The Winemaker

by Charmaine Pauls

  Early the following morning, Zenna was glad to find Luca in the kitchen. For once, she had had a good night’s rest and felt fresh. She breezed into the room with light steps, wearing a long, gray wool skirt with a matching polo-neck sweater, black patterned stockings, and calf-length lace-up boots. Around her neck hung a leather necklace with a few crow feathers dangling at the ends and reaching all the way to her navel. Matching feathers extended from silver chains on her earrings. Her hair was tied into a tight ponytail, brushed back from her face to emphasize her cheekbones and the cheeky dip of her nose. She still had a flush on her cheeks from the shower. The faintest dusting of metallic gray eye shadow and mascara accentuated her slanted eyes, and a hint of pearly lip gloss the pout of her mouth.

  Luca inhaled deeply as she brushed past him. “You smell good. Great perfume. Morning, Sugar.”

  She flashed him a cocky smile and switched on the kettle to make a cup of tea. “What time did you get home last night? You look like shit.” She took a lemon from the fruit bowl, and sliced it on the wooden board.

  “Thanks. You look delicious.” He lifted his leather clad arms to look down at himself. “Is it really that bad?”

  She dropped a slice of lemon into her tea and grinned. “Uh huh.”

  Luca yawned. “Oh well, can’t say it wasn’t worth it. Didn’t get back until late. Unfortunately, I have an early photo shoot in town, otherwise I would have still been in my cozy, warm bed.”

  Zenna cupped the mug in both hands and leaned against the kitchen counter. “You’re tough. You’ll survive.” She tilted her head. “You must be one of the hottest catches in town. Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  “I’m waiting for someone,” he said mysteriously, “to be old enough.”

  “Like them young, do you?”

  “Not particularly. Let’s just say I fell in love with someone too young, a long time ago, and I’m still waiting.”

  “She can’t be too young anymore, if it was such a long time ago.”

  “I’m biding my time. Her father was pretty pissed off when he found out. When she’s ready, she’ll come back to me.”

  “In the meantime there’s no one?”

  “No. There can never be anyone like her. I like to party. I’m enjoying my freedom until she’s ready.”

  “By the looks of it, you do know how to party. You’re almost never in your bed. One day, you should bring me to one. I sure could do with a decent night out.”

  Luca chuckled mischievously. “I think my brother may get very jealous.”

  Zenna rolled her eyes. “I doubt that very much. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t belong to him. I work for him.”

  “Ouch. That sounds nasty.”

  “I’m still angry at him for bringing me to that awful, low-fat diet restaurant.” She averted her eyes, studying her boots.

  Luca grinned, resting his arms on the island counter. “In Etán’s defense, he doesn’t know any better. That’s the only place Sanita would ever agree to go to for dinner. Give the poor man a break, Sugar. He has only ever dated thin, bony women.”

  Zenna looked up quickly. “Sanita?”

  Luca studied her face before answering, simultaneously cautious and amused. “His ex-wife.”

  She took a moment to digest the information. “Etán was married?”

  “To the only other woman he ever loved besides our mother and sister.”

  Zenna lowered her mug. “For how long? I mean ... how long has he been divorced?”

  “A little over a year.” Luca watched her intently. “Be nice to him, Sugar.”

  Zenna felt as if the wind had been knocked from her sails. Why did it surprise her Etán had been married? He must be in his early forties. That must explain his dark bitterness, his seriousness, and the sadness she glimpsed in his eyes from time to time.

  She swallowed. “Was it a ... nasty affair?”

  “Pretty much.” Luca took a croissant from a basket and bit into it. “Of course, she wanted half of everything, every dime she was entitled to. Etán had to pay her out for half of the estate. Yeah, you could say it turned pretty nasty.”

  “Was it she who wanted the divorce or Etán?”

  “It wasn’t Etán’s choice. It hasn’t been easy for him.”

  Zenna took a big gulp of the tea. It was too hot. She made a face. “I wish someone had told me. It explains a lot.”

  “Does it?” Luca straightened. “Etán has always been the serious one, Zenna.” Was there some kind of warning in his tone? “He never liked to have fun. Don’t expect him to change, but he’s a good man, Zenna.”

