Paris Is Always a Good Idea

by Jenn McKinlay

  “As we do,” he acknowledged.

  It was the perfect thing to say. Impulsively, I threw my arms about him and hugged him hard. Oh, I had missed him. He hugged me back and said, “We will spend time together, yes? And then we will talk about these changes, but first we eat.”

  We raided the refrigerator, which was amazingly well stocked for a bachelor. Marcellino made us sandwiches with thick slices of cheese and meat, along with fresh greens. He garnished them with olives and pickled asparagus and handed me a plate and a glass of Chianti. He then led me to a sun-filled terrace off the dining room.

  We stepped through the French doors and walked to a tall café table with two stools. From here, we perched like gargoyles, looking down at the tourists who were walking from the vineyard to the basement below us, where the casks of Chianti were stored.

  Marcellino watched the traffic for a moment, and then he looked back at me. He smiled as if he enjoyed seeing me there. Then he took an olive off his plate and popped it into his mouth. It occurred to me that he looked perfectly at home, just as the lord of the castle should.

  I took a sip of my wine, savoring the robust flavor with subtle notes of tart cherry and letting it roll across my tongue, when he said, “Dolcezza, why did you wait so long to come back?”

  I choked. I didn’t mean to, but I inhaled some Chianti, and now it was caught in my throat, making me sputter and cough. I put my hand over my mouth to try to contain it, but my eyes were watering and my nose was running, because wasn’t that a lovely picture for a guy who hadn’t seen me in seven years?

  “Sorry,” he said. He leaped from his seat and patted my back, gently but firmly, until I had my coughing fit under control.

  “No, it’s all right,” I said. “You just caught me by surprise. I didn’t think we were going there right away.”

  “I’ve thought so often of the morning you left,” he said. He gazed out across the hills before turning back to me. “The last thing you said to me was ‘I love you.’ It was the first time you’d said it to me, and my heart was so full of you all day I could barely work. I just wanted to be with you, but when I got back, you were gone. When I got your note, I understood your mother was ill, and when she passed, I knew you needed time. But as we kept in touch over the years, I always wondered why you didn’t come back.”

  I picked at the thick crust of the sandwich bread on my plate. I didn’t know what to say. Marcellino was the only person I’d kept in touch with from my year abroad. It had begun with me explaining my abrupt departure and then dwindled to Christmas cards over the past few years. He had always said I was welcome to visit, and I’d known he meant it, but I’d resisted.

  I remembered my final day here so vividly. My father had called while I was working in the gift shop. When he told me about my mom, I fled. I knew that time was critical, so I raced to my room in the girls’ dormitory on the vineyard grounds, packed my bag, and hopped on the next bus to Firenze so I could catch the first flight home. I had left Marcellino a note, but once I was home, the only thing I could think about was my mother, and after she died, well, I just didn’t care about anything. My letters and emails were few and far between and then dwindled to just an annual card, which, if I was honest, was an afterthought.

  “After my mother died, I just—” My words trailed off. I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Stopped living?” he guessed.

  “Yes, that.” I felt my throat get tight. I took another sip of wine, picked at my sandwich, and then glanced up and forced a sad smile. “I wish I had been better about staying in touch. I wish I’d come back sooner.”

  “You’re here now. That’s what matters.” Marcellino reached across the table and held my hand. “Mi dispiace per la perdita di tua madre.”

  “Grazie,” I said. His sympathy about my mother’s death touched me. Possibly, it was hearing the words in Italian. I mean, I’d have to be made of rock not to respond. I squeezed his fingers with one hand and brushed the tears off my face with the other. I didn’t want to dwell in the past. I wanted to live in the now. “Basta. Mangia.”

  Marcellino smiled at me and let go of my hand. I could tell by the look of relief in his gaze that he didn’t know what else to say to me about my loss. After Mom passed away, I got good at reading people and their emotions about grief. The people who were relieved when the topic went away were usually the ones who hadn’t lost anyone near and dear and didn’t know what to say to someone who had. They were uncomfortable when surrounded by someone else’s grief and tried to avoid it as if it might be contagious.

