First Date - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 01]

by Karen Kendall

  The interior of the place was kept cool by thick limestone walls and warmed visually by oak flooring. Bottles of wine lined two walls and stood artfully displayed with various other Texas Hill Country products: peach jam, raspberry vinegar, a selection of crackers and dipping sauces.

  To the rear Roman had constructed a charming little outdoor area. Wrought iron cafe tables and chairs dotted an open porch filled with hanging baskets and urns of flowers. Customers could sip wine and gaze out over hundreds of rows of neatly planted, carefully cultivated vines.

  The door clicked genteelly closed behind them, and Alex called out, "Hey, Rome! Got a surprise for you."

  His friend strolled leisurely from his office, a cell phone clamped to his ear, and nodded coolly at them, holding up a finger. " Si, si. Ma quale? Quante bottiglie? E quando? Non, saranno pronte prima di Settembre. Si. Le vuole encora ? Okay. Grazie. A piu tardi ."

  Oh, excellent. Roman had changed from the jeans of this morning and was tricked out in actual linen pants, an Italian silk tie knotted at his throat over an Egyptian cotton shirt with a thread count of something like five thousand. Alex's guess was that Julia'd called him to warn him, so he'd armed himself.

  Sydney blinked and tried to unstick the fabric of her skirt from her thighs. Her gaze went from Roman to her shoes and back; she looked as if she might burst into tears. Alex almost felt sorry for her.

  Roman's ice blue gaze traveled over her as he snapped the cell phone closed and slipped it into his pocket. His left eyebrow rose maybe half a millimeter. Then he adopted a polite smile and held out his hand. "You must be Julia's sister. How nice to meet you."

  Sydney nodded and actually wiped her palm on her skirt before extending her hand.

  Tsk, tsk. You shouldn't let him see you sweat, darlin' . Though Alex figured it was a little too late for that, since she was a walking puddle.

  He slapped Rome on the back and tugged on his tie, pretending to choke him. Then, despite his stirrings of sympathy for the girl, he gave in to a wicked impulse and turned to the Difficult Sister with a one-hundred-watt shit-earing grin. "Yeah, Jersey. This is Roman the jackass in the tool belt."

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Sydney froze and closed her eyes. I can't believe the rat bastard just said that .

  Was there any recovery from here? Any road back to civility? She opened her eyes, shot Alex a look of loathing that appeared to delight him, and lifted her chin, though she wished a few of the oak floorboards would magically slide open so she could drop out of sight. "I I uh." Oh, very articulate, Syd. Impressive . Her face flamed.

  Roman's raised brows and stunned silence disintegrated at last into a polite laugh. And, unbelievably, he let her off the hook. "Alex has called me worse than that. We've been friends for many years." He directed a glance at his friend, who merely grinned.

  Roman slid three wineglasses off a wooden rack to the rear of the bar. "I think maybe we could use a drink, no?"

  Drink? How about a bottle ? She cleared her throat and clamped her arms to her sides, praying she didn't have visible sweat circles. "That would be great, thanks."

  "So what brings you to Fredericksburg, Sydney?"

  There were any number of bland answers to this question, but she decided not to prevaricate. "Julia's big news, of course."

  "So you flew down to congratulate us."

  "She flew down to make sure you're not a serial killer," Alex said helpfully.

  Syd eyed the corkscrew lying on the bar and indulged in a murderous thought or two herself. But at least Alex's dark humor saved her from having to either offend Roman or lie.

  "Ah, of course." Roman nodded. "And you've reassured her that I'm only a drunk and a womanizer?"

  Alex looked regretful. "Well, Rome, I admit that I did. I know it's a touchy subject, but she's got the right to know."

  "Thanks a lot, A." Roman assumed an expression of mock concern and hissed at his friend in a stage whisper, "But you didn't tell her that I fathered your secret love child, did you? I mean, that could screw up everything ."

  Sydney folded her arms. "You two are a regular comedy show."

  "We got into a lot of trouble back in school," Roman agreed. Seeing that she wasn't all that enter-tained, he switched the subject. "So you're what, a year older than Julia?"

