “Charisma says you’re in good hands with Marco. She showed me his picture when she dropped the kids off this morning.”

  Of course, she did. “He’s a really nice man.”

  “And handsome to boot.” Grandma giggled. “He’s gorgeous.”

  “He’s OK.” She sounded like someone refusing to acknowledge a crush. “He’s been very hospitable and…attentive.”

  “Attentiveness is a sign of a compassionate man. Your grandfather was like that. I thought he wasn’t paying attention, but he could read me like a good book. I liked knowing he could just look at me and know what I needed.”

  She sighed. “Sounds nice.”

  “I have to go. I want to get this pie in the oven and let this applesauce chill. It’s an afternoon treat for the kids.”

  “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here.” Grandma Reed laughed. “Love you. Tell Marco I said hello and to take good care of my Trina-Beana.”

  “I love you too. I will.”

  “It wouldn’t kill you to enjoy his company. There are worse ways to spend time.”

  “Bye, Grandma.” Trina pulled back the covers and got out of bed. It was time to get on with the day.

  After she finished showering, she stepped out of the stall and wrapped the plush white towel around her. Last night’s shower was to wash away the day’s travel. But today’s shower was to rejuvenate her and get her ready for her day. She’d be getting back on the road soon. A shower was also a great time to work on her music material. She’d been trying her hand at writing her own songs. Tate had been amazing, teaching her how to structure and bring emotion into the words.

  She opened the door, walked toward the bed, and stopped in her tracks. What the—? Her bed had been made. The serving tray with the teapot was gone and had been replaced with a vase of beautiful fresh flowers. The outfit she’d laid out was missing. She knew Marco was a great host, but this was a little over the top. It was time to get ready for the day, if only she had her clothes. She wondered what Marco had done with them. She tightened her robe and put on her slippers and ventured into the hallway.

  “Marco,” she called out, but there was no answer. She ventured down the long corridor toward where he said his bedroom was and the doors were open. It was a spacious master suite, but he wasn’t inside. She continued downstairs.

  “Hello? Marco?” She bit her lip. There was noise coming from the kitchen. “Marco?”

  The pantry door was open.

  “Marco?” She said again, feeling like a parrot, but it didn’t spur him to come out. “OK. I gave you the cue. Now you pop out and say Polo.”

  “He’s not here. He’s over at the winery,” a feminine voice said from the panty.

  Trina braced herself. Who was this woman?

  All her manic postulating came to an end when an elderly woman emerged from the pantry. The knot in her stomach relaxed, but she was still confused. Wait. Why did she have a knot in her stomach? Why should she care if Marco was some gigolo juggling women? It was none of her business. Focus, Trina reminded herself. Her thoughts were running fifty miles an hour in her head. She tamped down her nosey radar and tried to gain her composure.

  “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Ingrid, the housekeeper.” She went over to the counter and held up a piece of paper. “He left you a note.”

  Katrina,

  I did not want to disturb you this morning after your hectic day of travel. It was a pleasure having you in my home. Please help yourself to anything you like before you leave. I will be back to help with the luggage.

  I wish you all the best in your music career. You are a great talent.

  Marco

  She’d half expected to see him this morning. Perhaps he’d spent so much time with her yesterday that he was now backlogged with work. But still, she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. And she was standing in his kitchen in her robe, talking to some strange housekeeper.

  “Where are my manners?” She extended her hand. “My name is Trina.”

  Ingrid gave her a curious look. “It says Katrina in the note.”

  Trina blinked. Ingrid had read her note. The woman nosier than her.

  “Marco calls me Katrina. Which is my name. Trina’s a nickname. I’ve been called that all my life.” She sighed. She was rambling.

  Ingrid looked her over. “He’s right. I like Katrina better.” She went over to the cupboard and took out a plate, then went into a drawer and pulled out silverware.

  Well. Who knew she’d get such pushback on a nickname. Suddenly she felt like calling her Grandma and telling her these people were picking on her.

  “Thank you for making the bed. I assume tha
t was you. But where are my clothes?”

  Ingrid turned into went into a room off the side of the kitchen and came back with her blouse and skirt pressed perfectly on hangers. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks. It was really nice of you to do that.”

  “It’s my job. I’ll fix you some breakfast while you get dressed.”

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “Nonsense. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Ingrid handed her the hangers.

  “Please don’t cook. You’d just be wasting the food.”

  “How about some fruit? You need to eat something.”

  She looked at the fruit bowl on the counter. “How about a fruit salad?”

  “OK. I’ll have it ready.”

  Trina dressed quickly, packed her suitcases, and brought them downstairs. Once she had them lined up next to the front door, she went back to the kitchen. Ingrid had put together a feast of a fruit salad with cantaloupe, water and honeydew melons, and a dollop of whipped cream on top that looked delicious. As she slid onto the stool at the kitchen counter, Ingrid continued to clean around the house.

  She bit into a spoonful of the fruit and was amazed at how fresh and sweet it was. Marco did boast about the excellent produce. The reminder popped up from her countdown app. It was twelve days until her album was released. She quickly swiped the notification away. She didn’t want to deal with that right now. Next, there was a pop up that she had voicemails. There was one from Lana, which was surprising. She put it on speaker to listen.

  “Hey, girl. It’s Lana. I’m not sure what happened the other night at the house. I was so busy entertaining my guests. I hope you didn’t fly the coop. Give me a call.”

  She didn’t feel like talking to Lana right now. She heard another ping. This time it was an email from the art department at Atlantis Blue. It was the cover art for her album. She was so nervous her finger skidded over the zip file she needed to open. She remembered those hectic two days of photo shoots, trying to get the perfect picture. The cover was going to be the image she presented to the world. It was important that it represented who she was and what her music was all about. She finally got it open, and there were several there, but there were five she really liked. The pics of her in the white dress certainly stood out. She was front and center.