  Before Zenna could reply, Luca turned from the counter, and took a long, black coat that hung over the chair. “I’m out of here until the weekend. Gotta do some things back home. If you need me before Saturday, here’s my number.” He took a piece of paper with a mobile number scribbled onto it from the coat pocket and held it out to her.

  She took it, looking at the number. “Thanks. Where do you live, anyway?”

  He pulled on the coat, adjusting it over his shoulders. “I have a flat in Bellavista.”

  Zenna had been there once with Marcos. “The Bohemian area?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take you there, one day.” He fished for the bike keys in his pocket.

  “You mentioned a photo shoot. What do you do for a living? I thought the whole family was involved in the estate, running it one way or the other?”

  “I do a little bit of this and of that. You could say I’m trying to be a photographer. I’ll only call myself that one day when I’m successful. For now, I’m still playing around.”

  “Photos like portraits, landscapes, or the journalistic type?”

  “Portraits, Sugar.” He winked. “I do models. As I always say, go big or go home. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Zenna snorted. “You’re such a boy.”

  He laughed. “Thanks, Sugar. I’d rather hoped so. Don’t want to be perceived as a girl.” He planted a kiss on her cheek. “See you Saturday.” He walked to the door. “Call me,” he said over his shoulder.

  Zenna smiled, raising her mug in greeting.

  Chapter Eight

  It was hard for Zenna not to think about Etán. She thought about his failed marriage, and she thought about his kiss. It was the single, most intoxicating, passionate kiss she had ever been given in her entire life. Every time she thought about it, her body heated. She trembled imagining what Etán could do to the rest of her, if that was the way he treated her lips. She wondered why any woman would have walked out on a man like him.

  To her dismay, Etán’s forbidden cellar kiss drifted to her mind as easily as if on a magic carpet. One minute she was translating a wine description, and the next, wham, it was there, like a genie from a bottle. Her mind genie betrayed her often, slipping from its lamp and recollecting the moment, when she had decided so firmly to block it out. It had been a silly mistake, one she should have avoided, because now its spell was torturing her.

  She felt like Eve who had taken a bite of the forbidden fruit and now wanted more. She wanted the whole apple—skin, pips, core, and all. Admitting to her wants would be embracing defeat, a sure way to be hurt again. Besides, it was only a physical reaction, surely?

  No matter how much she denied it and reasoned around it, the memory and her shocking need for more tortured her as she watched Etán dictating something to Emmie in the sunny morning light of the office. He wore those tight jeans and an open shirt that gave a hint of the taut muscles and abs it hid from sight.

  She sighed. Absent-mindedly, she chewed the end of her pencil, forcing her thoughts back to the Viognier 2011 she was trying to pin down in English. Clear, pale yellow ... delicate floral notes of white blossoms... Her thoughts began drifting again.

  Despite her untimely lust, she was adapting rather well in Etán’s household. She had grown accustomed to his routine, and to the long hours. Through the window, she caught a glimpse of the team outside pruning the vineyard. Sh
e had learnt a lot about the process of making wine, both from Etán and from his staff, and was enjoying her job tremendously. The latter part came as a surprise. She hadn’t expected to find joy in her temporary employment, but she loved the challenge. It was a welcome change after the seven tedious years of teaching Spanish.

  Etán shot her a glance from where he stood next to Emmie’s desk, and only then did Zenna realize she was staring. She quickly looked down at the paper in front of her and pretended to be reading as Etán finished his conversation and crossed the floor.

  He paused in front of her desk. “Everything is pretty much in place for the launch from a production point of view. Our older vintages are being prepared for sale this week. The racking and blending is on schedule for early August.” He propped his hands on his hips.

  “I know I’ve been neglecting you lately by not having been around much. Our launch update meeting is scheduled for next week, but let me know if you need to discuss anything sooner. How are you doing on the organizational side?”

  “The venues are booked, menus and bar lists decided. Invites have gone out. The RSVP date isn’t until next week. We won’t know final numbers until then.”

