Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,126
BACK to the castle, continuing our tour, maneuvering around a busload of visitors, who were gathered for a lecture by a staff member. We paused to listen for a bit before moving on.
“Can I ask you something?” Jason asked, following me into the cask room, which was in actuality a very barrel-crowded former dungeon.
“Sure,” I said.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
I hissed out a breath. I knew I could lie and say yes and end this whole thing between us, but after he’d taken me into his confidence and told me about his sister, I simply could not do him wrong like that, not even for the greater good.
“I did once,” I said. “And I think maybe I could again.”
“You think? Maybe?”
“We haven’t had much time together.” I gave him a pointed look, and instead of looking abashed, he grinned. Classic Knightley. I tried not to be charmed.
“Has it ever occurred to you, Martin, that you were a different person on your year abroad and you loved men then that the person you are now could never love?”
“No, it hasn’t,” I said. “Because the whole point of this trip is to remember who I used to be, and that Chelsea was very much in love with Marcellino DeCapio. What’s more, I liked her. She was fun and adventurous and bighearted.” I rubbed my knuckles over my chest. “I miss her.”
“Well, I can’t weigh in on that debate, since I didn’t know you then,” he said. He put his hand on the back of his neck as he studied me from beneath his lashes. “But I can say that I like the Chelsea Martin who’s here right now. I think she’s pretty damn special.”
He turned and walked away, leaving me staring after him as he strolled through the enormous oak barrels, which were stacked up to the ceiling. He liked me. Why did that make me feel all fluttery, as if I’d achieved something rare and precious?
I mean, it was Knightley. He liked everyone. But for the first time, I knew he liked me as a person, and it meant something to me—it meant quite a lot, in fact, especially now that I knew his past was so much like mine. I felt that we had a bond, and I realized I cared about him. I cared about him very much. I wasn’t sure what to do with these feelings, but I wasn’t going to pretend they didn’t exist. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
Instead of dwelling on this startling realization, I hurried to catch up, keeping my thoughts to myself until I knew exactly what I was feeling. I showed Jason the rest of the cellar, where the casks of wine were stored, and the bottling room—my favorite—where one big steel machine bottled, corked, and labeled all the wine. I used to love watching the bottles come out on the line and had often volunteered to help box them. Many were sold in the gift shop, but more were shipped to stores and restaurants all over Italy.
Jason picked up a bottle and studied it. Marcellino didn’t use the traditional Chianti fiasco, a bottle whose rounded bottom was covered with straw. Rather, it was a regular dark-green bottle with a cream-colored label. In stylized script it read Castello di Luce Chianti next to an artist’s rendering of the castle in shades of light brown and rose, the same color as the castle stone.
“Is it any good?” he asked.
“The best in the region,” I said. I felt a surge of pride. I’d loved working here that spring so long ago, and I really believed that the wine was the best.
“Grazie, dolcezza.” Marcellino appeared in the doorway. “Your confidence in our wine warms my heart.”
I felt myself blush. I wasn’t sure why I was embarrassed. Because Marcellino had praised me in front of Jason? Or was it having Marcellino find me alone with Jason? That couldn’t be it. He was the one who’d suggested I give Jason a tour.
“Your vineyard is beautiful,” Jason said to Marcellino.
“Thank you.” Marcellino moved to stand beside me and took my hand in his. “Chelsea, I was coming to see if you wanted to join us in tasting the Riserva?”
I glanced at Jason and explained, “The Riserva is the Chianti that has been aged for over three years.”
“Join us, Jason,” Marcellino said. “You will like it.”
Jason looked mildly chagrined by Marcellino’s friendliness but forced a smile and said, “That’d be great. Thanks.”