Legs (One Wild Wish, #1)

by Kelly Siskind

  I noticed her heels first—four inches and bright red. Her legs were as shapely as I remembered, womanly curves showcased in a tight dress. Nowhere near as sexy as Rachel. Nowhere near as classy. A familiar ache took root in my chest at the thought of her.

  I looked up. “Thanks for coming.”

  Sophia’s answering smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t have much time.”

  “This won’t take long.” Just long enough to work through the baggage I’d stored the past two years.

  She sat, folding her hands on the table, making sure her rock of an engagement ring was front and center. The thing could sink a battleship.

  A waiter asked for her order and she waved him off. No need to pretend we were old friends catching up.

  I cleared my throat. “When you turned down my proposal, it sent me for a spin. I’ve fallen in love with someone else, but what went down between you and me has caused me to hurt her. There are some things I need to know.”

  “The woman at the grocery store?” She studied my inked arms, the cuff on my wrist, my rings. Disbelief still shone.

  “Yeah. Her.” My ray of sunshine. The woman who owned my heart.

  The woman I’d devastated.

  I sipped my espresso, the bitterness lingering on my tongue. Time to cannonball into the deep end. “Did you ever love me?”

  I’d spent so long not thinking about Sophia and my relationship, I wasn’t sure what had been real, especially when my feelings for Rachel were a million times stronger than anything I’d felt for Sophia.

  She met my eyes, a note of sadness in her blue gaze. “Initially. It was fun and exciting for a while, but the sneaking around got old.”

  “It did.” We’d waited a while before telling our parents, knowing they wouldn’t approve. The illicitness had its appeal. “And after?”

  She wiped stray crumbs from the table. “After, less so.”

  Less so. Two damn words. I had never accused her of using me. She’d broken up with me, tossed my proposal in my face, and I hadn’t had the balls to ask her why. Back then, the timing told me all I needed to know. Her family had been struggling, more money going out than coming in, and she’d been looking to hitch a ride. Hearing her admit she’d used me would have made the fallout that much worse.

  But I needed to hear the words now. Needed to learn if I’d assumed wrong or right, and she wasn’t making it easy.

  “Thing is, Sophia, I’ve spent the last two years pretending I’m over what happened between us. Don’t get me wrong”—I raised a hand in defense—“this isn’t me looking for an in. We were wrong together, on a number of levels. Ending it was the right thing. This is about me having closure.”

  A man walked by, taking an eyeful of her cleavage. She replied with a flirtatious smile, enjoying the attention. Sophia always loved to be admired. She shifted on her seat, discomfort appearing in her pinched brow. “At one point, I did love you, but later I realized you maybe didn’t love me. We both wanted something from each other.”

  That had me leaning closer. “You wanted everything I came with, right? The winery? The security?”

  She snorted. “Don’t say it like it’s evil. Yes, I wanted security and a comfortable life. It’s not a crime. People have married for a lot less.”

  “Doesn’t make it right.”

  “If I’m here so you can give me crap for what I did two years ago, I’m leaving. It sucks you’re still messed up, but I don’t have to sit through this.”

  No, she didn’t. I didn’t want to extend this conversation any longer than needed, either. “What did you mean we both wanted something from each other?”

  She cocked her head, the look on her face incredulous. “You really are clueless about yourself. As stubborn and as blind as your father ever was.”

  “Tell me what you really think.”

  She rolled her eyes at my sarcasm. “You used me as much as I used you, Jimmy. All you ever wanted was attention from your father, and if he wouldn’t give you affection, the next best thing was his anger. You wanted to marry me to get back at him. If you’d had the winery, I may have dealt with it. But why would I tie myself to a man with no prospects when it was clear I was a means to an end?”

  I slumped in my chair, the wind sucked clean out of my lungs. A means to an end. I’d thought as much when recalling her treatment of me, and I couldn’t even deny her accusation. The night of the rainstorm, when Rachel and I had almost split up, she’d asked if I’d proposed to Sophia to aggravate my father. I wasn’t willing to listen then, cutting our conversation short.

