by Pamela Aares
Natasha wasn’t sure she’d heard right. But from the look on Adrian’s face, she was pretty sure she had. He was a Tavonesi. She had no time to wonder further because the woman rattled on.
“And thank you for the wine from Casa del Sole. You’ve done great work since you’ve taken the helm at the vineyard. I love the new labels, and the wine is divine. Truly divine. We’re serving it in the VIP level tonight.”
Natasha’s throat tightened as the woman’s words registered. Casa del Sole. Adrian Tavonesi. She worked for him! Adrian was her boss.
“It was our pleasure, Mrs. Getty,” Adrian said smoothly.
If he was uncomfortable about his identity being revealed, he hid it well. She, on the other hand, struggled to keep her face calm and composed, to hide the shock zipping through her.
He turned to her. “Mrs. Getty, this is Tasha…” He paused.
There was no way Natasha was going to give her real name. Maybe she could hide. Maybe she wouldn’t go to work in the morning. Maybe he was one of those hands-off guys who never showed up around the vineyard. She’d never seen him. But other than her focused work in the kitchen garden and a few quick trips up to the gift shop, her attention had been on her work. She hadn’t looked around much.
“Tasha,” the woman said with a broad, toothy smile. “Is that short for Natasha?”
Natasha nodded.
“Such a lovely Russian name. I do hope you enjoy the performance.” The woman looked back to Adrian. “And I hope you’ll stay for the reception.”
“We have to get back,” Adrian said. “We both have an early day tomorrow. But thank you.”
We. He’d said we. But there was no we. There wouldn’t be. Not ever.
A man walked through the crowd, hitting a chime with a rubber mallet.
“Show time,” Mrs. Getty said. “I hope I’ll at least see you during the intermission. I’d love to hear more about your plans for Casa del Sole.” She turned and melted into the crowd of bejeweled women and their escorts.
“Let’s go in,” Adrian said, as if the world hadn’t been suddenly turned on its edge. “I like to read the program before the performance. I always forget the plots of these ballets.”
Natasha’s head throbbed as they found their seats a few rows back from the front of the stage.
Adrian sat on the aisle.
“I like to sit up close like this,” he said. “I like to see the dancers’ bodies, the definition of their muscles. To me ballet is as tough an athletic performance as any.” He handed her a program. “You must know this story if your mother danced the lead.”
She did know the story. But her thoughts were crashing into her feelings and leaving road kill. The irony that the ballet was a tragic love story wasn’t lost on her. She could talk about the story. Maybe. She swallowed and marshaled her thoughts.
“The short version is that Prince Siegfried feels overwhelmed after his mother tells him he must choose a bride at the royal ball.” She took in a breath. “He’s upset that he can’t marry for love, so he goes off on a hunt to distract himself from his misery and sees a flock of swans.”
She knew the story so well, knew where it was going. And wasn’t sure she could continue. There were too many parallels to how she was feeling right that minute. Love found. Love lost. Why couldn’t the performance have been a modern ballet? Or one without such a clear message? One that wouldn’t torture her and mock the hope for love that she should never have allowed herself to feel in the first place? “Does the program have the rest of the story?” she asked, knowing full well it did.
Adrian leafed through the pages. “Here it is. But I prefer your telling of it.”
“Siegfried escapes into the night and meets a flock of strange swans,” she recited from memory. “I said that part already. Sorry.” She tugged at the ruffle on the shawl Mary had lent her. “Maybe you could read it to me, the rest of the story?”
He lifted the program, holding it in the dim light like a prayer book. “Siegfried aims his crossbow at one of the swans but freezes when she transforms into a beautiful maiden.”
Adrian’s accent added to her discomfort. The way he read the words made the drama come alive in her.
“The maiden is terrified of Siegfried. When he promises not to harm her, she tells him that she is the Swan Queen, Odette. She and her companions are victims of a terrible spell cast by the evil owl-like sorcerer Von Rothbart.” He read more dramatically now, getting into the story. “By day they are turned into swans and only at night, by the side of the enchanted lake—created from the tears of Odette’s mother—do they return to human form. The spell can only be broken if one who has never loved before swears to love Odette forever.”
