Seduced by Sunday
Page 60
“The lies must be difficult.”
Margaret settled her eyes on his. “I hate that we live in a society where he feels he needs to act like someone he’s not.”
“Things are changing.”
“Not fast enough.”
There it was again, the drive and passion about right and wrong that Margaret displayed when it came to the people she loved. Val reached out and placed her cheek in the palm of his hand. “Your friends are lucky to have you,” he murmured.
She blushed with the compliment. “None of my friends have had me . . . though I’m sure they wanted to.”
The woman made him laugh when he least expected it. “So humble, bella.”
“If you have it, flaunt it, Masini.”
He leaned forward and kissed her as if he had every right. When he pulled away, she had a dreamy quality in her eyes. “I’ll let you flaunt, and remind anyone trying that they can’t have you.”
“Oh?”
He cocked his head to the side, reached over Margaret, and pushed open her door. “I don’t share.”
I don’t share . . . I don’t share . . .
Meg had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, and act like she’d been drinking more than tasting most of the day. Truth was, she had a little buzz going and Val didn’t help with all his I don’t share talk.
Those three words sent an unexpected wave of pleasure through her body. And since when did that happen? Sharing is caring . . . right?
Monogamy is commitment.
And why was commitment such a hard word to swallow?
Something about I don’t share shook and thrilled her at the same time.
They’d walked a few yards into a vineyard and Val stopped her. “Stand over there,” he told her.
Lost in her thoughts, she narrowed her eyes. “What?”
He motioned to their right and she noticed a few employees glimpsing their way.
Val removed his cell phone and pointed it at her as if he were taking a picture. “Smile, bella.”
That’s right, they were on a mission. Sharing, commitment, suits, artists, and all thoughts in between would have to wait. Right now, they needed to make sure Gabi wasn’t committing to a criminal, which was exactly where Meg’s thoughts were headed.
She posed and the men glancing their way turned away.
“Are they watching?” Val asked.
“Not anymore.”
Val took her hand and started up the hill, farther into the thick green fields of grapevines. It didn’t take long for them to crest the hill and disappear from sight of the tasting room, parking lot, and farm workers.
“Is that the road to Alonzo’s?”
A paved road ran alongside the adjacent winery, they’d seen that on the map.
“I think so,” Val said.
They followed the road and zigzagged in and out of the rows of grapevines to keep hidden as much as possible.
“What exactly do you think we’ll find?” Val asked her.
“Probably nothing. Sounds like the place isn’t swarming with people.”
“I wonder how that’s possible. Every winery we’ve visited has had employees everywhere. The closer we are to the harvest, the more hands are needed.”
They were slowly climbing again, the road started to curve away from them. The division between the properties was nothing more than a row of olive trees and rosebushes.
“Let’s assume Michael is right about the wine Alonzo is passing off as his own belonging to someone else,” Meg suggested.
Val led her around the thriving vines. “Still seems like a lot of work. And what does he do with all these grapes if not make wine?”
Alonzo’s land was row upon row of vines, just like all the others in the region.
“Maybe it’s not enough . . . maybe the wine sucks.”
Val seemed to consider her words as the incline increased.
Meg slowed down, pacing herself.
“Time to pass over the boundary,” Val said.
“After you.”
They crossed into Alonzo’s land and moved far from the road but kept it in sight.
“How long has he owned the land?”
“At least five years, maybe more,” Val told her. “Most of these properties, the lucrative ones in any event, seldom change hands.”
“Could Alonzo have made a bad investment and needs to make himself look good with bootleg wine?”
“At the risk of going to jail? I can’t see it.”
Maybe Val couldn’t, but Meg did. Seemed the man was bitterly cold one minute and sappy sweet the next. Her experience with people like that never ended well.
They heard a vehicle along the road, stopped moving, and ducked into the vines. “Looks like someone is here.”
“If workers are milling about the workhouses, we’re turning back,” Val told her as they stood and started walking again once the truck passed.
“Not if we can learn something.”
Val stopped.
Meg walked into him.
“We turn back. I won’t risk any problems with you here.”
“I’m the one who came up with this crazy idea, now you think my being here is a bad idea?”
“I don’t know if I ever thought this was a good idea.”
Meg moved around him, chugging up the hill. “It’s the only idea.”
Val scrambled beside her, caught her hand, and kept them to a slow pace.
There was a massive barn and a small house. Much smaller than the villas they’d frequented all day. Not that the size of the home mattered.
