Mr. Red

by Tessa Layne

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alison

  I accept Nico’s hand as I make my way down the steps from the private jet to the tarmac. We’ve spent the morning flying cross-country to Kansas City. Well, actually the pilots did that. Nico and I were tangled up in the king-sized bedroom at the back of the plane. I never imagined myself becoming a member of the mile-high club once, let alone four times.

  I’m relaxed enough, I’m tempted to invite Nico to our Not-Thanksgiving dinner. But only tempted, because I’m pretty sure all hell would break loose if I brought Nico home to meet my family. The problem is, every excuse I’ve manufactured has fallen on deaf ears.

  “So you’re taking me home to meet your parents, right?” He says, kissing the back of my hand that’s entwined in his. “I want to see where you grew up.”

  “Believe me, I’m saving you from a third-degree grilling that may involve instruments of torture.”

  He stops and pulls me close, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear. “If that’s what I have to go through to get your family’s approval, then so be it.”

  I’m pretty sure butterflies vacated my stomach somewhere over Utah. They’ve been replaced by pinballs. I can hardly stand it. “Okay, so what if we run by and I introduce you, and then we get settled in the hotel, and I’ll go back for dinner with my sister?” He’s not going to let up, I can see the determined look in his eye.

  He cups my face, staring right into my soul. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Everything,” I blurt.

  “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. We can stop and I’ll bring flowers along with the wine.”

  He’s referring to the bottles of Madame M Chardonnay and Redwood Reserve, the surprise barrels we bottled. I wish more than anything I could say I was responsible for making them, but the only credit I get is sharing them with the world. But my parents will be proud nonetheless. And next year, I’ll be able to present them with a bottle of wine that’s entirely mine.

  “I… it’s just the last man I brought home was my ex-husband.” Lame excuse, and not at all why I’m terrified, but it’s the truth. At least part of it.

  He gives me a sympathetic nod. “So… you don’t want to jinx us?”

  “I, no, what?” I narrow my eyes. “What are you saying, Nico?” Kangaroos replace the pinballs in my stomach.

  “Well, we are here for a wedding,” he starts.

  “Your brother’s. And Austin’s going to be a father in the spring.”

  “And your point is?”

  He smirks.

  “Are you fucking with me?” I gently punch him in the shoulder. “You’re fucking with me, and I’m gonna kick your ass.”

  “Not before I spank yours,” he teases, and a jolt of heat goes straight to my pussy. I like it when he spanks me.

  “Seriously,” he drops a kiss on my head. “I want to meet your family and assure them of my good intentions.”

  “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.” I snark, mind racing at how I’m going to spin this with my family.

  It’s only a fifteen-minute drive from the downtown airport to the Brookside neighborhood where I spent the remainder of my high school years. My heart beats faster at every stoplight. By the time we roll to a stop in front of the house, I’m pretty sure I’m going to go into cardiac arrest. Or have a stroke. My heart is beating so fast, my teeth start to chatter.

  Nico reaches across the console and grabs my hand. “Hey. Are you okay?”

  I nod quickly. “Just nervous.”

  He hops out of the car, grabs the gift bag from the back seat, and walks around front, fingers dragging across the hood, and opens my door, extending me a hand to help me out. Always the gentleman, and a good thing too, because I can see my Hami peeking through the curtains. She’s the least of my worries. I clutch my purse so hard my knuckles turn white.

  He places his hand on the small of my back and stays by my side as we head up the walk to the porch. My sister is out the door before we hit the top step, catching me up in a hug so tight, it brings tears to my eyes. She steps back, eyes shining. “Look at you.” There’s so much emotion in her voice, so much love and pride, it hurts.

  I clear my throat. “Ah, Kimmie. This is Nico. Nico, meet my sister Kimmie.”

  She extends her hand, demeanor twenty-degrees cooler. “A pleasure, I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Nico side eyes me. I shrug. “Sister talk,” I murmur.

