Which she most emphatically did not.
“Aunt Gina loves this car,” Mia said, squeezing her head through the gap between the front seats and sending a whiff of Juicy Fruit their way. She chomped on the gum enthusiastically.
“Mia, dear, would you mind leaning back?” Gina said, trying not to sound as annoyed with her niece as she felt.
“It is a fine car,” Josh said, taking in the restored upholstery, the gleaming knobs on the radio.
“My father bought it used when I was a kid,” she said. She didn’t add that she’d fallen in love with the Galaxie’s style and elegance from the first moment that her father wheeled it into their driveway. “He always meant to restore it and give it to me, and after he died, I discovered that he’d put money aside for years for the restoration. My cousin Rocco volunteered to do the work.” For a moment she had forgotten that she was talking to the man who’d broken her heart two years ago, and she fell silent as she headed down the bumpy road toward Vineyard Oaks, the winery that the Angelini family had owned ever since her grandfather, Gino, his brother and two sisters had bought it shortly after arriving in the United States sixty-seven years ago.
The vineyard, planted with merlot, sangiovese, petite syrah and zinfandel vines now stripped of their grapes, stretched out toward the distant mountain ranges on either side of the fertile valley. After a few minutes, Gina pulled the car over in front of a small house set back from the road, where Leo Buscani, retired Vineyard Oaks winemaker now accordion teacher, lived. A boy of eleven emerged, lugging an accordion case.
Mia bounced up and down. “That’s Frankie. He’s okay most of the time—for a boy, I mean. Get in back with me, Frankie. I’m being hos-spit-able.”
Frankie balked. “You’re going to spit on me?” he asked skeptically.
Mia dissolved into giggles. “That’s my new word. It means making someone welcome.”
Frankie chucked his accordion case in the back seat and climbed in after it. He was a captivating, curly-haired boy whose dark eyes snapped with merriment.
“Aunt Gina, Mr. Buscani says I’m the best student he’s ever had,” Frankie announced. “He wants me to join his accordion band.”
Everyone in the family was pleased that Frankie, who possessed an aptitude for getting into trouble, had taken so well to the accordion. Gina glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him. “That’s wonderful,” she said.
“Do you think Pop will let me?”
“Oh, Rocco will probably go for it.” Rocco and his son were closer than most, possibly because Frankie’s mother had died when he was only six.
When Frankie and Mia settled into a spirited discussion about whether or not she should give him her last stick of gum, which Frankie argued was only hospitable, Josh turned to Gina. “You’re more beautiful than ever,” he said in a low tone.
The compliment discombobulated her more than she liked to let on. “Yeah, right,” she said.
“I mean it, Gina.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true.”
Thanks to her Norwegian mother, Gina had grown up blond in a family of dark-haired, olive-skinned Italian-Americans, convinced that her light coloring wasn’t attractive. She’d longed to resemble the rest of the family for most of her life, but the only features she seemed to owe to the Italian side of her family were dark eyes and tawny skin. These days, she could finally accept that men found her beautiful, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear compliments from Joshua Corbett.
She kept her eyes focused forward. “You act as if nothing happened between us.”
Josh slid a cagey look in her direction. “More should happen, don’t you agree?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Not if I can help it.”
“Would it change things if I told you that I wasn’t smart in the way I handled the Mr. Moneybags choice? That I realize it now? That I want to make amends?”
Gina bit back an exasperated retort. “Didn’t it work out with Tahoma?”
Josh kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. “The woman happened to be living with a boyfriend she never mentioned. After she walked away with the million dollars, I never heard from her again.”
“Bummer,” Gina said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She’d never liked Tahoma much, though she’d been cordial to her for the sake of the show. The woman had pranced around the chilly Scottish castle where the show was filmed thrusting her silicone-enhanced chest in front of the ever-present video cameras while stuffed into dresses the size of cocktail napkins. It was a wonder she hadn’t caught pneumonia.
“You live and you learn,” Josh said philosophically.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might be angry about losing the million dollars I would have won if you’d chosen me?” Of course it hadn’t; he was independently wealthy. The show’s publicity had touted him as being the scion of a prominent Boston family. Gina seemed to recall pictures of a huge mansion and a family of bluebloods with ties to the Mayflower.
He appeared disconcerted. “If you’ll recall, no one told me that the woman I chose would win that much money. I thought—”
“They told the contestants right at the start. You mean you didn’t figure it out?” He had a Yale education, for Pete’s sake.
“The million dollars for the winner was a total surprise to me. The first I knew about it was when the butler marched into the room carrying a check on a silver platter and handed it to Tahoma. If I’d caught onto that little secret, I’d have realized early in the game I couldn’t trust anything the contestants told me.”
“Did you trust what I told you?”
He took his time answering, and when he did it was with an air of thoughtfulness. “Whenever the conversation touched on the Napa Valley and your family, your eyes shone. You didn’t promote yourself like some of the other contestants. You seemed sincere in everything you said. Of course I trusted you.”
She was touched that he’d recognized her sincerity; it was how she had determined to play the Mr. Moneybags game in the beginning, and she’d stuck to that decision even when it might not have been in her best interest. And she couldn’t believe he recalled how longingly she’d spoken of home, family and her good fortune at having been born and reared in Rio Robles, California, population eight thousand, many of them Angelinis.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. She’d trusted him, too, but she never would again. Why would she? He’d broken her heart.
“You brought the whole thing up,” he reminded her in a mild tone. As she turned down the long driveway that led between the two rows of ancient oaks giving the Angelini winery its name, he changed the subject. It was just as well; she’d wallowed in her own disillusionment and pain for a long time before she’d managed to climb her way out of the miserable funk brought about by Josh’s rejection.
“Is that the winery up there?”
They
