by Jen Talty
She jumped from the bed, holding the blanket around her body. “You couldn’t say that before you climbed into my bed?”
“I didn’t think I had to.” He found his pants and hiked them up. “I told you that you could have your line of wine and work at the winery. There is plenty of room for you here. There is no reason for you to go find employment elsewhere. But ownership is out of the question.”
“No. You can’t do that to me. I won’t let you.” She reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer, finding the picture of her great-grandfather. She didn’t understand why she thought this might push Malbec to understand why she needed this so badly or why she’d fight for it until the bitter end. “I belong here.” She shoved the picture under his nose. “I have a feeling this image was taken here. I planned to go to the library and do some digging, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”
Malbec took the paper in his hands and glanced between her and the picture. “Who is this?”
“My great-grandfather,” she whispered. “It was the vineyard he owned that he gambled away. My grandfather never forgave him. He lost his wife over his gambling and drinking problems. I didn’t know him, but I’m told I have his same passion and talent for winemaking.”
Malbec fell back onto the bed and ran his free hand across his head. He couldn’t believe what he was staring at. The sign was identical to the one in the history book in the library.
The original name for the winery. The one that had been changed when his great-grandfather went legit.
Or at least that was what he’d been told.
And what the history books said.
But his grandmother had written that book.
“Get dressed,” Malbec said.
“Why?”
“I’ve got something I need to show you, and it has to do with that sign your great-grandfather is holding.”
Eliza Jane
Eliza Jane didn’t like being in Weezer’s house, especially when the woman wasn’t home. Even more so when Eliza Jane had only been there once for a breakfast meeting on the back patio, which had a great view of the vineyard. But this felt as though she were invading her boss’s privacy.
“You can sit down,” Malbec said.
“I’d rather stand.”
“If you’re worried about my mom coming home, she won’t. She’s with my dad at his place. Once they sit down to dinner, unless they get into a fight, that’s where they remain for the night.”
Eliza Jane stared at all the family pictures hanging over the sofa. “How did that work after your parents divorced?”
“The only change was that we had two homes.” Malbec sat cross-legged on the floor by the fireplace as he pulled out one photo album after the other, flipping through the pages. “My dad came over here every day when school got out and helped with homework. He drove us to practices or after-school activities and, obviously, they had marital relations because my mother got pregnant twice after they ended their marriage.” He tossed another album aside. “But they didn’t fight as much, and there was a lightness in the house that hadn’t been there before.”
“What was the reason they gave for divorcing?”
“They told us it was easier to love each other when they had a little space, but we all knew it had something to do with our grandpa. But only Chablis and I knew that it was all centered around whatever that fucking secret is all about. That was until my granddad decided to let everyone know that he had a dirty little secret. Then it was a mad dash to find out what it was. Unfortunately, he died, and my mom won’t tell anyone.”
“I never understood why no one knew where my great-grandpa’s winery was. I get there was shame over what he did. But it was a very long time ago.”
“Older generations are weird.” Malbec set a ratty old scrapbook on his lap and opened it. “Here it is. Come, sit with me.”
She let out a sigh and joined him on the floor.
“Tell me something,” Malbec said. “Do you know anything about the bet your great-grandfather made?”
“Nothing other than he lost everything over it. My grandpa would never talk about it, and my father pretended that he didn’t know much. But that was bullshit. He just didn’t want to start trouble.”
“What about after your grandfather died? What did your father say then?”
“My grandpa died two months before my dad, and he was sick for a year. So, not much.”
Malbec lifted his gaze. “I’m sorry. That’s really rough.”
“It was,” she admitted.
“What about your mom?”
“She ran out on us when I was five. I haven’t seen her or talked to her since my tenth birthday.”
“Jesus. I thought my family was fucked up, but that’s just wrong.”
She shrugged. “According to my dad, my mom never wanted me, but it was too late for her to have an abortion, and my dad always told me that he was madly in love with me from the second my mom showed up six months pregnant.”
“That’s pretty cool of your father.”
“As crazy as he and my granddad were, he was a pretty cool guy. He did his best to make sure I always felt loved and was cared for, especially when my mom left.”
“I can’t imagine that was easy.”
“It wasn’t that hard, either. I mean, she made it pretty clear that she didn’t like or want my dad or me. I’m not even sure why she married him, except for the fact that maybe she thought he might be able to make some money and spoil her. But that never happened, so she moved on to greener pastures.”
“Have you ever tried to find her?”
“Nope, and I don’t want to.” Eliza Jane had no desire to find a woman who would ultimately reject her—and that she knew for a fact. “The last time I saw her, she told me that when I got some tits, I should come visit and she’d show me how to get a real man.”
“Fuck. That’s crude.”