  My parents huddle in the doorway, waiting to cover me with hugs, and which they do as soon as Kimmie lets me go. I steal a glance at Nico, who seems calm, waiting patiently for the greetings to finish. “Mom, Dad… this is Nicholas Case.” I stumble over his name, because even though I’m sure Kimmie has mentioned something, this is the first time they’re coming face to face with the person who once caused me so much pain.”

  There’s an awful, awkward moment, when both my parents look shocked, then angry, and then it’s gone. Their smiles are in place, and they’re offering their hands in welcome. “Come, in. Welcome to our home,” my father says in his stilted accent. Even after living here more than thirty-five years, he still speaks with a foreign lilt.

  My mother would die of mortification before she was inhospitable. “Nicholas, it’s such a pleasure to meet one of Ali’s…” she shoots me a questioning glance. “Friends.” I nod, not wanting to explain all the details to them just yet.

  I slip off my shoes, placing them on the rug.

  Nico follows suit without blinking an eye, smile at the ready. “Please, call me Nico. And here, these are for you.” He offers her the bag. “We wanted to bring you something from the vineyard.”

  “They’re not mine,” I’m quick to point out. “But it will give you an idea of what I’ll be making.”

  She gives my cheek a pat. “Oh sweetie pie. We’re so proud of you. You know that. Well, quit standing and letting the cold air in. Come inside. Hami’s waiting to greet you.”

  “Hami,” I grin, then give her the greeting I was trained to give her from the time I could talk. “Annyeong halmeoni,” I say with a bow.

  She nods with a smile. My dad rattles something off to her in Korean, and her eyes flick to Nico.

  Nico bows too, repeating my words with a much better accent. “Annyeong halmeoni.”

  It shouldn’t surprise me he knows Korean pleasantries. He’s probably entertained clients from all over the world, and knows how to say hello in twenty-three languages. But it does. And it warms my heart to see Hami light up. At least one person besides me is sold on him. Then I spy a picture of me and Kimmie from my thirteenth birthday party standing in a corner of the bookshelf. “Kimmie, can you show Nico where the kitchen is?” I flick my eyes at the picture.

  She flicks her eyes back at me, giving me one of those sisterly what the fuck do you think you’re doing looks.

  I beg with my eyes. In the meantime, Nico’s looking back and forth between us with an amused smile. “Mrs. Walker, I’d love to see your home.”

  The air goes out of the room as my parents exchange awkward glances. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. I give Nico an apologetic smile. “Ahh, it’s Park. I, ahh… never bothered to change my name back after my divorce.” I think I might puke. Nico’s been in the house less than five minutes, and without even trying, he’s stepped in the pile of shit that is my former life.

  My mother comes to the rescue. “No worries, hon. Ali’s always done things a little differently.”

  Understatement of the year. Nico’s looking at me, but I can’t read him. He’s schooled his features, and I wonder if I’m going to miss out on my spanking later. Then he flashes me a wicked smile. “She does, doesn’t she?”

  Oh hell yes, we are so going to the kinky place tonight.

  My mother ushers him into the kitchen, and as soon as he’s out of sight, I hurry to the photo and drop it into my purse.

  “What are you doing?” Kimmie hisses. “Are you insane? You can’t erase yourself from this house.”
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  “Oh hell, yes I can, and you’re going to help me.”

  She crosses her arms. “Oh no, I’m not. If you’re serious enough, which God help me, I don’t understand, to bring him to the house, you need to come clean.”

  “Now is not the time to pull out the big sister routine,” I say tersely, as I scan the bookshelves for other evidence of my old life.

  She follows me to the second bookshelf, where I pull off a picture of the two of us when I was four and Kimmie was ten, standing in our swimsuits on the front lawn of our apartment in Palo Alto, playing with the garden hose. That one can stay. I return the photo to its spot. It’s the teenage and college ones that have to go. I scan the room, double checking the corners for frames, and I spy the family photo album on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.