He stopped reading when a man stepped up and shook his hand, offering the same thanks Mrs. Getty had.
When the man went off, Adrian turned to her and shrugged. “We funded this production in honor of my mother,” he said in an almost apologetic tone. “Swan Lake was one of her favorites too.” He looked back down at the program. “There’s a bit more here, but I like this synopsis of the synopsis.”
He pointed, but to her relief, he read the words himself.
“Swan by day, human by night, the beautiful Odette awaits an oath of true love to break the curse.”
He turned his gaze to her and just as if he held her, she felt embraced by tenderness and warmth. And yet she also felt miserable.
“Natasha.” He said her name like a prayer. “I should have guessed. Well, now that you know one of my secrets, it’s only fair that you tell me one in turn.”
He’d know plenty before too long.
The spell was broken. Now all that was left was the mopping up.
The real world would swoop in, relentless and predictable. It was only a matter of time before he knew what she already knew—that their worlds weren’t compatible, that there would be no happy ending. But since this very well could be their last date, she wanted to do all she could to enjoy every minute of it. She fought down her shock at discovering she worked for him, tried her best to stay in the moment.
“I like plants,” she said, scrambling for something she could say that wouldn’t ruin the evening.
He smiled. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Right. They’d already established that she loved plants. It was a love they shared.
“I like to paint. I’m not very good and I don’t have much time for it, but I do love to paint. Landscapes and flowers.”
“My sister Zoe paints.”
She’d seen Zoe Tavonesi’s paintings in the Casa del Sole gift shop; they were breathtaking. “She has amazing talent,” Natasha said before she thought.
“You’ve seen her work? I thought she had only a few pieces in our gift shop. Unless you saw her exhibition in Rome?”
Oh God. She simply wasn’t ready for a big reveal. Not tonight.
“I saw something in the paper about her.”
“I’ll have to speak with our marketing consultant. He’s supposed to forward articles about the family to me. I like to post them on the website.”
The lights dimmed, the orchestra stopped their tuning and a hush fell over the audience.
Adrian leaned close and whispered, “One for one, Natasha. Although you now know much more about me than I do you. The next secret is yours to tell.”
To Natasha’s surprise, he reached over and twined his fingers in hers. She wasn’t sure if she breathed at all during the entire first act. A deep sadness wrapped around her heart, like vines covering an old building until you couldn’t see what was under them.
When the music swelled and the lovers pledged their love with their bodies and their powerful, graceful movements, Adrian stroked his thumb along her palm and touched his head to hers.
Her heart picked up its pace and stoked the dwindling fire of hope that she should never have built in the first place. Even in the face of facts, of reality, she found one tiny ember of hope she couldn’t douse. She’d
had a taste of love and found she wanted more.
Chapter Ten
A FOUL MOOD GRIPPED ADRIAN THE NEXT morning and wouldn’t let go. Though he and Natasha had spent a wonderful evening together, she’d been reserved, more quiet than usual on the trip back to Sonoma.
He should’ve known that he’d run into people who knew him in LA. But that was the trouble, he hadn’t thought. He’d gotten carried away with the details of the surprise date he’d cooked up with Coco’s help.
Well, apparently his surprise had backfired.
Maybe Natasha didn’t like wine. Maybe she thought vintners were a bunch of hick farmers. Maybe she thought he was a rich snob showing off. As if he’d intended for board members to fawn all over him.
Natasha.
It was a truly beautiful name. For a beautiful woman. A woman who had stolen into his heart. Spending time with her had introduced him to feelings he’d never known. It struck him as strange that he’d heard about the feeling of falling in love—who hadn’t? God knew his sisters talked enough about it. And the media played it to the hilt.
But until he’d met Natasha he’d never known the feeling.
