Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(17)

In Rome, almost everyone he ran into knew he was from one of the oldest Roman families. They knew his cousins and cousins of cousins. Knew of the vast Tavonesi wealth. When he first moved to the Bay Area with his father and siblings, he’d loved that they’d all had a degree of anonymity.

But now that he’d started to revamp the vineyard, in the Napa and Sonoma circles he traveled, he’d lost the privacy of those early days. His worth, his prospects, his heritage were on the surface, easy for anyone with a computer to access. Though notoriety came with success, with moving forward with his plans, he resented the assumptions and prejudices that accompanied the details of his life, as though a map of his past set out every possibility for his future. He was charting new waters and didn’t want to be bound by history or prejudice or presumptions. His sisters Zoe and Amber had cut themselves free and were pursuing their dreams. And so were his American cousins Alex and Alana.

But what he disliked most about his wealth was the feeling of being targeted. Of being a catch. Wealth drew people to him; that was another fact of his life. But he didn’t want to be seen through that lens, to be pursued for his bank account. Wealth made it hard to know whom to trust. Especially when it came to women.

Tasha bit at her cheek and knit her brows. Her fingers tightened around the mug she gripped. At the party, in the dim lights, he hadn’t noticed the lapis blue rimming the hazel green of her eyes. Now, in the morning light, the flecks of gold in her eyes seemed to dance even though she wasn’t smiling.

When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “We can make the rules up as we go. Although Parker would have our heads. He prefers clearly organized games. And scorekeepers.”

She laughed. Thank God. He was beginning to feel like a fool. She released the mug and sat back in her chair, tilting her chin.

“Wandering the gardens should give us plenty to talk about,” she said softly. “We can talk about the plants. I love plants.” One side of her mouth quirked up. “But I already told you that, didn’t I?”

What was it about her that made him suddenly nervous? That made him feel as if the outcome of the day mattered more than he wanted it to?

“Well then, you’re in luck, because I like plants too.” He heard himself say the words. But the razzing voice in his head taunted him and told him he was blathering like a fool, repeating information he’d already told her the night of the party. He’d dated princesses, for God’s sake. What was it about Tasha that made him feel like he was out on the first date of his life—that took him back to when he was sixteen and vying to win the affection of his sister’s best friend?

He needed to move; he always thought better when he was in motion. Movement calmed him like nothing else.

He stood and put on his sunglasses. “The day awaits.” Though he wanted to offer his hand to help her up, instinct told him not to.

He got a better look at her as they walked to his car. The white cotton shirt and jeans were a contrast to the elegant costume she’d worn to the party, but the snug fit of her more casual clothing showed off her curves. Sunlight glinted off a small gold heart hanging from a short chain around her neck. It struck him as a girlish adornment for such a sophisticated woman. She wasn’t wearing makeup, or if she was, it was the kind that made it look like she wasn’t. Coco had once told him that such an effect was the hardest to achieve. Still, he’d bet good money it was simply Tasha’s natural coloring. Her rich, dark hair set off her ivory skin and the rose tint of her lips. He’d come close to tasting them at the masquerade. And in his dreams over the past two nights, he’d done more than explore her lush lips. But as skittish as she was, he wasn’t going to try a stupid move like that and ruin his chance to get to know her better.

He drove. She’d walked from her home to the café. He would’ve felt odd having her drive, but he would’ve let her. At this point he’d do most anything to reduce the strange tension buzzing between them. Already he regretted his choice of vehicles. His BMW wasn’t flashy but still, he wished he’d brought his Jeep. But Zoe had needed it to tow her horse trailer out to the coast. And he hadn’t wanted to pull up in one of the vineyard trucks, although he was becoming fond of cruising the countryside in a truck.

Some days he almost felt like he fit in. Almost.

“It’s hard to believe such open countryside still exists,” Tasha remarked as he turned onto the road leading up over Sonoma Mountain.

“Are you new to the area?”

“Yes.”

Her tone told him he’d hit a nerve. This anonymity business was harder than he’d imagined.

He pointed out a few landmarks, showed her the turnoffs for the roads that led to public parks as they passed by.

“There isn’t as much open space as there is in Marin, the county to the south of here,” he said, aware that he was chattering like a tour guide. But yammering on was better than silence. The brief silences ramped up his awareness that nothing about this day, this date, was likely to be normal.

“Ranches make up much of the lands we’re passing,” he went on. “And vineyards,” he added. Although that fact was obvious. The hillsides were covered with them. In fact, he’d just passed his own.





Natasha brushed a piece of hay off the leg of her jeans. Hay in a flashy sports car? It struck her as odd. Maybe she’d been more than foolish to get into a car with a man about whom she knew next to nothing.