  I make a beeline for it and Kimmie follows. “No one is going to get out the family photo album.”

  “You don’t know mom.” I turn and look at her, panic making my fingers tingle. “Please, Kimmie? Just this once. I swear I’ll tell him. I just need more… time. It’s been so crazy, and now with Declan getting married tomorrow. Please?”

  Her eyes fill with pity. I hate it. I hate that my sister feels sorry for me, but on this point, she doesn’t understand. She’s been beautiful and perfect her whole life. She has nothing to be ashamed of. She shuts her eyes with a grimace. “Give me the album. I’ll stash it in my suitcase.”

  “Check the hall photos?” I call behind her.

  She’ll do it. She’s always been on my side. And today, especially, I’m so grateful.

  My mom and Nico return a moment later. “I can’t wait for Not-Thanksgiving,” Nico says, eyes twinkling. “Is it time to eat yet?”

  “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,” I whisper as we head into the dining room.

  Not-Thanksgiving is not for the faint of heart, or for those with a delicate constitution. It’s what happens when you grow up in a Polish Korean house. Not-Thanksgiving consists of pierogies, kapusto, kimchi, and jap chae, to name a few. But by the time we all toss our napkins on the table two hours later, the mood is decidedly less strained. Until Nico speaks up. “This has been great tonight.” He reaches for my hand. “I’ve loved seeing where Ali grew up.”

  The silence immediately becomes awkward, and my dad, always a stickler for precision says “Oh, she didn’t grow up here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Both the girls were born when I was at Stanford.”

  “No kidding?” Nico’s voice turns excited. “Class of ‘12. We’ll have to trade stories.” Nico turns to me. “You’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you were a California girl.”

  Oh, I am going to hell for my lies. I know it. Or some kind of dragon universe where there’s lots of fire. “We moved here when I was…” I search for something mostly truthful, because I cannot lie in front of my dad. “Younger. And then I attended Cornell for college, but you already knew that,” I say, pushing the conversation ahead. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nico

  We get a late start from Kansas City… for obvious reasons, but the last several weeks have been brutal between bringing myself up to speed as Case Family Wineries new CEO, bringing in two harvests, and planning the opening release party for Fieldstone Winery.

  The lines of exhaustion around Ali’s eyes are more pronounced, and I insisted we make a slow morning of it. Ali covers a yawn as we speed down the highway toward Prairie, Kansas where Dec and Emmaline are getting married later today. “I could get used to room service,” she says with a smile.

  “You hardly touched your eggs,” I remind her. “I think half the reason you’re so tired is that you don’t eat enough.” This has been an ongoing argument for us, and so far, one I can’t win.

  “I had some,” she says with a defensive note in her voice. “And fruit. And I promise you, I’ll eat when I’m hungry again. Besides, it’s not like I’m starving.” She scowls into her lap.

  “Alison.” I reach for her thigh, stroking up. “I think you’re perfect the way you are.”

  The smile on her face says she doesn’t believe it. “I think you’re crazy.”

  “Yes. I am. For you, angel.”

  She laughs and shakes her head, then gives me a look filled with such hope and simultaneous doubt that my heart squeezes tight.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” I say, voice rough. “I mean it, Alison. I love you.”

  “I know. And I love you, too.”

  “But?” I feel like there’s a caveat in her statement. I’ve felt it for weeks- ever since I agreed to take over as CEO, but I haven’t been able to tease it out, yet.

  “No buts. Just, I love you too.” She smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes.

  “So, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve come up for another name for the Cabernet. We haven’t even barreled it yet.”

  I chuckle. It turns out neither of us is good at naming wine. Ali’s sister Kimmie, came up with the name Redwood Reserve for the estate wine we just released. “No, nothing that ambitious.” I take a breath. “I think you should move down to Napa with me.” I’ve been thinking about this ever since I relocated down the mountain for the sake of the business. I hate sleeping apart from her, I miss our daily connection. She doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “I’ve been staying at my old apartment on the estate, but there’s no reason why we couldn’t get a house that was a quick drive away.”