  I didn’t fault Marcellino for it. I used to be jealous of people who had no experience with having their heart ripped out, and I’d wonder why me instead of them, but I’d grown as a person over the past seven years as I worked with people engaged in the fight of their life every day. Witnessing their losses along with my own, I wouldn’t wish that misery on anyone.

  “To your return,” he said. He held up his glass, and I tapped mine against his.

  I smiled. I was delighted to be here—I was. And if there was a tiny part of me that missed Jason and wondered what he’d make of all this—I could just see him taking in this castle—then I pushed it aside. I was here to rediscover myself. Besides, Jason would be here in five—okay, four and a half—days, but who was counting? Not me.

  * * *

  • • • •

  THE NEXT TWO days were out of a dream. Marcellino was attentive and kind but restrained, as if he didn’t want to push for more than I was willing to give.

  We took long walks through the Tuscan countryside, which was ripe with wildflowers ready to burst into bloom. He showed me the improvements he’d made on the vineyard, and we ate every meal together and spent our evenings strolling through the small village, reading together on the couch in the living room of his castle, or simply savoring the beautiful spring evenings on the terrace while we drank wine and admired the stars. After Paris had gone so horribly awry, in just about every conceivable way, Marcellino was the perfect antidote.

  Each morning, I awoke to a bouquet of handpicked flowers and a fresh carafe of coffee outside the door to the small cottage in which I was staying. On the second day, Marcellino fretted over my pasty office-worker skin and bought me a wide-brimmed bright-blue sun hat that was decorated with a bunch of silk daisies.

  He cooked all our meals, tailoring the food to my tastes. Knowing my love of books, he gave me a stack of English novels to read when he had to tend to vineyard business. When a neighbor stopped by with a litter of puppies and I squealed over their roly-poly adorableness, Marcellino asked me if I’d like one when they were old enough to leave their mama. Not knowing what to make of that suggestion, I didn’t answer. Was he thinking I’d be staying long enough to get a dog? I tried not to panic. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

  I was two and a half days into the five days Jason had said he’d give me until work required my attention again, and I was getting antsy. While I was enjoying my time with Marcellino immensely, I didn’t know if what I felt was the same stirring of emotion I’d had with him before or if it was just the joy of being at the vineyard again. I didn’t think I’d know for sure until we progressed beyond the hand-holding stage, but I wasn’t sure how to get us there.

  My opportunity came that evening, when Marcellino invited me for a stroll through the olive orchard. He wanted to check on the pruning to see that it was finished, and asked if I’d join him. I hoped it was his way of trying to take us to the next level. I was all in.

  Twilight in the vineyard was magical, with a full moon rising over the hills, illuminating the silvery leaves of the olive trees and giving them an ethereal glow. No doubt about it—it was a wonderful backdrop for falling in love. Come on, Marcellino, I mentally cheered him on.

  Like every moment of the past few days, it was perfect. A perfect view shared with a perfect man in a per
fect place. It was almost more perfection than I could stand. And yet he still didn’t make a move. Damn it.

  I wondered if Jason was right; maybe Marcellino was gay. I mean, not that he had to be with me to prove that he wasn’t. Oh no, maybe that was it. Now that I was here, maybe he just wasn’t that into me. Ack, I was feeling the stirring of emotion right now, but it wasn’t a good one. Was I in for another humiliation from a former boyfriend?

  No! I refused to accept defeat. Marcellino had been a perfect gentleman during the past two days. That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested; he was just respectful. Wasn’t that what every woman wanted these days? A man who treated her well? Feeling better, I decided it was do or die, right here on this vineyard hillside. I turned to him.

  “Thank you, Marcellino,” I said. I moved closer.