He’d only felt anything similar when playing hard in the flow of a hot polo match or when he’d made a great business deal.
But the flame Natasha ignited made all of those move one step down. One very, very big step down. And the feelings he had when around her didn’t feel like a flow. He felt captured. A web of energy had spun around him, into him, and he didn’t know where he ended and the energy began. He felt arrested, as though a hole had been punched into the fabric of reality and he’d fallen into a world that was just as crazy-making as people in love had reported. He’d never believed the reports. But for the past week he hadn’t been able to think straight. He’d flubbed the numbers for the irrigation order. He’d never done anything like that. He’d made a wrong turn off the freeway and ended up on a back road.
He didn’t make wrong turns.
Yet it was more than infatuation. He knew that feeling. What he felt for Natasha ran deep. Shook him. Made him think about his life differently. Hell, he imagined having a family with Natasha. Imagined what their children would look like.
And yet he hadn’t even slept with her.
If her behavior the previous night was any indication, he never would. They’d kissed once, when he’d dropped her at that damned café. After that, after she all but shooed him away, he’d considered following her to learn where she lived, to make sure he could find her again if she didn’t answer his calls. But she’d waited to see him go off in the limo, and he couldn’t tell the driver to circle back and follow her. He’d be stalking her. And the fact that he’d considered stalking her was a horrifying revelation.
He downed a quick espresso in his still-unfinished kitchen. Maybe he’d grab breakfast on the road before heading to the vineyard. Maybe he’d—
His phone chimed. He glanced at the screen.
Blair.
What the hell was Blair doing calling him? He hadn’t seen her since the polo match in the Hamptons.
“I’m on my way,” she said cheerily.
“Pardon me?”
“To Casa del Sole. Didn’t Coco tell you?”
“No.”
“Well, I am. Zoe’s determined for me to play in the match tomorrow and Coco wants my opinion of her calendar boys. And I want you to give me a proper tour of your new vineyard. Who knows, maybe I’ll buy one up there. I’m loving the country feel of this county.”
Blair.
An unstoppable force if ever there was one. He’d dated her for a while when she’d lived in Rome. Their families were sure they were perfect for each other.
But his mother had known otherwise.
Before she’d died she’d told Adrian to wait for the one. But when he’d asked how he’d know, his mother had only said he would.
Clearly the one wasn’t Blair. If his feelings for Natasha told him anything, it was that he’d made the right decision cutting things off with Blair. She’d moved on, he’d heard. She was dating a member of the royalty in Monaco. But if she was thinking of moving to Sonoma, maybe that affair had ended. Maybe she had some idea that he and she could start up again.
He checked the time. “I can take you around this morning.”
It was the last thing he needed, but she was a long-time friend of his sister’s, so he couldn’t be rude. Better for her to get a sense of the particulars of the wine business before she had her people phone the nearest real estate agent and get her a roster of vineyards for sale.
“Fabulous. I’m dying to see you.”
“But, Blair—”
“I know, you don’t have to say it. But I’m glad we can be friends. You’ll always be special to me, Adrian. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
She didn’t wait for his response before ending the call.
“I love this kitchen,” Blair exclaimed. “It’s like an old Italian farmhouse only with all the conveniences of modern life. I’ll never understand why you didn’t just continue living here. But then, I haven’t seen your new place.”
“You try living under the same roof with a parent,” Adrian said dryly.
Blair laughed. “Point taken.”
She opened the double doors of the Sub-Zero refrigerator and sighed. “Do you have any idea what it has taken for me to renovate the place my grandfather left me?”
Adrian shook his head and couldn’t help but smile. Projects that required that one keep track of details were not Blair’s strong suit.
“No, you wouldn’t. Nightmare. A raging and complete nightmare. We had to take out walls to put in plumbing and heating.” She closed the stainless steel doors and spun toward him. “But the old house looks marvelous, even if it has been a headache.” She waved her arm through the air, and the diamonds on her bracelets caught the sun. “I’m dying to see this garden Coco told me about.”