  “For you.”

  “Pardon?”

  “A quick drive away for you. What about for me? I don’t want to commute.”

  “But it’s not that far.”

  “I’m happy where I am, Nico. I love being up at the winery. I love my morning jogs, I love the solitude and the peace up there.”

  “But you’re living in a foreman’s trailer.”

  “So? You never complained about it when you stayed there.”

  “Because it was temporary.”

  “It is for me, too.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  She shifts in her seat, turning her body my direction. “I have a plan to buy out Declan. Part of my contract with him was right of first refusal should he ever sell.”

  “But he won’t, now that it’s part of the family conglomerate.”

  “What?” Her eyes go wide and she shakes her head. “You’re wrong. That property is solely in Declan’s name, not your family’s business. If he’s selling it to you, he’s selling it to me first.” She glares, quivering with outrage.

  “I don’t see why you’re upset. You’d still be the winemaker.”

  “Because I want my own place,” she shouts, voice amplified in the small space of the rental car. “Don’t you see? I don’t want my success because I’m riding your coattails. I want it on my own merits.”

  I’m thoroughly confused. “But the wine is still your own. Think of the family business as a safety net in leaner years.”

  She crosses her arms, mouth thinned to a narrow line. “No.”

  “You’re just being stubborn.” I flex my hands on the steering wheel, trying to keep my growing frustration in check. This is the first time we’ve spent significant alone-time together in weeks, and I don’t want to argue. I want to reacquaint myself with every dip and crevice on her body, going on walks, sharing ideas.

  “I’m being stubborn,” she repeats, incredulous. Her voice rises again. “I’m being stubborn? You’re the one who left the day you agreed to be CEO without a backward glance. You’re the one who could work anywhere, and you won’t work on the mountain.”

  “Because the offices are in Napa. And the trailer is too small for both of us to work there.”

  She glares at me. “Then figure it out, Mr. Genius CEO.”

  “I’m trying to, angel, in case you didn’t notice,” I grit out, tempted to pull over and kiss some sense into her. “Let me spell it out for you. I love you. I miss you. I don’t like
being apart from you. I want to figure out a solution. Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” comes her quiet reply.

  I pinch my forehead, wishing that was all it took to get rid of the disappointment that’s filled my chest. “Can we table this until we get home? I want to enjoy this weekend with you.”

  “Sure,” she says with a nod.

  I lean against the doorjamb watching Alison roll on a pair of lace-topped thigh highs. “You’re going to leave those on when you finally wrap those pink boots around my neck, right?” Two pink streaks flame to life on her cheeks. I love making her blush, tossing dirty compliments her direction until she giggles and begs me to stop.

  “You might want to do it now, before I struggle into my foundational undergarment.” She says primly, covering her thighs with the barely-there pink satin robe she loves to wear.

  “Foundational undergarment,” I scoff. “Who in the fuck named that?”

  She lifts a finely arched brow. “Our grandmothers used to call them girdles.”

  “Why wear it at all?” I’m purely selfish, of course. I want easy access to the parts of her I love most. “I love your curves.”

  “Not when they’re lumpy.”

  “You’re not lumpy in your robe,” I point out, coming to where she’s perched on the bed, so I can draw a finger down the vee of her neckline. She slaps my hand away with a giggle.

  “Well, maybe next time. I want to look nice for the wedding.”

  I drop to my knees and insert myself between her legs, cheek caressing her inner thigh. I turn my head to kiss and lick the soft skin above the tops of her stockings until she sighs and lets her legs fall open further. “We have to go soon,” she cautions.

  Right now, I don’t care if we’re late, or if we miss Dec’s wedding entirely. “Two minutes,” I rumble against the outside of her smooth pussy. I’ve timed it, I can get her off in two minutes.

  “You’re already dressed.”

  “This is about you.”

  “Nico,” she begs with a needy moan.