  “For what?” He tipped his head and watched me. He didn’t back away, so I took that as a good sign.

  “For being you.” And then I made my move. I slid my hands up his arms and pressed up against him. I met his gaze and tried to will him to lean down and kiss me. He hesitated, putting his hands on my hips as if he was undecided as to whether he should pull me in closer or hold me away.

  A rustling noise from the bushes startled me, and I jumped, dropping my hands from him. I turned to see a wild hare sprinting away through the trees. I laughed and put my hand over my heart to calm its frantic beating. I tried not to dwell on the fact that my heart raced harder from the bunny scare than it did from being held by Marcellino.

  The sound of an engine ripped through the quiet. By the light of the moon, I could see a motorcycle tearing up the dirt road toward the castle, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. I assumed it was one of the vineyard workers coming back from an evening in town, but I noticed Marcellino was frowning in concern. Clearly, this was not someone who worked here.

  He took my hand, and we left the grove and hurried up the hill to the parking lot beside the castle. The man pulled up in front of us, parking next to the cars belonging to Marcellino and resident staff. He cut the engine on the bike, put down the kickstand, and lifted the dark-blue helmet off his head. I blinked twice and then I gasped. Jason?!

  chapter twenty-three

  KNIGHTLEY, WHAT THE hell are you doing here?” I asked.

  “You know this man?” Marcellino asked. His frown eased.

  “Yes, we . . . um . . . work together,” I said. “This will just take a minute.”

  I let go of his hand and marched forward. I was furious. He was two days early! How dare he come here without warning?

  Jason lifted his leg over the bike and planted his helmet on the back. He looked at me with a sparkle in his eye that made my insides thrum. It was just rage, I assured myself.

  “Well?” I asked. I crossed my arms over my chest in a clear signal that I was shutting him out completely. I hoped his ass was already hurting from a long ride on that motorbike, because I fully intended to send him away on it, and I hoped his backside was blistered by the time he landed far away from here tonight.

  “There was a change of plan,” he said. “Plus, it occurred to me that I’m your wingman. You need me, Maverick.”

  “No, I don’t.” I glared at him.

  “Sure you do.” He looked past me. “Is that the guy?”

  “None of your business.” I was so furious I thought my head would explode. When I spoke, my words came out with the trajectory of bullets. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

  He put his hand on the back of his neck and stretched while he said, “Severin’s trip to Milan was cut short. They’re on their way here, arriving tomorrow, in fact.”

  “What? But you said you’d stall them,” I protested.

  “I tried.” He shrugged. “But Severin is a force of nature.”

  “What am I supposed to do now?” I asked through gritted teeth. I didn’t say it out loud, especially to Jason, but that attempted kiss with Marcellino had been a bust. Still, I wasn’t sure I had really given it the old college try. And now with Jason here and Severin arriving soon after, I was feeling very pressured.

  “Introduce me to the boyfriend,” he said. He wagged his eyebrows at me. “I like the dress, by the way. Sexy.”

  I glanced down at my deep-blue sundress. It did not help my frame of mind to remember that when I’d bought it at the boutique in the village, I had thought it was a perfect match for Jason’s eyes when they were their bluest blue. I had then promptly chastised myself for having such a ridiculous thought and bought the dress anyway. And now here he was, as if I’d conjured him. Argh!

  “You need to go,” I said. “I don’t care what excuse you make, but you need to get back on that bike and ride off into the moonlight and give me the two more days you promised. Meet up with Severin at another vineyard.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” he said. He raised his hands in a what can you do gesture, which made me think he wasn’t sorry at all.

  Why was I surprised? This was Knightley! He’d been a thorn in my behind from the day he’d come to the ACC. In a flash, “the incident” from our first corporate ask flitted through my brain, and I was furious all over again.

  “This is so like you,” I snapped. “I should have known you’d do whatever you wanted, just like with Overexposure Media Group.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “I thought we made peace over that.”