  "Two." She waited for him to make the inevitable comment.

  "You don't look anything alike."

  There it was. Syd bit her lip. "No, we don't." I'm the homely, redheaded stepchild . "Julia looks more like our mother's side of the family." I got the dog's features .

  Roman gestured to a couple of ladder-back bar-stools. "Have a seat. Do you prefer your wine red or white? Sweet or dry?"

  She took a step toward the bar, even though she didn't feel much like staying. Squiffle, schlursh . God, her shoes! "Urn, white," she said. "Dry. And preferably cold, thanks."

  Roman looked at her footwear. "Alex, what did you do, drag her through a creek?"

  "She had a close encounter with an emu pile out at Uncle Ted's," said the Rat, ever helpful. "Then we had to break out the hose."

  "So that's what the smell is. And here I thought it was just Kimball's rotten character." Roman smiled at Sydney as he selected a bottle of pinot grigio and went about uncorking it.

  It was her turn to smirkbut not for long.

  "Hey now," said Alex, leaning on the bar. "It's your character that Miz Spinelli, here, is interested in.

  I personally don't believe she flew down here just to say congratulations. Did you, Jersey Girl?"

  Sydney accepted a glass of wine from Roman and debated whether to down it in one gulp or throw it on her tormentor. She turned to him, visibly restraining her temper. "You know, this is between me and Sonntag. I can do without your interference."

  "Actually," Roman said in mild tones, "it's pretty much between me and Julia."

  Sydney downed half her wine, pretending she hadn't heard the polite rebuke. Roman had drawn a line in the sand. Well, too badshe was about to step over it.

  "You like the wine?" Roman asked, reverting back to host. "Light, hints of peach and walnut, yet crisp at the finish."

  "Yes, it's very nice. Thank you."

  "My apologies," Alex said in wry tones, "for, er, interfering with your interference, Sydney." He toasted her with the glass of red his friend had passed to him.

  Syd could feel her ears heating, which they did in response to alcohol. They'd be bright pink within two more sips. Her mother's did the same thing. Unfortunately her chest and neck flushed when she got angry, and she could feel that happening, too, so she was seconds away from being fuchsia. She'd clash with her own hair.

  She set her glass down with a snap. "I'm not here to interfere," she said. "I'm here to ensure my sister doesn't make a huge mistake."

  Roman's blue eyes met hers evenly. "And you think I'm the huge mistake."

  "Did I say that?" Sydney shook her head. "I did not. I'm not sure if you're a mistake."

  "He was," Alex put in. "Just ask his parents."

  Roman shot him a rude gesture, and Sydney ignored him. "You may be the greatest guy in the world," she continued. "But Julia doesn't know you very well, and marriage isn't something to be undertaken lightly."

  "I agree with you," Roman said.

  "At least his intentions are honorable." Alex nodded toward him. "Mine never are."

  Sydney rolled her eyes at him and turned back to Roman. "How can you be certain, within a month, that you want to marry my sister?"

  "I was certain within a day," said Roman.

  "How? Because she's gorgeous? Because you saw her in a bikini?"

  "He's not as shallow as he looks," Alex informed her.

  "I don't know how I know," said Roman. "But I do. And it's not due to infatuation with her looks. I've seen lots of beautiful women in bikinis, but I haven't asked them to marry me."

  Sydney blew out a breath. "Let me be blunt."

  "Like we could stop you?" ask
ed Alex, and Roman's lips twitched despite his polite demeanor.

  "Julia needs to stand on her own two feet for a while. She doesn't need to be swept off of them. She needs to know she can make her own way in the world. She thinks some big wedding will solve all her problems, but it will only compound them."

  Roman swirled the wine in his glass. "Why can't Julia be married and stand on her own two feet? I wasn't planning on binding them, Sydney. I won't chain her to the wall, either." He cast a sidelong look at Alex. "That's more something my buddy Alex would do."

  "Nope," Alex said decisively. "I only chain my women to the bed."

  Sydney felt her blush get hotter.

  "And only when they're very bador mouthy."

