Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,118
one felt as if Jason was sincerely offering his respect, and Marcellino was accepting it. I had the feeling that in another place and time, these men would have been friends.
“We will let you rest,” Marcellino said. “Please let me know if you need anything during your stay.”
“I will,” Jason said. He stood in the center of the room, watching as I followed Marcellino outside. At the door, I said, “Good night.”
“ ’Night, Martin.” Then he gave me a little finger wave and a smile.
I shook my head in amusement as I shut the door.
“Are you all right?” Marcellino asked.
“Yes, absolutely,” I said.
“Is there anything you want to tell me about Jason?” he asked.
“Such as?” I asked. I could feel my face get warm and was grateful for the cover of darkness.
“There’s a tension between you two. Was he your boyfriend?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Nothing like that. We were work rivals, but now we have a very big corporate donation that we’re working on together, the largest I’ve ever tried for, which is a challenge for both of us.”
Marcellino considered me for a moment before he looked up at the moon, and then he smiled down at me as if he understood more than I was saying. I wanted to protest or try to explain more, but things were so new between us that I didn’t want to mess it up by saying the wrong thing. In silence, we made our way back to my cottage, which was three down from Jason’s. At my door, Marcellino kissed my forehead, as if I were his sister, before leaving me. Hmm.
* * *
• • • •
I WAS ENJOYING breakfast on the second-floor terrace of the castle when I felt someone watching me. I glanced up to find Jason leaning against the doorjamb. He looked rested, wearing jeans and an untucked pale-yellow dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back on his forearms. He had clearly just showered, as his hair was damp and his body radiated the scent of the locally made lemon-verbena soap that Marcellino stocked in all the bathrooms on the vineyard.
I glanced at him over the rim of my coffee cup. Marcellino had left a little while ago to meet with the cellar supervisor. They were planning a large batch of Chianti Riserva, which aged much longer than the more affordable classic Chianti.
“That is a spectacular view,” Jason said.
I glanced over my shoulder at the vineyard behind me. The hills were cut into patchwork squares in variegated shades of green. The day was already sun warmed and somnolent with the buzz of insects, the twitter of birds, and the muted voices of tourists walking the grounds below us.
“It really is,” I agreed. I turned back around and met his gaze.
“I was talking about you sitting there,” he said. “You look pretty in the Italian sunlight.”
I felt my face get hot. “Thank you, but—”
“Inappropriate?” he guessed.
“Yes,” I said. I refused to acknowledge any sort of flutter I might be feeling at his words.
“Doesn’t make it not true, Martin,” he said. “I ran into Marcellino downstairs. He sent me up to see you. He thought you might want to give me a tour of the place.”
“Shouldn’t we be preparing for Severin’s arrival?” I asked.
“They won’t be here until later,” he said. “We have plenty of time.”
“Define ‘later.’”
“Later today or possibly tomorrow,” he said. “Robbie said he’d be in touch.”
I chewed on my lower lip and frowned. “It’s a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Milan. Are they driving? Or is Severin going to arrive in some golden flying car type of thing?”
“That would be memorable,” Jason laughed. He took the seat across from me. “Martin, relax. I have all of the paperwork. We’ll trot Severin around the vineyard, give him some bottles of wine at the festival, and all will be well.”
I stared at him, feeling a barrage of scenarios hammer at my brain. I forcefully shut them down. Jason was here. He had just as much skin in the game as I did. We weren’t going to mess this up, and besides, I had other things I needed to focus on. Namely, getting Marcellino to kiss me so I could figure out if there was anything there.
“Coffee?” I offered.
“Does this mean we’re friends again?”
“No.”
“Aw, come on,” he cajoled. “You have to be a little happy to see me.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. I picked up an unused mug and filled it with coffee. I pushed it toward him, across the tabletop.