Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(42)

“I am?” I stated, narrowing my eyes at her.

“I need to help with the wedding preparations.”

There must have been something in my expression because she laughed; a hearty laugh that sent my dick upward. She was so sweet; it crushed me.

“The wedding party from last night,” she implied, and I remembered the group celebrating the rehearsal of their nuptials. For a moment, I was sad that we hadn’t had a proper wedding. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a clusterf*ck if we had. Then again, I would have never been with someone as sweet as her, if we hadn’t had the false wedding. The thought of never meeting her made me shiver. I didn’t want to think about the possibility.

Sofie disappeared and Franco led the way to a cool cellar inside a large barn. We went down a flight of stairs and there the work began. Moving barrels of wine was the start of my day. Hauling cases of prepared bottles was the middle of my day. Unloading crates of grapes was the end of my day. I’d had a full workout before I saw her again. We’d stopped mid-day, in what felt like hundred-degree weather, to eat and share a bottle of wine. It wasn’t the best refreshment as the alcohol flooded my blood stream, not quenched my thirst. In the heat, I worked out the remainder of the wine, and thirsted for water. And Sofie.

Late evening, I found her near the private entrance. She looked refreshed in shorts and another loose fitting, red shirt. Her glasses were gone and her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. She looked young and spry, and I marveled at her long tan legs. She was right. She wasn’t what I typically went after, but it wasn’t that she wasn’t right for me. She was everything I needed, and something I didn’t deserve.

She walked over to a golf cart and motioned with her head for me to come to her.

“Not the cart again,” I chuckled, despite my exhaustion. “I need a shower.”

“You don’t have time for a shower,” she stated, climbing into the driver’s seat. We couldn’t be having another déjà vu, and yet, we seemed to be constantly repeating the roles we played when we first met. While some moments were different, others were exactly the same.

I crossed in front of the cart and lowered onto the passenger seat. She took off with a jolt and my arm came to rest behind her. My fingers twirled into her hair while she drove through the vineyard in the evening light. The ride was bumpy over uneven grass paths and gravel strips. Eventually, we parked at a spot I remembered and exited the golf cart.

“Papa,” she said, greeting the elderly man, who eyed me with suspicion. My dirty attire didn’t help impress him.

“Do you remember Cain Callahan?” she inquired as way of introduction. She spoke in English, so I fully understood the conversation. He responded to her in rapid Italian that I could not follow. Slowly, her head hung in what appeared to be shame, and my hand reached out for her shoulder.

“What’s he saying?”

“He knows you were in my room last night,” she said softly, averting her eyes from mine.

“You’re twenty-two years old,” I emphasized, but she shook her head. I turned to face the old man, whose eyes were focused on my hand. Sofie’s head lowered more as his speed of speech increased.

“Tell him to stop,” I said, stepping toward her, sensing her distress at whatever he was saying to her. “Tell him the truth,” I demanded, becoming slightly distressed myself, as hands fluttered and arms flared.

“What truth?” she muttered to me, afraid to look up from her focus on the dry ground at her feet.

“I’m your husband.”

The words resounded through the evening air. It was as if the breeze died and the trees stilled. Nature was taking in what I’d said. Her great-grandfather stopped speaking instantly, his mouth hung open, preparing for more Italian insults to seep out. Sofie’s head twisted so quickly, her ponytail swung back and forth like a pendulum.

“Marito?” Married, I interpreted as he slowly questioned Sofie, his eyes narrowing at me before turning back to her.

“Si, marito,” she spoke shamefacedly. The old man took a moment to process what she said. His fluttering hands had lowered. His head turned away, looking off in the distance for a long moment before returning to take in her expression. My hand still rested on her shoulder, holding her steady. I let it slip around her back and tugged her toward me. The need to protect her overcame me, as well as my desire to display my right to her. She was mine.

“Bene!” he said slowly, dragging out the syllables. Sofie’s head shot up to look at her elder.

“Bene?” she questioned. “Good,” she clarified for me.

“E una brava persona?” It was stated as a question, each syllable emphasized.

“He is. He is a good person,” she interpreted, looking directly at me with a slow curve to her lips. Something warmed inside me. It wasn’t the heat of the day, but the way she looked at me. I didn’t deserve the words, but they thrilled me all the same.

“Bene,” he said again, kissing each cheek of hers. He turned to me, looking distrustful. He didn’t extend his hand, but nodded once, then turned away from us. Sofie looked concerned and reached for him. Without turning back to her, he raised his hand and Sofie stopped at the gesture. Even I could interpret the language of dismissal.

In silence, we returned to the cart and continued on our drive to an area I longed to see again.