Heard It Through The Grapevine. Pamela Browning
“You’re more beautiful than ever,” he said in a low tone.
The compliment discombobulated her more than she liked to let on. “Yeah, right,” she said.
“I mean it, Gina.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true.”
Thanks to her Norwegian mother, Gina had grown up blond in a family of dark-haired, olive-skinned Italian-Americans, convinced that her light coloring wasn’t attractive. She’d longed to resemble the rest of the family for most of her life, but the only features she seemed to owe to the Italian side of her family were dark eyes and tawny skin. These days, she could finally accept that men found her beautiful, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear compliments from Joshua Corbett.
She kept her eyes focused forward. “You act as if nothing happened between us.”
Josh slid a cagey look in her direction. “More should happen, don’t you agree?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Not if I can help it.”
“Would it change things if I told you that I wasn’t smart in the way I handled the Mr. Moneybags choice? That I realize it now? That I want to make amends?”
Gina bit back an exasperated retort. “Didn’t it work out with Tahoma?”
Josh kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. “The woman happened to be living with a boyfriend she never mentioned. After she walked away with the million dollars, I never heard from her again.”
“Bummer,” Gina said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She’d never liked Tahoma much, though she’d been cordial to her for the sake of the show. The woman had pranced around the chilly Scottish castle where the show was filmed thrusting her silicone-enhanced chest in front of the ever-present video cameras while stuffed into dresses the size of cocktail napkins. It was a wonder she hadn’t caught pneumonia.
“You live and you learn,” Josh said philosophically.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might be angry about losing the million dollars I would have won if you’d chosen me?” Of course it hadn’t; he was independently wealthy. The show’s publicity had touted him as being the scion of a prominent Boston family. Gina seemed to recall pictures of a huge mansion and a family of bluebloods with ties to the Mayflower.
He appeared disconcerted. “If you’ll recall, no one told me that the woman I chose would win that much money. I thought—”
“They told the contestants right at the start. You mean you didn’t figure it out?” He had a Yale education, for Pete’s sake.
“The million dollars for the winner was a total surprise to me. The first I knew about it was when the butler marched into the room carrying a check on a silver platter and handed it to Tahoma. If I’d caught onto that little secret, I’d have realized early in the game I couldn’t trust anything the contestants told me.”
“Did you trust what I told you?”
He took his time answering, and when he did it was with an air of thoughtfulness. “Whenever the conversation touched on the Napa Valley and your family, your eyes shone. You didn’t promote yourself like some of the other contestants. You seemed sincere in everything you said. Of course I trusted you.”
She was touched that he’d recognized her sincerity; it was how she had determined to play the Mr. Moneybags game in the beginning, and she’d stuck to that decision even when it might not have been in her best interest. And she couldn’t believe he recalled how longingly she’d spoken of home, family and her good fortune at having been born and reared in Rio Robles, California, population eight thousand, many of them Angelinis.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. She’d trusted him, too, but she never would again. Why would she? He’d broken her heart.
“You brought the whole thing up,” he reminded her in a mild tone. As she turned down the long driveway that led between the two rows of ancient oaks giving the Angelini winery its name, he changed the subject. It was just as well; she’d wallowed in her own disillusionment and pain for a long time before she’d managed to climb her way out of the miserable funk brought about by Josh’s rejection.
“Is that the winery up there?”
They were crossing a narrow stone bridge and had begun the climb up the slope that led through several acres of vineyards. At the top of the hill was a large timber-and-stone barn housing the winery office, the tasting room and wine vats. From this angle, the doors to the wine cave in the hillside beyond were barely visible.
“Yes, this is Vineyard Oaks,” she said, schooling her voice to sound dispassionate, trying not to think about how a million dollars would come in handy now that her family was looking for financing so they could buy the equipment they needed to keep the winery competitive. Of course, she’d wanted to use part of the prize money to fund the proposed new teen center, too, but that was another story and one that Joshua Corbett probably had no interest in hearing. Her failure to win that money had contributed more than a little to the anguish of the months immediately following her appearance on the show.
A low stone wall separated the parking area from the expanse of grass where tables were set up. As they got out of the car, Gina smelled the thick, sweet-sour aroma of harvested grapes, a familiar fragrance that would sweep over this valley until crush was over. She remembered that scent from her childhood when her parents would bring her to the annual celebration after the harvest and she and her cousins would run in and out of the wine cave, sit down to enormous meals prepared by the aunts and listen spellbound to tales of the old country told by her grandfather and great-uncles. She hadn’t known it then as she knew it now: her family was her strength. They made it possible to bear whatever obstacles life threw in her path.
A group of whooping youngsters ran up to greet them. They grew suddenly silent and wide-eyed at the sight of Josh.
“You’re the guy from the TV show, right?” asked Emma, the daughter of Gina’s cousin Jennifer.
“Sure am,” Josh said easily.
“Why didn’t you marry Aunt Gina?” piped a voice that Gina identified as Alexander, her cousin Donna’s son.
“Alexander!” Gina said.
“I want to know,” the boy said stubbornly.
“Did it occur to you that I might not have wanted him?” Gina said lightly, ruffling Alexander’s hair with one hand and squeezing Emma’s shoulder as they began to walk toward the tables.
“He is rather handsome,” said Mia’s sister, Stacey, after unabashedly staring at his profile.
“Thank you,” Josh told her gravely. “For sticking up for me.”
Gina’s cousin Rocco, his beefy face flushed from the heat of the barbecue fire, detached himself from a group of men—all uncles, nephews or cousins.
“Hey, Gina. How about introducing me?” He was studying Josh, taking in the highly polished leather shoes and the blazer, now casually slung over one shoulder. Rocco stopped in his tracks. “No, wait a minute. You’re the Mr. Moneybags guy, right?”
Josh extended his hand. “Otherwise known as Josh Corbett,” he said.
Rocco’s expression didn’t change, but Gina knew what he was thinking. Got to protect my little cousin from this guy who did her wrong. Got to vet him out. Got to let him know he can’t treat her the way he did before. She suppressed a laugh at the almost imperceptible but defensive change in Rocco’s body posture and the cool handshake he offered Josh. Rocco had always been her protector; she couldn’t expect him to abandon her now. The Angelini men looked after their women. Never mind that Gina had outgrown her need for their services by the time she was ten and had learned a couple of handy karate chops. And Rocco, like everyone else, had never realized how miserable she’d been after