Love in the Vineyard (The Tavonesi Series Book 7) (13 page)

Adrian stopped to speak with the pilot and then came into the cabin and sat across from her.

Surrounded by plush leather and soft lighting, she felt like an angel who’d landed on a cloud.

But the man across from her? He did
not
in any way resemble an angel. His dark hair was brushed back from his face, and he was freshly shaved. The white collar of his shirt set off the swarthy tone of his skin, making him look mysterious and dangerous. And the tuxedo he wore looked like it had been stitched onto him. He wore the formal attire as though he was entirely comfortable in it. As if he didn’t even notice the fancy clothes. And maybe he didn’t.

He reached across the space between them, and she tensed. But he only grinned and said, “Seat belt.” He lifted the end of the belt and handed it to her.

“Mr. Ellison sent this,” a uniformed flight attendant said as she handed Adrian a bottle of wine with a note dangling from its neck. Natasha watched as he unfolded the note. He laughed.

“Lars is up to his old tricks. He’s challenged me. He bets that this wine is better than any I’ve ever had
or
made.”

Information. Slowly their stories were leaking through the rules of the game. Adrian was a vintner. There were so many around, it made sense. But evidently he was a very wealthy vintner. Or he had very wealthy friends.

Even though Adrian had said he’d borrowed the limo, the plane and the pilot, Natasha was pretty sure he was wealthier than she’d first suspected. And it began to dawn on her why he wanted to keep his identity a secret.
He
didn’t want to be liked for only his money, just as she didn’t want to be judged for her lack of it. She was touched that he was willing to risk exposing himself to give her a great night out.

But the reality of his wealth made the gap between them yawn wider. She suddenly felt like a mermaid who knew she couldn’t reside in his world and was certain he wouldn’t want to live in hers. Why couldn’t she have met a nice middle-class Californian? Adrian was probably about to take off for his next destination—Monte Carlo or Ibiza or Fiji or wherever really rich people liked to hang out in the spring—and all she’d have were the memories of the few days she’d spent with him.

It would have to be enough. He’d helped her find her footing, even if he hadn’t known how much he was helping her at the time.

And tonight she could enjoy the waters she swam in. Mary was watching Tyler and knew she’d be home late. Adrian had warned her sufficiently about that, at least.

The attendant returned with two glasses of champagne. Natasha took the delicate crystal glass and sipped.

“Can I bring you a magazine?” the attendant asked. “I won’t be serving the meal until we’re in the air.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, but thank you.” She wasn’t going to miss one minute of looking out the window.

The engines revved and the plane took off down the runway. The speed pressed her back into her seat, pinning her with a force she hadn’t expected.

She looked over at Adrian. He was watching her with an expression she couldn’t read. She leaned forward to peer out the window. The plane lifted, climbed, and soon the hills and mountains, vineyards and town spread out like pieces of a puzzle below.

“There’s Mount Saint Helena,” he said, leaning forward to point.

Impossible to miss, the jagged ridge stuck out higher than any peak on the horizon.

“It was once a volcano,” he added. “It’s on the Ring of Fire. Mount Shasta and Mount Lassen are too.” He patted the bottle of wine in the seat next to him. “The volcanic influence is why such great wines can be made in this area.”

“I still feel bad about keeping you from making it to the top of the mountain.”

“There were many other pleasures in that day,” he said. “Maybe next time we’ll make it all the way up.”

Next time
. She doubted there’d be a next time. Although she’d loved the time they’d spent together, at her core she was a realist. The outrageous charade she was playing would come to an end. He’d continue on with his life, and she’d pursue hers. But as she pasted on her most courageous smile, she knew that she’d already let him into her heart.

The pilot banked the plane and the city of San Francisco came into view. The evening light splashed across the buildings, making it appear like a magical land that popped up out of a child’s storybook. The sparkling waters of the bay and the vast ocean beyond the Golden Gate Bridge hugged a green-blue cushion around the city like a cloud.

“It’s a beautiful city,” Adrian said. “Right there with Paris and Rome. I think it’s the most European of American cities.”

She wouldn’t know.

“Yes,” she answered.

She leaned closer to the window and watched as the city receded below them and green hills with roads snaking between them took its place. She glanced out the window at the other side of the plane and spied the sun sinking slowly into the vast waters of the Pacific Ocean.

“I came to California on a whim,” she said. “I had no idea how beautiful it was. I mean, I’d seen photos and seen footage in movies, but nothing captured the reality of this.”

He smiled, and the warmth of his expression curled an unspeakable delight into her.

She’d grieve when they parted. But she’d always treasure the memories of the times they’d spent together. She could pull them from her cache of thoughts and let them warm her in the loneliest nights.

Another limo met them on the runway in LA. She didn’t ask if this one was also borrowed, and he didn’t volunteer any information.

The Bolshoi. She was going to see the
Bolshoi
. Her mother would’ve loved to have been there. When they pulled up in front of the festively lit theater and Natasha saw the poster for the evening’s program, she imagined her mother not only watching the ballet in the beautiful theater but also dancing in it.

“
Swan Lake
,” Natasha said as Adrian offered his hand to help her from the limo. “It’s one of my favorites. My mother danced the lead several times.”

He tugged her shawl up over her shoulder. “It’s a favorite of mine as well. Your mother must have been a very talented ballerina.”

“I believe she was.” At least she was in Natasha’s memories, and that was good enough for her.

Adrian offered his arm, and they ascended the marble stairs. In Sonoma her dress had felt too dressy, but once they were inside the theater, the parade of fashionable women and tuxedoed men made her feel nearly drab.

An older woman in a sparkling gown with a train—a
train
—made her way toward them.

“Mr. Tavonesi,” the woman said, offering her hand to Adrian. “We are all so grateful for the gift your family gave to support this production. We couldn’t have brought the Bolshoi here without your help.”

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.