  It was a deliberate reference to her, and she knew it. But Sydney turned back to Roman. "Look, I'm not trying to be some kind of ballbuster. I just really worry about Julia." She stopped, not wanting to say too much. How could she explain the impact that Marv had had on his younger daughter's self-esteem?

  I worry that my sister's whole identity is caught up in getting married, and you're just a bridal accessory . Nope, she couldn't say that.

  Or I'm afraid that her whole identity is caught up in getting married, and you're going to disappoint or hurt

  her as soon as the birdseed hits the ground . She couldn't say that, either. There was blunt, and then there was just plain rude.

  Sydney evaluated Roman surreptitiously. Of course she didn't think he was a serial killer. But he could easily be a crook, a womanizer or a drunkardand what better occupation for a drunk than running a winery?

  But worse yet, he could just be a golf-playing, cigar-smoking, country-club asshole who wanted Julia as his trophy wife.

  And Julia was all too ready to be a trophy: beautiful, golden and a status symbol. Marv had trained his daughters well: Julia, because of her looks, as a clotheshorse and Sydney, because of her lack of them, as a workhorse. And try as they might, they still hadn't quite escaped the Spinelli stable.

  Roman held his glass to his lips and looked at Sydney over the rim as he drank. "I think it's nice that you worry about your sister. But you don't need to. Julia is bright, energetic and talented. She can take care of herselfand if that's ever in doubt, then I'll take care of her."

  ]ulia is bright, energetic and talented. But she doesn't realize it. And the worst thing that can happen is for her to never discover it. For her to just be taken care of so that she's beautiful and useless and unhappy .

  Sydney watched Roman swallow another mouthful of wine. You're too good-looking, like your obnoxious

  friend Alex. You wear expensive clothes. You're into wine. If there's a country club in Fredericksburg, I'm sure you're a charter member. I don't trust you.

  "You don't trust me, do you, Sydney?" he said.

  She looked down, into her glass.

  "That's all right. It's understandable."

  "Rome's a good guy," said Alex. "A great friend. After all, here he is getting you drunk so I can take advantage of you." He waggled his eyebrows at her and leered.

  "Like hell," Sydney said, but this time she laughed at him. As if a guy who looked like Alex would want me . "Are you ever serious?"

  Alex's mouth twisted at the question, and he stared out to the vineyard, no flip answer at the ready.

  "Kimball's been a little too serious these days, believe it or not." Roman turned to rinse his glass in the stainless steel sink behind the sales counter, leaving Sydney to wonder what he meant.

  Alex's gaze was far away and he, too, finished his wine. But soon he reverted back to form. "Y'all are doing this all backwards, you know. You've tackled the heavy stuff. Now you need to have some polite conversation, avoiding sex, politics and religion, of course. Sydney, you should ask Rome about the vineyard. Rome, you should ask Sydney what she does for a living. Ask whether she's got a pet or a favorite houseplant or a big charitable cause."

  While Sydney choked on the last of her pinot grigio, Roman said dryly, "Thank you for the coaching, A. Why don't you focus on rounding me up some investors for the Beaujolais nouveau, and leave the small talk to me?"

  Investors? Did Roman need money? Why?

  Alex shot him a mournful glance. "Ah, the humanity. You only keep me around for the money."

  "Damn straight, I do."

  "Are you a banker?" Sydney asked, curious.

  "I'm what they call a venture capitalist," Alex told her. "I match up developing businesses with various sources of funding."

  She nodded.

  "Rome, here, wants to plant a bunch more grapes of a different variety. And he won't even let me stomp 'em the old-fashioned way. A guy can't have any fun these days. It's a shame."

  Roman pointed to a corner that held a dusty wooden device with a metal crank. "That's an old-fashioned press for crushing grapes. Before those were developed the grapes were literally stomped with bare human feet."

  "The rest of the human was bare, too," Alex noted.

  Roman rolled his eyes, but admitted this was true. "Believe it or not, it was for hygienic reasons. People didn't change clothes every day like they do now. So the fear was that the dirty fabric might contaminate the harvest and spread disease."