“That’s my mom.” She leaned over and stared at the album in his lap. It was filled with vintage photographs. “What are you looking for?”
He flipped a few more pages. “This.” He tapped an image of an older man and a woman standing in front of a sign that read: The River’s Edge.
The exact same sign that was in the picture she had of her great-grandfather. The only difference was that this one had been taken in front of the old cottage and next to it was the new sign that read: The River Winery.
“That can’t be,” she whispered.
“That’s what I thought when you showed me that image, but there is no way that’s some kind of weird coincidence.” He tapped the album. “They are identical.”
“How old is that picture?”
“I don’t know. It was probably taken a few years before my grandfather was born.” Malbec turned his head. “My mother told me that she always felt like she had to protect this dirty little secret in order to make sure the traditions of the family and the winery were intact. I always thought it had something to do with the fact that, for the first decade, this winery was illegal. I wondered if maybe there were still issues with back taxes or something. I had no idea that it could be something like winning it in a bet. Not to mention, no one in this family likes to gamble—especially my grandfather.”
“Maybe that’s why.” She ran her finger over the sign in Malbec’s family picture. She couldn’t believe that she’d found her great-grandfather’s vineyard. “Your mother knew about this. That’s why she sought me out.” A flash of anger filled her heart. She sprang to her feet and paced in front of the sofa. She planted her hands on her hips and tried not to stare at all the happy smiles in the family images displayed proudly on the walls.
This land started out as her great-grandfather’s.
And then he gambled it all away during a drunken night at the poker tables. Which, according to her grandfather, became a way of life until he died.
“This still doesn’t feel right.” Malbec tugged the picture out of the album and set it on the coffee table be
fore putting everything away. He stood and curled his fingers around her forearms. “Winning a winery over a gambling bet isn’t a big enough secret for my mother to push me away. She wouldn’t do that. There has to be something more to this story. What else can you tell me?”
She blinked out a tear. “All I know is that my grandfather shamed my great-granddad. He was so embarrassed by his father’s drinking and gambling that he almost never went into the winemaking business at all. It wasn’t until my father became interested in it that they joined forces.”
Malbec pressed his lips over hers for a brief but tender kiss. “I can see how a bet like that could tear your family apart. It would be devastating to lose a business in that manner. But shit like that happened a lot back then. And to be totally frank, I don’t see that as a dark enough secret that my grandpa or mom would be willing to lose any of their family members over it.”
“I see your point.” Eliza Jane had to admit that it made no sense for Weezer not to say how the family came into the winery. “If your great-grandfather won the winery fair and square, there would be no reason to be ashamed or concerned about what anyone thought.”
Malbec tilted his head. “That’s what concerns me.”
“Do you think somehow your great-grandfather cheated or something?”
“I don’t know,” Malbec said. “But I intend to find out.” He pulled her into his arms.
She stared into his deep blue eyes. She wanted to turn and run. She didn’t want to care for him or have any real emotions when it came to Malbec. Especially when his family winery could be tied up in her family in such a negative way. “What is going on in your mind right now?” she asked.
“I have a million and one questions, but only my mother and father can answer them. And even then, we might not know the whole truth.”
“If your family won this winery fair and square, I’ll walk away. But if not, you know I’m not going to sit idly by.”
He brushed her hair from her face, running his thumb across her cheek.
Not only did she feel a connection to The River Winery.
She felt one to Malbec.
He made her feel as though all her hopes and dreams could come true, and that no matter what, things would work out.
Even this mess.
“I need you to give me a little time to talk to my folks.”
“I want to be there when you do,” she said.
“My mom will take that as an act of aggression. Perhaps you should let me—”
“No.”
“You still don’t trust me,” he whispered as his lips pressed against hers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But you also don’t want me to have an ownership stake in this winery.”
He jerked his head back. “I brought you here and showed you that picture. I didn’t have to do that. I could have kept it a secret from you and done what every other generation ahead of us has done. But I’m not willing to continue with that game. Either you and I are in this together, or we’re not. Either way, you’re going to have to trust me.”
“That’s not going to be easy.”
He kissed her nose before bending over and snagging the picture. “Let’s go back to the cottage, have some dinner, and sleep on it.”
“You expect to spend the night at my place?” Her stomach filled with butterflies. She had to admit, she liked the idea of waking up in his arms.
“I don’t want to stay here and risk seeing my mom and confronting her before we’re ready. And I can’t go to my dad’s right now, so it’s either I stay with you or crash on the sofa in the office at the winery.”
“Oh. I feel so manipulated right now.”
“I doubt that.” He laughed. “But, seriously, it will give us some time to talk about the best way to approach this conversation with my mom and dad. And even before that, maybe we can go look at that history book.”
“Yeah. I really wanted to do that.”
“I should warn you. My grandmother wrote it.”
She rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t give it much credibility.”
“Except she was notorious for subliminal messages. We might find something hidden in there if we look hard enough.” He laced his fingers through hers. “Let’s get out of here. I need some wine, and I’m feeling like I need to lie down.”
“Oh. My God. Do you really think you’re going to get a little more action today?”
“A guy can hope.”
12
Malbec
Malbec blinked open his eyes and rolled to his side. The sun peeked through the window as it filled the morning sky. He reached for his cell. It was six-forty-five in the morning. He glanced at Eliza Jane, who was still blissfully asleep on the other side of the bed.
Their night had consisted of a bottle of wine, some Chinese takeout, and a lot of lovemaking.
He made no apologies for any of it.
Only he worried about what the future held because he had a bad feeling in the pit of his gut.
He slipped from the bed and made his way to the small kitchen, where he pulled down a mug and put it under the Keurig, hoping it didn’t make too much noise. Tapping the screen on his phone, he pulled up his text messages.
There were about half a dozen from Merlot.
They might have a strained relationship, but when push came to shove, they always had each other’s backs. But their issues when it came Racheal were deep, and they cut right to the heart. Merlot had never gotten over the fact that Malbec had given Racheal a higher position in the winery when Malbec was the manager. He’d done so because it was Merlot’s turn to work the vineyards that summer. It was a rite of passage, but Merlot saw it as Malbec being on a power trip and wanting his girlfriend at his side. No matter what Malbec said, Merlot didn’t believe him, and he went about doing whatever he could to make Malbec’s life miserable.
And Merlot succeeded the day he snapped a picture of Rachael playing kissy-face with one of the managers over at the apple farm. It was obvious that Merlot had gotten great pleasure out of telling Malbec about Racheal’s indiscretion. But three months later, Merlot was in Racheal’s bed.
Six months after that, Malbec received a phone call from his sister, Riesling, informing him that Racheal had dumped Merlot for greener pastures. Merlot had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas ever since.
And he blamed Malbec for what happened with Racheal—which was ridiculous.
Malbec scrolled to the last text, which informed him that Merlot and Zinfandel would be at the cottage by seven to discuss the future of The River Winery.
Fucking wonderful.
He took the five steps to the bed and sat next to Eliza Jane. She had a right to be a part of this conversation.
Merlot would have a shit fit.
He bent over and kissed her cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”
She stretched. “What time is it?”
“Too early, but Merlot and Zinfandel are on their way over. They will be here shortly. I’ll make you some coffee and eggs, if you’d like.”
“What? Why the fuck are they coming over?” Frantically, she brushed her hair from her face and scooted to a sitting position.
“They want to talk about my plans for the future,” he admitted. “Which I have no idea how to answer, especially since we found that picture.” He rolled his neck. The few times they’d brought up the subject last night, the conversation got heated, so they’d decided it was best to leave it until the light of day. They knew they needed to address it, but not until they knew more.
But the question was how and when they should bring in his family. That part they didn’t see eye to eye on.
“You need to tell them. And we need to confront your parents,” she said. “And why not start right now?”
He really didn’t want to argue first thing in the morning, but he was left with no choice thanks to his brother and sister. “You need to let me manage this with my family. Please trust that I’m not trying to screw you o
ut of anything. I’m trying to uncover the truth about that picture.”
“I think we know the truth. And your mother knows that my family started this winery, and that’s why she’s giving me a piece of it.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. They’d had this same exact discussion last night. “And your great-grandfather lost it to mine in a poker game.”
“Until we know your family’s secret, we don’t know the whole story. Because the whole illegal sale of liquor story doesn’t really fly.”
“They were probably embarrassed by the way my great-grandfather—”
“Don’t go making assumptions,” Eliza Jane said. “If you don’t start asking the tough questions, I will. How much time do we have before they get here?”
“About ten minutes.” He palmed her cheek. “I know you want to jump in with both feet. But I know my family. We have to play our cards right, but we don’t have the right hand yet. We need to find out some information first, and the best place to start is at the library and then with my father. From there, depending on what we find out, we can have discussions with my family. But Merlot isn’t the person to start with. Not when you and I are sleeping together.
“Why?”
“It’s a very long story.”
“Give me the CliffsNotes version.”
He let out a long breath. “We were once in love with the same girl. Only I had no idea about the feelings he had for her until I’d already been with her. And even worse, when she and I broke up, she went straight to Merlot.”
“Did they get together?”
He nodded.
“That’s kind of gross,” she mumbled.
“And it shows she loved this winery more than she loved either of us.”
“How long were you with her?” Eliza Jane asked.
“I spent four years with her, and Merlot only six months. All she wanted was to become Mrs. River. She didn’t care which one of us she got. She only wanted to be a part of the winery.”