Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Daisy
Michael and his wife, Gabriella, are an attractive older couple. Elegant. Impeccably dressed. In their late sixties, if I had to guess.
Her dark hair is swept back with a silk scarf worn as a headband and her dress is black linen, a stack of gold bracelets on her wrist.
Michael is a silver fox in a light suit, no tie, and loafers without socks.
They look as if they’ve just stepped off a yacht in the Riviera.
“We’re just delighted to have you,” Gabriella says with a warm smile.
“Thank you for having us,” Beckett says smoothly, putting his hand on my lower back and ushering me to a table on the limestone terrace overlooking a sculpture garden and the vineyards.
When Beckett pulls out my chair for me, I can’t help but be impressed by the lengths he’ll go to get what he wants.
Who is this man posing as a gentleman with his suave manners and debonair good looks?
“You two make a beautiful couple,” Gabriella says, appraising us.
“Oh, we’re?—"
“Thank you,” Beckett says with a smile as his hand lands on my thigh and he gives it a little squeeze. “I’m a lucky man.”
After I get over my momentary shock, I give him a big smile and play along. “I make sure to remind him every day.”
“That she does,” Beckett says cheerfully.
I give him a sidelong glance. Who are you?
“That’s all a man really needs,” Michael says. “The love of a good woman and some good wine.”
“Can’t ask for much more than that,” Beckett agrees.
Over lunch, the conversation revolves around Michael’s two favorite topics—love and wine.
“So it was love at first sight?” I ask Gabriella.
She laughs. “Oh no. I couldn’t stand Michael. In fact, I told my sister that I pity the poor fool who ends up with him.”
Michael chuckles. “She really hated me. Used to give me those dagger eyes any time I looked her way. But it never stopped me from looking. Eventually I wore her down with my charms.”
Gabriella shakes her head. “That’s what he likes to think.”
“So how did you end up together?” I ask, intrigued. “What changed your mind about him?”
“My father,” she says with a laugh. “He was trying to get me married off and decided that Michael Castellano would be the perfect match for his daughter.”
“No, no, no,” Michael says. “I went to your father and told him I would give him two acres of land for just one date with you. He snapped that right up.”
“That’s what I was worth,” Gabriella says to me. “Two acres of land.”
“And now you have hundreds of acres,” Michael says, sweeping his arm across the view.
Gabriella smiles. “I do. And after forty years of marriage, I’ve concluded that my father was right.” She pats Michael’s hand, and they exchange a look that tells me they still love each other after all these years. “He knew you would make me happy.”
“You see that?” Michael tells Beckett. “All you have to do to get the girl is knock yourself out and bend over backward until she says yes.”
Beckett looks over at me. “Maybe I’ll have to try that.”
I arch a brow. “Maybe you should. I think I need to raise my standards. I’ve made everything far too easy for you.”
He tilts his head and gives me a smile. “I don’t think anything about you is easy, Daisy.”
I give him a coy smile despite the butterflies in my stomach. “But would you knock yourself out and bend over backward for me?”
“I’d fight to the death for you.”
There’s no trace of humor in his tone. He actually sounded serious. I don’t know what to make of this.
I’m still reeling from his words when he drapes his arm around the back of my chair and idly brushes his fingertips over my arm. A shudder rolls through me and delicious shivers run up and down my spine.
My God. I feel like a character in a Jane Austen novel, where every small look or touch is amplified.
I’m so flustered that I completely miss the part where the men have moved on to the business portion of our lunch meeting.
But I can’t help but be a little bit enamored with my fake boyfriend. I wish he would always be this charming. I didn’t even know he had it in him. I’m practically basking in the glow.
“We’re currently entertaining an offer from a corporation,” Beckett says. “While it’s certainly enticing, we’d hate to see the vineyard end up in the wrong hands?—”
“And as much as we would absolutely love to keep it,” I interject, “we’ve had to make the difficult decision to let it go so we can pursue our passion project.”