  “And I thought you read up on workplace personalities and knew I was a guardian while you’re a pioneer,” I said. “And yet here we are with you changing the plan without checking with me first. This is not how a guardian works.” I raised my hands in the air in exasperation.

  “Would it help if I apologized for the Overexposure Media Group debacle?” he asked. “That disaster was one hundred percent my fault, and I truly am sorry.”

  That gave me pause. A contrite Knightley was an attractive object to behold. I shook it off. It did not help with this situation at all, however.

  “Apology accepted,” I said. “But I can’t do this right now. I’m supposed to be figuring out my own stuff.”

  “I feel for you,” he said. His gaze was soft as he studied my face in the moonlight. “I really do, but Severin is on his way. I have all of the paperwork.” He patted the saddlebag on his bike. “We’re doing this. I’m sorry if it interferes with your timetable—honestly, I am—but according to Eleanor, you are the only one Severin trusts, so it’s imperative that you’re involved until we get it signed and sealed. Besides, I would think you’d want to see it through.”

  Okay, Eleanor had said as much in Paris. And he made a fair point. I had done all the groundwork on this ask. It did mean a lot to me.

  “I’m sure if you explain it to your boyfriend, he’ll understand,” he said. There was something in his tone that was off. I frowned.

  “He’s not my—” I began, but Marcellino interrupted.

  “Is everything all right, dolcezza?” he asked.

  I sighed. I looked at Jason’s face and knew there was no way he was going to budge on this. If our positions were reversed, with this contribution to the cause to fight cancer on the table, I’d be just as stubborn.

  “Yes, sorry,” I said. My voice came out strained, so I forced a smile. “Marcellino DeCapio, this is my colleague Jason Knightley.”

  Without hesitation, Marcellino held out a hand to Jason. “Piacere di conoscerti,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Jason said.

  “You speak Italian?” Marcellino asked. He sounded pleased.

  Jason shrugged. “Mostly just enough to order wine and ask where the bathroom is.”

  Marcellino laughed. “In life, what more do you need?”

  I glanced between the two men. Both handsome, both smart, both charming, and I felt as if my worlds were colliding. It was unpleasant.

  “If you could just point me in the direction of a
place to stay, I’d appreciate it,” Jason said. He was looking at Marcellino with his most charming smile.

  “Of course, but any friend of Chelsea’s is welcome to stay here,” Marcellino said. “You must take one of the guesthouses.”

  “No!” I cried at the same moment Jason said, “Thanks.”

  Marcellino glanced between us as if unsure whom he should listen to. I wanted to demand that he listen to me and encourage Jason to find lodging in the village. I couldn’t even imagine trying to sort out my feelings for Marcellino with Jason around, but then I glanced at Jason’s face and saw the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’d clearly been going all day and was on the brink of exhaustion. Fine, he could stay here, but only because Severin was on his way. Damn it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Yes, absolutely, Jason, you must take one of the guesthouses.”

  He gave me a suspicious look with one eyebrow raised. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” I said. I glanced at Marcellino, who was looking at me with approval. “Shall we walk him down?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  We waited for Jason to retrieve his small carry-on from the back of his motorcycle. He fell into step beside us, looked at me, and asked, “And where are you staying?”

  “In another guesthouse,” I said. “They’re vacant because they’re about to be remodeled. We have two others set aside for Severin and Eleanor.”

  “And you live on the grounds as well, Marcellino?”

  Marcellino opened his mouth to answer, but I spoke first.

  “He lives in the castle,” I said.

  Jason made a choking noise, and Marcellino looked at him in concern. “Are you all right, Jason?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” he said. “Swallowed a bug.” He gave Marcellino side-eye and pointed to the stone building looming over us. “Castle, huh?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He owns the castle and the vineyard, as well as an extensive olive orchard.”

  Jason glanced at Marcellino as if reconsidering him. “Impressive.”