  Zenna looked down at her checklist. “Equipment hired. Flights booked. Hotel booked. Press releases gone out, both to the printed and electronic press. Media has been invited, as well as the guests of honor, the buyers, and experts on the list you gave me.”

  She tapped the pencil on her desk. “Let’s see. The only thing left to do is to finish the translation of the leaflets and get it to the printer by the end of today. We have one promoting the estate, history, awards, stats and all that, one on all your cultivars, and another on the three new wines you’re launching. The first English drafts are on your desk. I’m just waiting for you to sign off on them. I’m battling with this little Viognier here, but I’ll have the brochure ready by the end of today. I’ve also suggested some changes to the original Spanish text of your estate brochure. I think there’s room for improvement.”

  Etán’s eyebrows shot up. “When did you ever get to do all of this? Am I a slave driver?”

  She smiled. “I get to the office two hours earlier than you, remember?”

  He groaned. “And I thought I was an early riser. Good job. I’m impressed. I may beg you to stay on forever, if you keep up this quality of work. I’m afraid I’m underpaying you.”

  Those juicy lips pouted. He noticed the glossy, red lipstick that made them seem fuller. Her slanted eyes shone, the yellow, cat-like specks sparkling. “We both know that’s not true. You’re paying me way too much just because your mother asked you to help me.”

  Etán pushed his hands into his pockets. “I do always try to please my mother.”

  “Mommy’s boy,” Zenna teased.

  Etán’s eyes glanced over the ankle-length wool dress that hugged Zenna’s body. The tight fit suited her well. It accentuated her feminine hips. It had a long slit along the side, and he couldn’t help but notice the gracious curve of her calf in the black stockings. With it, she wore patent leather boots with wickedly high heels. His gaze slipped from where her ankles were casually crossed under the glass top of her desk, up the bend of her generous thigh, to the high neckline of the dress where a silver chain with a red stone lay on top of the hidden cleavage of her breasts, drawing his attention to the small, firm mounds.

  “Something wrong with the way I’m dressed?” Zenna looked amused.

  Etán didn’t blink as he forced his eyes back to her face. Plenty was wrong with the way she was dressed. She looked too good. She had been wearing pretty outfits for days on end now, and he was just about at his wits’ end. He fought for control. Yes, there was a lot wrong with the way she was dressed. He would prefer her without the dress. No. He had promised himself it was forbidden territory. He wasn’t going to go there.

  He kept his attention on her enchanting face. There were light circles under her eyes. He could hear her tossing and turning at night. He knew she had been working late and had gotten up early every morning.

  “Zenna, why don’t you go home early, today? After the brochure, we’re pretty much done. Leave the sticky Viognier to me. You’re ahead of schedule, anyway. You can do with some rest. Believe me, you’ll need your strength for the launch.”

  Zenna looked uncertain. “What exactly would I do with myself, except for being bored?”

  Etán inched closer to her desk. “Read? Sleep?” He paused. “Go out?”

  Zenna’s eyes were big pools of laughter. “Are you ordering me to go out tonight?”

  A rare smiled plucked at the corners of his mouth. “I could, if you wanted me to.”

  Zenna raised an eyebrow. “Are you having company, tonight? Want the house to yourself? I could go to Luca’s...”

  Etán grinned. “You like to tease, don’t you? If you don’t have something in mind, I’ll take you to a proper restaurant. I still owe you a decent meal. We never got around to that. I promise, no poached eggs or bird seed.”

  Zenna leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is Teresa off tonight?”

  “Caught out.” He backed away from her desk, making for his office. He held up both hands, showing her eight fingers, while his lips mimed the word ‘eight’.

  Zenna almost laughed out loud. Etán could be lighthearted when he tried.

  That evening, in a warm restaurant decorated with everything that lived under the sea, Etán pulled the chair out for Zenna. She removed her coat, which he took from her.

  “I didn’t make an effort to change,” she said apologetically. “I really wanted to get the final drafts to the printer before we headed out.”

  She pulled at her dress. She really wished she hadn’t picked up those extra pounds during the last few weeks. She was pretty sure the dress wasn’t this tight when she left London. Being dumped always drove her to eating. She sat down, folding her hands.

