 excerpted from CHAPTER THREE
Private planes, fancy cars, and mansions set among luxuriant
vineyards. This place exuded wealth. Nikki watched from
the car window as Derek sped past one vineyard after another,
noticing the enormous Tudor style and ranch homes. This
kind of wealth captured a serene elegance from an age gone by,
whereas L.A. seemed so artificial. That was the only way
she could think of it. The people from this region knew
how to be rich and carry it off. Old school wealth at its
most gracious.
Twenty minutes after landing at the airport in the Malveaux
Estate private jet, Derek pulled his black Range Rover in front
of an iron-gated fence. The name Malveaux was etched into the
gate. Derek pushed a button on a remote he pulled from
the overhead visor, and the gate opened. They entered and
drove down a long dirt road surrounded by sections of grape vines,
all twisted up like long manes on wild horses. Rows of
chocolate brown soil—rich and vibrant, mixed with flowing
areas of intense green, looking as though they would be soft
to the touch, like silk or satin. A light fog hung in the
air, drifting down from the clouds hovering above, appearing
stormy and ready to explode—volatile in such a serene setting.
Nikki cracked the window and took in the earthy fresh scent.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Derek said.
“Unbelievably so.” Nikki feasted her eyes on the
sights around them. “Do you ever work in the vineyard itself?”
“Sure I do. It’s what I love the most about living
here. You know, people come here and all they see is wealth,
greed, materialism, and believe me, there’s plenty of that.
You’ll see when you meet my family. I come from a
long line of snobs, and for the most part, the tradition still
holds. But for me, there’s a lot more about this
vineyard that gives me joy than just the money.”
Nikki looked away from the scenery for a moment and over at
Derek. She noticed that his hands gripping the steering wheel
were sun-kissed, and weathered. He told the truth. A
man with hands like that certainly worked the land.
“It’s really an art form,” he said.
“What is?”
“Growing the grapes. You can liken pruning vines to the
art of sculpting. It’s that precise.”
“Really?” He faced her, and the faint sunlight
glistening through the fog caught his eyes and made them look
bluer than any ocean Nikki had ever seen. Yep, the scenery around
this place was a-okay.
“It’s
like pruning roses in relation to the time and consideration
you have to give to each vine. Believe me, you have to know exactly
where to cut.”
“I had no idea. I know about tastes and what wine goes
with what, but I’ve never really given much thought to
the entire process, from the growth stage on.” She
crossed her legs and saw that Derek’s eyes followed them,
right to the hemline of her black skirt, above her knee. She’d
paired the skirt with a teal v-neck sweater hoping it would complement
her eyes. Her palms grew sweaty.
“You’re going to learn a lot around here, then.” He
pulled the Range Rover up next to a cottage that was about a
half a mile away from what she assumed was the main house. It
sat on a small knoll, surrounded by oak trees covered in Spanish
moss. The cottage was a craftsman creation with a porch
and white picket fence to match. “This will be your
home. For as long as you need it, in order to make a decision
about the job.”
Nikki got out of the car and looked around, noticing a pond
behind the house surrounded by more oaks. Two Muscovy ducks
were enjoying a swim. For a brief moment, the scene reminded
her of back home—the trees and ducks, anyway.
Although the cottage didn’t look very large, it was by
far larger and a thousand times nicer than the home where she’d
spent her first several years in the foothills of Tennessee. “This
is amazing,” she said.
He opened up the back hatch of the SUV and took out her suitcase. “Come
on, I’ll show you the inside.”
The porch had so much charm in and of itself, including a swing and roses on a trellis on each side, that if it hadn’t been real, it would have had to be part of a Norman Rockwell painting.
The interior of the cottage carried the quaintness throughout,
decorated in French country plaids and florals in colors of black,
peach, pink, cream, and green. A
small kitchen opened into a nook and bench seating. Off to
the side of the kitchen table was a small phone desk. On the other
side of the kitchen was the family room with a pine wooden entertainment
unit complete with TV, stereo and all the entertainment accoutrements
one might desire. A fireplace in front of the sofa balanced
out the room. There was one bedroom.
“Wow,” Nikki exclaimed when she opened the bedroom
door. The room was an absolute dream, decorated in pink with
black and white traditional toile. Pink roses filled several
vases on the dresser, along with an antique bookcase containing
the classics. “Consider me your new tenant.”
Derek laughed, and pointed to the French doors, which opened
out onto a balcony overlooking the pond. “Look through
there. You see that?”