The closer to the barn they drew, the less they talked.
Margaret settled her eyes on his. “I hate that we live in a society where he feels he needs to act like someone he’s not.”
“Things are changing.”
“Not fast enough.”
There it was again, the drive and passion about right and wrong that Margaret displayed when it came to the people she loved. Val reached out and placed her cheek in the palm of his hand. “Your friends are lucky to have you,” he murmured.
She blushed with the compliment. “None of my friends have had me . . . though I’m sure they wanted to.”
The woman made him laugh when he least expected it. “So humble, bella.”
“If you have it, flaunt it, Masini.”
He leaned forward and kissed her as if he had every right. When he pulled away, she had a dreamy quality in her eyes. “I’ll let you flaunt, and remind anyone trying that they can’t have you.”
“Oh?”
He cocked his head to the side, reached over Margaret, and pushed open her door. “I don’t share.”
I don’t share . . . I don’t share . . .
Meg had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, and act like she’d been drinking more than tasting most of the day. Truth was, she had a little buzz going and Val didn’t help with all his I don’t share talk.
Those three words sent an unexpected wave of pleasure through her body. And since when did that happen? Sharing is caring . . . right?
Monogamy is commitment.
And why was commitment such a hard word to swallow?
Something about I don’t share shook and thrilled her at the same time.
They’d walked a few yards into a vineyard and Val stopped her. “Stand over there,” he told her.
Lost in her thoughts, she narrowed her eyes. “What?”
He motioned to their right and she noticed a few employees glimpsing their way.
Val removed his cell phone and pointed it at her as if he were taking a picture. “Smile, bella.”
That’s right, they were on a mission. Sharing, commitment, suits, artists, and all thoughts in between would have to wait. Right now, they needed to make sure Gabi wasn’t committing to a criminal, which was exactly where Meg’s thoughts were headed.
She posed and the men glancing their way turned away.
“Are they watching?” Val asked.
“Not anymore.”
Val took her hand and started up the hill, farther into the thick green fields of grapevines. It didn’t take long for them to crest the hill and disappear from sight of the tasting room, parking lot, and farm workers.
“Is that the road to Alonzo’s?”
A paved road ran alongside the adjacent winery, they’d seen that on the map.
“I think so,” Val said.
They followed the road and zigzagged in and out of the rows of grapevines to keep hidden as much as possible.
“What exactly do you think we’ll find?” Val asked her.
“Probably nothing. Sounds like the place isn’t swarming with people.”
“I wonder how that’s possible. Every winery we’ve visited has had employees everywhere. The closer we are to the harvest, the more hands are needed.”
They were slowly climbing again, the road started to curve away from them. The division between the properties was nothing more than a row of olive trees and rosebushes.
“Let’s assume Michael is right about the wine Alonzo is passing off as his own belonging to someone else,” Meg suggested.
Val led her around the thriving vines. “Still seems like a lot of work. And what does he do with all these grapes if not make wine?”
Alonzo’s land was row upon row of vines, just like all the others in the region.
“Maybe it’s not enough . . . maybe the wine sucks.”
Val seemed to consider her words as the incline increased.
Meg slowed down, pacing herself.
“Time to pass over the boundary,” Val said.
“After you.”
They crossed into Alonzo’s land and moved far from the road but kept it in sight.
“How long has he owned the land?”
“At least five years, maybe more,” Val told her. “Most of these properties, the lucrative ones in any event, seldom change hands.”
“Could Alonzo have made a bad investment and needs to make himself look good with bootleg wine?”
“At the risk of going to jail? I can’t see it.”
Maybe Val couldn’t, but Meg did. Seemed the man was bitterly cold one minute and sappy sweet the next. Her experience with people like that never ended well.
They heard a vehicle along the road, stopped moving, and ducked into the vines. “Looks like someone is here.”
“If workers are milling about the workhouses, we’re turning back,” Val told her as they stood and started walking again once the truck passed.
“Not if we can learn something.”
Val stopped.
Meg walked into him.
“We turn back. I won’t risk any problems with you here.”
“I’m the one who came up with this crazy idea, now you think my being here is a bad idea?”
“I don’t know if I ever thought this was a good idea.”
Meg moved around him, chugging up the hill. “It’s the only idea.”
Val scrambled beside her, caught her hand, and kept them to a slow pace.
There was a massive barn and a small house. Much smaller than the villas they’d frequented all day. Not that the size of the home mattered.
The closer to the barn they drew, the less they talked.