  “I’m glad you didn’t. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in a baggy T-shirt and sweat pants, or pajamas, for that matter.”

  Zenna snorted at the joke, and flushed at the memory. “Since wearing baggy tracksuits and pajamas only seemed to get me either dumped or arrested, I’m resorting to wearing decent clothes.”

  Etán laughed at that. “I don’t care what you wear. I don’t think you can ever look indecent.” He reflected for a few seconds. “Correction. I can picture you in black, tight and sexy. Very indecent.”

  Zenna threw her napkin at him. “Oh, stop it,” she scolded. “Am I ever going to hear the end of this?”

  “Only if you promise to cook for me, soon. I’m being tormented with visions of hot curries and flaming, brandied sirloin steaks that you planted in my mind.”

  Zenna took back her napkin and draped it over her lap. He was in such a good mood. He was probably pleased with the way the blending of the wine was going. “I don’t have a problem with that. I like cooking, but I’m not sure Teresa is going to like the interference in her kitchen.”

  “My kitchen,” Etán corrected. He held the glass the waiter had filled with wine to hers. “On a job well done. I’m impressed, Zenna. It takes a lot to impress me.”

  “Thank you,” she said, pleased. “I’m glad if you think I’m earning my way and not simply some kind of charity project.”

  When the waiter reappeared, Etán closed his menu. “Shall I order for both of us or does that go against a modern woman’s rules?”

  No one had ever ordered on her behalf. She thought it would have annoyed her, but somehow it made her feel strangely pleased to leave her appetite in Etán’s hands. “Go ahead.”

  He ordered Peruvian style sea urchins for starters and centolla, Chilean king crab, for the main meal.

  Zenna smelled the greenish, pale yellow wine. “I’m surprised you ordered anything other than Sol y Sombra.”

  “I want you to get to know our competitors. This one, a Pavo Real 2009 Sauvignon Blanc, is not bad. Not my style, but original.”


  Zenna twirled her glass the way he had taught her, and took a sip. When she saw the darkening of his pale eyes, she knew he was thinking of that stolen kiss in the cellar they now both tried so hard to pretend had never happened.

  “Crisp, but juicy,” she said, hastily. “Citrus ... and something ... green. A hint of green tea?”

  “Green tea? Very creative, but no. We refer to that strong, greenish taste as grassy. Do you taste the subtle, underlying tropical fruit?”

  The waiter put the starters in front of them. Etán poured water for Zenna. “I hope I’m not working you too hard, Zenna,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.

  She took a distrustful small forkful of the urchin. “Why would you think that?”

  “You seem tired. I know you’re not sleeping well. Sometimes, when I work late and have too much on my mind, I tend not to sleep well either. I don’t want you to sacrifice your health for the sake of a temporary job.”

  Zenna looked up quickly. Sometimes, rather more often of late, she tended to forget it was only a temporary job. “How would you know I’m not sleeping well? You can’t smell it, can you?” She shot him a teasing look.

  He didn’t take her bait at making humor of the subject. “I hear you toss and turn all night,” he said seriously.

  Zenna rested her knife and fork on her plate. The sea urchin wasn’t something she was going to develop an appetite for any time soon.

  “I didn’t realize sound traveled so well through the walls. I must have kept you up too. Sorry about that. Don’t worry, it’s not the job.”

  Etán signaled for the waiter. He ordered a Peruvian ceviche starter for Zenna.

  “That’s not necessary,” she protested.

  Etán lifted his hand, waving her protest aside. “Want to tell me what’s really bothering you, if it’s not work?”

  Zenna looked away, resting her chin on her shoulder. She couldn’t tell Etán she had been having flashes more frequently since she moved into his house. Sometimes, she had them in her dreams now. It was always the same. The girl in the bathroom. She was starting to grasp some kind of an emotion behind those visions, but it still eluded her. Maybe because she didn’t really want to go there. The headaches kept her up after those dreams, but they were not as bad as the ones she had after a full-blown vision while she was in a state of conscious wakefulness.