  I was all ears today.

  I replayed my glee when telling my father about Sophia. How his face had purpled. How he’d made the time to talk—yell—at me weekly, trying to convince me to break things off. I’d reveled in it.

  Marrying Sophia would have been the biggest mistake of my life, and if I’d still had the winery, that’s exactly what would have happened.

  Losing it had saved me from that fate. My father had saved me from it.

  I scrubbed my face, then shook my head. “I really fucked up.”

  Sophia didn’t ask if I was referring to her or Rachel or my father. I was guilty, in some part, of sabotaging each relationship. With Rachel, the blame was mine alone.

  “Anyway,” Sophia said, “is there anything else? I need to get going.”

  Nothing, unless you included the mountain of apologies I owed Rachel, and the uncomfortable conversation I’d be having with my parents. “That’s it. And I’m sorry for my part in things. For not being honest with myself or you. I hope you’re happy.” Any enmity I’d harbored vanished. We were two people with a tangled past, good memories and bad. Good choices and bad. Chances were, if we hadn’t gone through the wringer, I might never have met Rachel.

  Sophia held up her hand and wiggled her ring finger shamelessly. “Life is great.”

  I chuckled. At least she owned who she was.

  Next up were my parents.

  * * *

  Their apartment building was clean and bright, the lobby filled with Turkish carpets, beveled mirrors, and Renaissance paintings. I gave my name to the concierge, who waved me along. By the time I got to their door, my resolve faltered. Two years was a long time to break contact, the chip on my shoulder practically cemented in place. Still, I had to start somewhere, find a way to open a discussion. Considering the contest fiasco, probably best if I began there.

  My mother answered after the first knock. “Jimmy.” Her dark eyes watered, and guilt suffocated me. Exactly why I’d avoided her all this time. One look was all it took.

  But I was far from alone in what had gone down between us.

  I’d texted her yesterday, asking for a meeting, and she’d replied in seconds. Now neither of us spoke. She didn’t comment on my T-shirt or ratty jeans or ink, and I didn’t tell her she still looked beautiful. Her hands lifted, like she wanted to hug me, then she stepped back.

  I’d never have imagined my parents in a city apartment, but there was a wall of windows and high ceilings. Plants filled a space next to a desk. I’d figured they’d spend their retirement on the vineyard—my father’s dream. But my mother had grown up in the city and missed the action and people. Looked like he put someone else first, for once.

  My gaze shifted to the painting to my right. It hung alone, a light shining from above, highlighting rows of vines stretching into the distance. It wasn’t particularly good. Crude, really, the perspective slightly off, muddy colors in the foreground. I’d painted it in high school and now it hung in their hall.

  The urge to offer my mother that hug pulled at me. Instead I walked past her. Each thunk of my boots on their white floor echoed, the only other sound the swish and crinkle of a newspaper being read. My father. He’d lost more hair and looked thinner, his button-down creasing over protruding shoulders. Probably those hours at the gym.

  “George.” My mother passed me and sat in the chair beside his, helping fold his paper. “Ji
mmy’s here.”

  I didn’t imagine my visit was a surprise, but my father looked at me like I was a guest, someone interrupting his reading time. Already, I wanted to scream. Rail at him for never giving me attention. Never loving me like a father should love a son.

  Tamping down my anger, I sunk into the white couch opposite them, legs apart, arms crossed. We stared at one another.

  And I couldn’t take it. They didn’t get to sit here in their perfect apartment, with my painting on their wall, smothering me in silent guilt when they were as much to blame for our fallout as me. If one of us had to be the adult in this situation, looked like it was on me to buck up.

  “I joined a contest a couple months back, that sommelier thing the Adriano brothers organized. Rachel and I got to know each other through it, but the real reason I was there was to leak the Cabernet issue. To tell critics you’ve been mislabeling wines.”

  My mother didn’t flinch. She crossed her legs and smoothed her black pants, but she snuck a look at my father. His bushy eyebrows didn’t budge. His mustache didn’t twitch.

