The Villa

"Don't let Rene have the satisfaction of seeing this hurts you, on any level."
    "I won't."
    "Good. Now I've got to go down and run herd on my husband. If I leave James alone down there this early, he'll sneak canapés and ruin the caterer's presentation." She opened the door, glanced back. "Tony didn't do many admirable things in his life. You're one of them."
    "Thanks." Alone, Sophia let out a long breath. Then she straightened her shoulders, marched back to her mirror. Opening her bag she took out her lipstick. And painted her lips bloody-murder red.
     
    David sipped a full-bodied Merlot, mingled with the crowd packed into the towering stone walls of the winery, tried to tune out the hot licks from the band that was currently thrilling his son, and scanned the area for Pilar.
    He knew the Giambellis would put in an appearance. He'd been well schooled on the pomp and protocol for the holiday festivities. He'd be expected to split his time between parties, which—though it hadn't been put precisely that way—was both a privilege and a duty.
    He was learning fast that nearly every assignment in this organization came under the heading of both.
    He could find no complaint with it. He'd been given a challenge, which he needed. He was being well compensated financially, which he appreciated. And he was associated with a company he respected. And that he valued.
    Everything he'd seen in the past weeks had confirmed that Giambelli-MacMillan was a tight, family-oriented ship, run with efficiency and little sentiment. It wasn't cold, but it was calculated.
    Product was king and queen here. Money was respected and expected, but it was not the goal. Wine was. He'd found the opposite true in his later years with La Coeur.
    Now, seeing his son actually enjoying himself, watching his daughter interrogate some poor winemaker over some point of procedure, he was content.
    The move had been exactly what all of them had needed.
    "David. Good to see you."
    He turned, surprise registering briefly as he looked into Jeremy DeMorney's smiling face.
    "Jerry, I didn't know you'd be here."
    "I try never to miss an annual Giambelli bash and always hit the winery before the villa. Very democratic of La Signora to invite reps from the competition."
    "She's quite a lady."
    "One of a kind. How are you taking to working for her?"
    "It's early days yet. But the move's gone well. I'm glad to get the kids out of the city. How are things back in New York?"
    "We're managing to grope along without you." The little sting in the statement wasn't softened by the smirk. "Sorry, we're still a little sore. Hated losing you, David."
    "Nothing lasts forever. Anyone else here from La Coeur?"
    "Duberry flew in from France. He's known the old lady for a hundred years. Pearson's representing the local group. A few top levels from other labels. Gives us all a chance to drink her wine and spy on each other. Got any gossip for me?"
    "Like I said, it's early days yet." He spoke casually, but he'd become wary. Jerry's policy of gossip and corporate backstabbing had been one of the reasons it had been so easy to leave La Coeur. "Great party though. Excuse me, there's somebody I've been waiting for."
    Maybe all my life, David thought as he left Jerry without a backward glance and worked through the crowd to Pilar.
    She wore blue. Deep blue velvet with a long rope of pearls. She looked warm and regal, and he would have said utterly confident if he hadn't noticed the quick flicker of panic in her eyes.
    Then she shifted her head, just a little, and focused on him. And God help him, she blushed. Or at least more color came into her face. The idea that he'd put it there drove him crazy.
    "I've been watching for you." He took her hand before she could do anything about it. "Like a kid at a school dance. I know you have to mingle, but I want a minute first."
    It was like being swept away by a single warm wave. "David—"
    "You can't mingle without wine. It won't do." He tugged her forward. "We'll talk about business, about the weather. I'll only tell you you look beautiful five or six dozen times. Here." He plucked a flute of champagne from a tray. "I don't see how you can drink anything else looking the way you do."
    That same flutter was back in her stomach. "I can't keep up with you."
    "I can't keep up with myself. I'm making you nervous." He touched his glass lightly to hers. "I'd say I was sorry for that, but I'd be lying. It's best to start out a relationship with