We’re having dinner at the patio of the chateau. The tables have been merged into a row. Wine bottles and fresh flower baskets line the center, along with platters of bread, cheese, roasted vegetables, and meat.
Paul keeps glancing around, obviously liking the environment a lot. “I can’t believe how similar this place resembles Bordeaux. It’s as warm and as sunny, a bit drier and flatter, maybe, but that’s about it.”
“I was in Bordeaux a few summers back for a wine tour,” Gavin says, nodding. “I remember the rain. We don’t rain here at all in the summer. The raining season is winter.”
“This Merlot is not bad,” he says after tasting the wine in his glass.
Louis nods in agreement with his uncle. “Pas mal.”
I’m a bit displeased by the arrogance of their comments. Gavin has chosen the best bottles from his cellar. The grapes were grown in his vineyard and processed in a winery he highly regards. I’m not a wine connoisseur, but even I can tell it’s good. It feels soft on my tongue, not biting at all, and the aroma has a hint of cherry and chocolate.
But maybe they’re saying it so they can bargain for a better price.
I glance at Gavin to see his reaction, but he doesn’t seem to mind. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly when he says, “Am I right to assume the Bernards are from left bank Bordeaux?”
Paul chuckles. “Exactly. Our vineyard is southwest of the Gironde River. Although we produce about half Merlot and half Cabernet, we prefer the latter. Its flavor is rich and enduring, while Merlot is crowd-pleasing.”
“I agree,” Gavin says, smiling. “I like Cabernet, too, for the same reason. But Merlot has a better commercial success because it’s easier to drink. We plant more of the grape variety because it’s in higher demand.”
“I see,” Paul says with a sigh before finishing the last drop in his glass and reaching for the Cabernet. “I’ll most likely make hybrids.”
Despite their discussion, I find myself enjoying the Merlot. I normally wouldn’t indulge in alcohol, but I’m having my second glass. This is unusual. I warn myself. I shouldn’t drink too much because I might act silly later.
After dinner, it’s still early. The sun has set, but the sky is still bright. Gavin asks whether Paul and Louis would like to have a walk with us, but they decline, saying they already did it before dinner.
So I follow Gavin into the fields.
“Where do you want to go?”
“What about the river?” I ask.
He chuckles. “I knew it. It was your favorite spot.”
“You remember that, too?” I cry, flattered by the fact.
“Of course I do,” he says. “But it’s a bit far. By the time we get there, it’ll be dark. I could take you there tomorrow if you want.”
“Sure,” I say. “We could go to the lake now.”
There is more than one lake on the property, but we go to the one close by. I can see it from where I stand, looking like a blue gemstone, smooth and bright. The sky above it, though, is filled with flaming red paint.
I soon find myself in front of the lake, which feels a lot larger now. It’s so peaceful I can hear wind rustling leaves nearby.
“I don’t mind doing this every day,” I exclaim as we walk along the edge of the lake.
“Doing what?” Gavin smiles at me.
“Taking walks here and gazing at the scenery.”
“Sounds like you enjoy being here.”
“I love this place!” I say. “Too bad you’re selling it.”
He chuckles. “What if I kept it? Would you be visiting often?”
“Of course I would!” I say without hesitation, “I would even move here if you hired me to work at the vineyard!”
He fixes his eyes on me for a second. “No you’re not serious.”
“I am!” I protest. “I don’t really want to work at the restaurant. I mean, I love working there, but my dad, he thinks I can’t survive without his protective wings. I want to prove to him that I’m not his spoiled little princess. I can find a job. I wish you weren’t selling this place. Wait. I could probably still work here even if you sold it to Paul. I’ll ask him!”
I get carried away with an outpour of my frustration, and Gavin stares at me with amusement. But when I finish my sentence, his smile disappears. “I haven’t sold it to him yet,” he says, frowning a little. “They haven’t really seen the place, not until the tour tomorrow.”
“Do you have other buyers?”
“Of course,” he says. “Many. It’s just that Paul is the most eager and experienced, and I want someone competent to have it.”
That sounds strange although touching. Why should he care about the vineyard’s future as long as he gets a good price?
“Do you think they would take good care of the vineyard?” I ask.
“It’s too early to tell,” he says.
We fall silent after that. He gazes at the lake, deep in thought.
When I see a bench by the lake, I tell Gavin I would like to rest a bit, and we sit down side by side.
Chapter 8
Gavin
For the first time, I realize I might be making a mistake selling the vineyard.
It has nothing to do with Paul’s competency. I’ve done plenty of research on his family’s vineyard and winery. They have been in business for more than two centuries and have a good reputation. I have no doubt my vineyard will thrive under their management.
For the last year, I wanted nothing more than getting rid of the vineyard and forgetting my previous marriage. The business transaction will put an end to the last chapter of my life. My uncertainty started the moment I saw Ivy’s delightful face when she stood by the window in her room. It was a room I spent many years living in, mostly alone. Diana didn’t like it because of its lack of modern comforts. In the winter, she complained it took too long for the hot water to reach the shower, and there was no AC in the summer. I built a cottage for her in the back for that reason.
But Ivy loves it as much I did. She has no complaint about anything.
Now, she tells me she would like to live here and work here! I’m already jealous of Paul, even though I haven’t sold my property to him yet. What’s gotten into me? I’m behaving like a stupid teenager. Ivy is a lovely girl, but she doesn’t belong to me. She’s Richard’s baby girl. I shouldn’t have any thoughts about her at all. It won’t work. But the way she blushes every time she glances at me gives my dick the wrong idea.
She sits very quietly next to me. Her scent of honey and milk wafts into my nostrils, along with the evening breeze. I want to wrap my arm around her, but dare not. If I did that, I can’t imagine what else I would do. I turn to glance at her, and my eyes fall onto her lips, pink and pouty. I want to cover them with my lips and stroke them with my tongue. They must feel as soft and moist as her other lips. Holy shit. I’ve got to stop.
I stand up. “It’s getting dark. Let’s go back to the chateau.”
“Okay,” she says, standing up.
We walk in silence. I keep a distance between us at first, but Ivy draws me back to her soon. Our arms brush each other from time to time, and each time when it happens, an electric wave zips through my center and blood fills up my balls. I haven’t felt such energy for a long time. The evening feels warm. I hear my heart thumping in my heart, and I don’t seem to get enough air.