  "Listen to this. This is beautiful small talk," said

  Alex. "Rome, take her out back and show her the machinery. The big stuff. And if she still doesn't like you in a few days, you can threaten to put her through that five-ton bladder press."

  "Good plan."

  Sydney found herself following the two men outside, behind the retail space. The heat hit her immediately, and within thirty seconds dampened the blouse that had begun to dry inside, in the blessed air-conditioning. A huge stainless steel object shimmered menacingly under the sun. "Roman, I never said I didn't like you"

  "What'd I tell ya?" Alex clapped him on the shoulder. "She's already whistling a different tune. We're classier in Texas than those Soprano people, though. They show you a meat grinder. We show you a winepress. They freeze a body and dump it in the East River. We take it and make a nice cabernet sauvignon. Wild West? I think not."

  Roman demonstrated another piece of equipment that looked as if it contained a giant corkscrew. This, he explained, was a de-stemmer and crusher. And the final monster machine was a filter. The grape juice was filtered five times throughout the process of making wine. He showed Sydney the big steel storage tanks in which the stuff fermented, too. They weren't the wooden casks of the past. Like every other industry, the wine business had been modernized.

  Sydney left Sonntag Vineyards with a new appreciation for Roman's knowledge and charm, but also the realization that every aspect of winemaking was expensive. The guy had never asked another woman to marry him, and yet he'd proposed to Julia within a month. Roman had mentioned that he was looking for investment capital for his new grape. He'd demonstrated an obvious passion for the business. But in spite of his appreciative words about Julia and his promise to take care of her, he'd never once told Sydney that he loved her.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  What she needed was a shower and a good think and then a planin that order. What she got, after another Suburban steam bath before the AC kicked in, was a ride back into town with Alex Kimball.

  Alex drove in silence, looking serene and stubbly and unfairly un-sweaty. She supposed that if you lived down here in the Wild West long enough, your glands got baked.

  He broke the silence after a few minutes. "So, I told you Roman was a catch. He's a nice guy."

  Sydney unstuck one miserable thigh from another and shot him a level look. "Yes, he was very nice. Professionally nice."

  "Jersey, you're a tough one, aren't you? Considering that he'd probably just gotten a tearful phone call from your sister describing your harassment, I'd say he deserves a gold medal for hospitality."

  "Harassment? Excuse me? And if he thinks I'm bad, just wait 'til he meets my father," she exclaimed.

  "Your father being the Marv in the
Motor Inns?"

  "You got it."

  Alex looked as if he were debating whether or not to say something.

  "What?"

  " I think I remember hearing about him. In fact" Alex snapped his fingers. "Didn't he originally try to buy Sonntag House, next door to the existing Inn? And then they backed out of the deal?"

  Sydney got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I don't know." If true, Marv would be even less delighted about the impending nuptials.

  "Yeah. They got wind of his, um, renovation plans and decided to hang on to the property."

  "Meaning the mustard and brown, the neon sign, and the whole count-sheep-for-cheap thing?"

  Alex shrugged.

  "Don't worrywe're very much aware of my father's hellacious 1970s taste."

  Alex laughed. "Yeah. Well, this must have been fifteen years ago, so Rome and I had other things mostly beeron our minds, but I do remember a stink. And Rome's dad was furious when your dad bought the place next door on Orange just for spite and doubled the size of the neon sign. It impacted the view and the charm just a little."

  The sinking feeling in her stomach was now turning to active nausea. Was Julia aware of this?

  "So what you're trying to tell me is that we're not actually in Fredericksburgwe're in Verona?"

  Alex lifted an eyebrow. "Could be. Here we are, Miz Capulet." He made a hard left into the Marv's Motor Inn parking lot, with interesting results, since Syd wasn't hanging on to the door handle.

  She flew helter-skelter along the drunken, tipped seat and landed in Alex's lap.

  He instinctively blocked her head from slamming into the driver's side window; the result was that his left hand spanned her face just like Chucky Malone's had, that day he'd thrown her into the lockers.

  She could get over that. But Alex's right hand gripped her buttock. Heat flashed through her, especially when he showed no sign of letting go.