Nikki
went to the window and saw across the pond another home, similar
in style, but more like an old barn. “The barn?”
“Not a barn,” he replied.
“No?”
“My house. I renovated it when I came home from college.” He
crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. “By
myself, I might add.”
“No kidding? But why? Why don’t you live in
the mansion I saw up on the hill as we drove in?”
“You mean the insane asylum?”
He said it so seriously that for a second Nikki wasn’t
sure if he were joking or not. “What’s behind
that statement?”
“Trust me, you’ll see. I’m hosting a charity
event for the Leukemia Foundation tomorrow night. You’ll
get to meet the inmates who live in the mansion, otherwise the
people who I loosely refer to as my family. They’re
a special bunch.” His reply heavily laden
with sarcasm was not lost on Nikki. “There’s
my half-brother Simon, my stepmother Patrice, and my ex-wife
Meredith. Oh, did I forget Simon’s partner Marco? He’s
at least got a sense of humor.”
“You should have told me about the party. I’m sure
your family isn’t that bad, but it’s bad for me that
I don’t have anything dressy to wear.”
“As long as you have something black, you’ll fit right in.”
She did have that. The every woman’s requisite simple
black dress was packed away, and though it was nothing to be
worn to a charity event, it would have to do.
“Why don’t you get settled in, and I’ll be
back by in half an hour. I need to make sure everything is on
schedule for tomorrow. I’d like to show you around
the place and have you meet my winemaker, Gabriel Asanti. He’s
amazing. What he can do with a handful of grapes is nothing
short of a miracle. I assure you, your taste buds will
never be the same.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Nikki locked
the door behind Derek after he left, and then laughed out loud
for the ridiculous act. What could happen in a place like
this?
She
started to unpack her suitcase in the bedroom when, out of the
corner of one eye she caught something move outside by the pond.
She went to the doors, and saw a rustling in the bushes across
the way, but then it stopped, as if someone were there and knew
they’d been spotted. Nikki locked the French doors,
and once again laughed at herself. “My overactive
imagination. Maybe I should be writing screenplays instead
of trying to star in them.” She looked at herself
in the mirror over the dresser, and ran her fingertips over the
tiny fine lines on either side of her eyes. “Yuck.”
She went back to unpacking. Once again she noticed movement
from outside, but all she saw was the pair of ducks. “Ducks,
dingbat. That’s all it is. Ducks.” She
went to the French doors and peered out. The ducks flew
off, leaving ripples in their wake on the pond’s surface.
She started to turn back around, and there it was again. This
time it was unmistakable; she saw a flash of green and it wasn’t
leaves on a bush. This was green fabric, like someone’s
shirt.
She opened the door, stepping out into the cool air. A frenzy
of goose bumps ran down her arms, as she rubbed her hands briskly
over them. She sang out, “Hello. Anyone there?” Curious
by nature, she took a step outside, and called out again to no
avail. “I know I saw someone,” she muttered
under her breath. Screw it. Nikki wasn’t a
fraidy cat. Besides, she did Taebo, and if Billy Blanks
had taught her anything, he’d taught her how to throw one
damned good roundhouse kick.
She walked the hundred or so yards around the pond where she
knew someone had been only moments before. The brush grew dense
and grabbed at the skin on her bare arms, scratching her. A
mosquito landed on her, biting her before heading off to its
next victim. She slapped her neck, but missed. “Ouch.” She
knew she should turn around and go back to the guesthouse. But
she’d grown up reading Nancy Drew books and she’d
be damned if she’d turn back now. Nancy wouldn’t
walk away. She’d pursue.
Her shoe got bogged down in some mud and she had to yank to
pull her foot out, losing her shoe in the greenish muck. “Damn!” Her
foot covered in mud, her arms scratched up and mosquito bites
rising along her neck, she was foolishly looking for some phantom
juvenile delinquent who got his cojones off spying on
unsuspecting women. Could it get any worse? Only
if Derek found her like this.
But
even worse than that was when her bare foot brushed against something
that didn’t feel like a prickly bush. It tickled, but not
in the way a bush would. She looked down and saw a hand. She
screamed as her eyes followed the hand deeper into the bushes.
There was the body of a man with thick grape vines pulled taut
around his neck, his brown eyes bulging out of his purplish face.
His dark longish hair covered in mud. He wore a green shirt,
and across the right side of his chest on the shirt was his name—Gabriel
Asanti. With a flash of recognition, Nikki knew she’d
just met the winemaker.
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