  “We know,” he said.

  Rachel. It must have been Rachel. To warn them? To sabotage me? But the truth rang clear this time. She would have told them for me. To save the winery, hoping I’d find my way back there. My ribs nearly suffocated my heart.

  “I didn’t do it,” I said. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t follow through. Mainly because of Rachel. I bowed out of the contest and have done a lot of thinking the past week. Realized I played a part in what happened with our family. I’m still furious with you both, not sure we can move past it, but I’m tired of running.”

  Neither of my parents spoke. My father sat like a king on his throne.

  My mother’s lips thinned by the second. Then she hissed, “George.”

  His eventual comment: “You are a coward.”

  I shot to my feet, one second from barreling out of there. “A coward mislabels wine to save his ass. A coward goes to hit his son because he lost land. A coward never apologizes for being an absentee parent.” I jammed my fisted hands into my front pockets.

  He sucked his teeth. “This is how it is? A son yelling at his father? It is disrespectful.”

  “This isn’t 1950, and maybe you deserve to be yelled at. Shaken, in fact. Anything to open your eyes and see me. I am my own man. A damn good one, at that. No thanks to you.”

  He matched me glare for glare. “Your mother did not teach you to talk like this.”

  My mother was clutching the arms of her chair, gaze flitting between us, forever letting her boys fight their own battles.

  My father was right, though. She’d taught me to sit straight and respect women and defer to my elders. My pappous. She’d handed me the building blocks of life and trusted I’d make something of myself. I’d done that, at least. Rachel wouldn’t have fallen in love with a disrespectful failure.

  “You’re right.” I extricated my hands to cross my arms. “I had a wonderful mother and grandfather, and a lot of what I am today is because of them. The stubborn side of me, the part that almost married the wrong woman to prove a point, is all you.”

  I was on my feet, towering over him, but his glower made me feel two feet tall. Like nothing had changed. Like he’d continue to dominate my life. Force me back into my rut, the place where I’d work a dead-end job and ride my bike to forget the world. The place where Rachel and I couldn’t be together, because she deserved more than a man just existing.

  Then my father did the unthinkable. He said, “I am sorry,” and I rocked on my heels.

  He pushed out the words, his stubbornness unabated, and it should have been enough. I’d waited two years for his apology, but it barely made a dent.

  “You are my son,” he went on. “I have always been hard on you. Pushed you. You are smarter than your brother, and I knew you could do more. But you were stubborn, too.”

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I replied, but my frustration dissipated. He’d never told me I was smart before. Never praised my intelligence or shown pride in my accomplishments.

  When I’d earned my Master Sommelier title, he’d nodded and said, “Good.” I’d spent a year building a pile of flash cards a mile high, living and breathing wine, licking wet stone and eating under-ripe melon to develop my palate. He’d given me one fucking word.

  Hearing a compliment now nearly knocked me over.

  Still, the air between us was far from clear. “You told me I was a mistake and cut me out of the winery, and all you can say is it was because I was smart? Because you needed to push me? You’ll have to do better than that, or I’m walking back out that door.” Which wasn’t how I wanted this meeting to end. I was tired. This constant strife was a drain.

  My energy waned until I sat on the couch, the cushion collapsing under my weight. We needed to resolve things, one way or another.

  He grumbled under his breath, and Alena Giannopoulos kept her vigil, leaving us men to duke it out. That simple act had me grinding my molars.

  Until my father coughed. The phlegmy sound lasted a good ten seconds. I frowned at my mother, who left and came back with water. That call a while back, she’d mentioned to Rachel he was unwell. He’d been attending the gym, that much I knew. But the rest? He could have cancer and I wouldn’t be any wiser.

  Suddenly, I wanted to know. Find out if he was ill and do something to help. He wasn’t getting any younger.

  Once he recovered, he faced me. “What I said was wrong. You are my pride. My heart. What I did, I did because I love you. That Sophia girl was trouble. If it meant stopping that wedding, I would do the same again.”