He had trouble imagining Blair as a farmer. As a vintner. It was likely a fancy that would pass soon enough.
He held the door to the garden for her. “Right this way.”
“My goodness—it’s huge!”
She slipped on the tile on the back terrace, and he caught her arm. He tried to talk her out of touring the vineyard in spiked sandals, but that warning fell flat.
As he looked up, he caught sight of a woman kneeling at the edge of one of the framed garden boxes. She looked remarkably like Natasha. He blinked. Remarkably like her. He steered Blair down the path toward the woman. He had to have a closer look. Just then the woman looked up.
It was Natasha.
Her eyes went wide.
His heart pinged in his chest.
“You actually eat out of the garden?” Blair asked without letting go of his arm.
“The staff does.” He pulled his arm away from Blair’s grasp. “I haven’t had much time for cooking lately up at my place.”
He walked over to where Natasha knelt beside the wooden grow box.
“Hello,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
She pushed her hair back from her face with the back of her gloved hand. “Putting in your pollinator garden. The starts. The larger plants will go in baskets over there.” She pointed with a spade.
“What a lovely gift. And a surprise. I’ll have to be careful what I mention to you in the future.”
“Pollinator garden?” Blair asked, ignoring Natasha.
“For butterflies and bees,” Adrian said, not taking his eyes off Natasha’s face. He knelt down. “You really shouldn’t have. But it’s one of the nicest gifts—and surprises—I can ever remember having received. But I’ll have to chastise my staff who helped you keep it a secret. I should’ve helped you with all this.”
The door to the kitchen banged open and Tammy, his staff supervisor, bounded out. She always had such excess energy, he should ask her what she ate.
“I see you’ve finally met our newest find,” Tammy said as she approached him. “Natas
ha knows plants better than Ilona ever did.” She turned to Natasha. “I meant to tell you, the paychecks are ready in the gift shop. Don’t forget to pick yours up before you head home tonight.”
Adrian watched color creep into Natasha’s face. Natasha worked for him? No wonder she’d behaved oddly last night. Right now all he wanted was to take her someplace private to talk. To explain. To… to what?
“Bees and butterflies,” Blair said in her sweet bell-like voice. She fingered the plant Natasha had been spading into the box. “How wonderful! I envy you,” she said to Natasha. “I know nothing about plants. If I buy a place here, maybe you can help me too. I love the idea of lots and lots of butterflies.”
“No poaching the help,” Tammy said good-naturedly, unaware of the private drama ricocheting all around her.
But Adrian was riveted to Natasha. Watching for any sign that she wanted to speak to him, that she wanted anything to do with him.
“If Mr. Tavonesi can spare me, perhaps I can show you the basics,” Natasha said.
He heard the tremble in her voice, but her words sent a clear message: he wasn’t invited in. Not now and maybe never again.
“I’d love that!” Blair said. “But, Adrian, darling, we’d better head off or we’ll be late. And your sisters will blame me as they always do.” She shot one of her red-carpet smiles over her shoulder. “Nice meeting you both.”
Natasha watched Adrian and the gorgeous woman walk out of the garden. The woman leaned on his arm. She wore ridiculously high-heeled shoes and a very, very short skirt. Her legs had muscles, though. She wasn’t the fashion-model type.
He hadn’t made introductions.
Of course he hadn’t—what would he say? Hi, this is the woman that I at first thought was a Renaissance countess and then considered an equal, but who I now find works in my kitchen garden?
She should’ve told him last night. Could’ve spared them both the embarrassment. Or maybe she was the only one embarrassed. But he’d appeared thrown. Shocked.
“Don’t mind him,” Tammy said. “He’s usually much friendlier than that. But he has so much on his mind this week what with the vintner’s meeting and all the new systems going in. And the polo match. Oh God, I forgot. I need to tell the caterer that we need seventeen more settings for the luncheon after. Adrian wants the team and their grooms to eat with the guests.”