“Oh yes, you absolutely must follow your passion wherever it takes you,” Gabriella says. “We’re fortunate that our children have displayed an interest in the winery. But we let them make their own choices and would never force them into something they didn’t love.”
“You say that,” Michael says, “but if I ever got wind that our kids were selling to a corporate outfit, I’d be rolling in my grave.”
“You’d come back as a ghost and haunt this place,” Gabriella says with a light laugh.
“I certainly would,” Michael says gravely, his eyes on Beckett. “I firmly believe that vineyards should be family-run. So before you sell to some heartless conglomerate, I’d like to sit down with you and go over the financials.”
“We can certainly arrange that,” Beckett says evenly.
After a few more minutes of small talk, not exactly Beckett’s forte, he says, “Thank you for lunch.” He’s gotten what he wants and he’s ready to leave now. “But we’ve taken up enough of your time.”
He stands and offers me his hand. It would look silly if I didn’t let him “help me out of my chair” like a character in a period drama so I take his hand. His large one engulfs mine and when he pulls me to his side, he wraps his arm around my shoulders like he wants to keep me close.
He’s so convincing in his role that anyone would believe we’re a real couple.
“It was lovely to meet you.” Not sure why I keep saying lovely, but Gabriella said it many times throughout the lunch, so it seems like a good choice.
“Oh, it’s been our pleasure,” Gabriella says, clapping her hands together. “We simply must do it again.”
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that everything we talked about this afternoon is strictly confidential,” Beckett says. “We wouldn’t want word to get out that we’re planning to sell so I’d appreciate it if we could keep it among ourselves for now.”
“We won’t breathe a word,” Michael says. “You can count on us to be discreet.”
It’s only when we’re back in the car that I can’t resist saying, “Since you don’t date, am I your first girlfriend?”
“You’re not my girlfriend.”
“Fake girlfriend. Real girlfriend. Why quibble over the details? And what do you mean you don’t date? Are you a monk?”
“A relationship is not a prerequisite for sex.”
“Wow. I’m learning so much about you.” Actually, I’m not. I could have guessed that he’s anti-relationship just by the way he behaves. Like a man who doesn’t want to get too close to anyone. He can’t even handle a semi-passionate kiss without shutting it down and putting up walls.
“But what if you meet the right girl, fall madly in love and realize you can’t live without her? Next thing you know you’re riding into the sunset headed to your very own happily ever after. Did you ever consider that?”
“No. Because I’m not living in a fairy tale.”
“Such a cynic,” I say with a disappointed sigh. “So why are you so opposed to love and marriage? Are you scared of getting hurt or scared of hurting the other person?”
“I’m not scared,” he scoffs. “Marriage holds all the appeal of a prison sentence.”
“Michael and Gabriella have been married for forty years and they’re still in love.”
Beckett snorts. “Don’t fall for their little act. It was just as fake as ours.”
I think he’s wrong about them. They seem to genuinely love each other but I’m not going to argue over it. “So did I play my cards right?”
He glances over then focuses on the road. “You were surprisingly restrained.”
“Why yes, Daisy, you did a great job of fooling the Castellanos into believing you’re my fake girlfriend and you might have even helped me seal the deal. Thank you so much for your cooperation, Daisy. I appreciate you, and all you do to help make my life better.”
“That’s a little over the top considering all you had to do was sit there and moan your way through lunch.”
I roll my eyes. “I appreciate good food and the wine really was quite lovely. But I prefer our vineyard and winery to theirs. It’s cozier and has more charm.”
“ Our vineyard and winery?”
“I forgot to mention our house,” I throw out. “I prefer that too.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he warns. “This will all be over soon and then we can go back to our regularly scheduled lives.”
He sounds happy about that and eager to get back to his life.
I can only imagine how he lives. I’m picturing an interior-designed apartment. Shiny and expensive and soulless. Not a single crumb on the countertops or smudge on the appliances. Meticulous just like the interior of his car. Just like him.
And really, I should want nothing more than to sell this place and go our separate ways as quickly as possible.
But for some stupid reason, I’m not as excited about the prospect as I thought I would be.