  Still bullheaded as always, but the anger I’d nursed for years bled out. With Sophia today, the why of his actions had become clearer, but hearing him say it hit home. As did hearing the word love. Not a term my father used loosely. He loved me enough to hurt me. Fucked up, maybe, but I was worried I’d end up like him, cold and unfeeling. In truth, he felt a lot more than he let on. He wouldn’t win Father of the Year, but I was emotionally exhausted. If forgiving him meant coming up for air and finding my way back to Rachel, I’d take his olive branch.

  “I’m sorry, too—for my part. Dating Sophia was me lashing out at you, which wasn’t okay. If I’d married her, it would have been for the wrong reasons and I would have regretted it. I actually saw her today.”

  Another flash of anger clouded his face. “You should not see her. Rachel is the sort of woman a man marries, not that Sophia girl.”

  I was the last person he needed to convince. Unfortunately, I let that ship sail and broke my compass. “You don’t have to worry about me reconnecting with Sophia. I just needed to sort some things out. And yes, Rachel is amazing. I love her and plan on fighting for her, but it’ll take a miracle to get her back.”

  He grunted his approval, quite the honor from him.

  My mother’s eyes shone. “She’s wonderful, Jimmy. Such a sweet woman. I have to believe she’ll forgive you, in time. I owe you an apology as well. I should have jumped in when things got heated, at least forced this conversation earlier. It was poor judgment on my part, but your father and I have talked a lot, and we’d love nothing more than for you to come back to the winery. Dimitri wants that, too. He actually wanted to be here today, but we asked him to allow us this time. Is that something you want? To rejoin the family business?”

  In some ways it was too little too late, but I’d opened up to Rachel, talking about the land and the grapes, unaware how much I’d missed it. Not just any vineyard. My vineyard. The one where my grandfather had taught me to test the fruit and smell the air. The one where I’d sipped my first Cabernet Sauvignon.

  Yes, I wanted to work that land, but only under one condition. “Not with the current winemaker. Not by breaking the rules. If I came back, things would have to change.”

  My mother smiled, rueful. “Dimitri forced the issue a year ago. We kept Alex on staff, but your brother insisted we fix his r
ecipe. Dimitri has met a lovely woman, Natalia, and they’re getting married next summer, at the winery. She’s been wonderful for him.”

  I planted my elbows on my knees and shook my head, unsure when my little brother had become a man. He’d stopped cutting corners, had fallen in love, and I’d missed it all. I’d also almost destroyed our business when they’d already righted their wrongs. More apologies to give. More fences to mend.

  I was ready for it. “Then it looks like we’ll have a lot to discuss. I have other plans, too—events I want to host in Napa, including being part of the Healing Hearts luncheon. Rachel’s mother is a volunteer and I’ve been helping her. I’ll come to the valley in a few weeks and talk to Dimitri. We’ll go from there.”

  My mother pressed her lips together, tears welling, and I couldn’t keep my distance. I pushed to my feet and pulled her into a hug, letting her cry against my chest. My own emotions burned behind my eyes. She still smelled like lilac, the soft scent returning me to days helping her in the garden and cleaning up after a meal. I missed her. It was as simple as that. We still had talking to do, but holding a grudge hadn’t exactly worked in my favor.

  “Is Dad okay?” I whispered in her ear. He wouldn’t like me asking after his health. Headstrong until his last breath.

  She patted my back. “Fine. High blood pressure, but the exercise is helping.”

  I released her, and she wiped the corners of her eyes. My father stood, and we shared a handshake. He’d never been a hugger.

  As I headed for the door, he called my name. I turned to catch another scowl. “No more tattoos, yes?”

  “I was planning on getting one on my face,” I replied, leaving before he could throw a fit.

  Probably not the best joke for his blood pressure.

  I should have felt a thousand pounds lighter, but I was still heavy with thoughts of Rachel. Winning back the love of my life wouldn’t be easy. I’d treated her like shit. Insulted her. If I were Gwen or Ainsley, I’d warn her to keep her distance. Tell her dating me would only end in heartache.