4. Chapter 4
Albrecht
W ell, this is inconvenient.
Here I am, supposed to be focused on closing this deal and instead I’m completely taken by the brunette beauty in front of me. She also happens to be the owner's daughter and marketing coordinator, according to her aunt that I just met.
As soon as our eyes met across the terrace, it was as if time froze and my whole body felt drawn to her. I couldn’t help but smile. But now I’ve probably ruined it by being too forward and winking at her like some sort of flirt. I’m not sure where that even came from. Normally, I’m reserved and a man of few words. There’s just something about her that has me craving her attention. I want those baby blues on me.
“I was just telling Loys here that you are the expert grape stomper in the family and the perfect person to show him how it’s done,” Myrtha says, and I don’t miss how Giselle’s eyes go wide. Her aunt’s, on the other hand, twinkle with mischief. I think she might be playing matchmaker, and I can’t say I mind it one bit.
It is strange going by my middle name, though. But I wanted to come here, not as Albrecht, Grand Prince of Tuscany, but simply as the fund manager of Lorraine-Habsburg Enterprises. Since we are not a well-known royal family in the American tabloids, I highly doubt anyone will recognize me. It’ll be lovely to spend some time escaping all of the expectations back home. I can already breathe easier knowing that while here, I can be just a guy.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I’m fine to just sit back and watch everyone else,” I tell Giselle.
For a brief moment, she tilts her head and stares at me. She’s probably confused by my shift in demeanor.
“Oh, don’t be silly. No one gets to pass on grape stomping,” Myrtha says. “Go on, you two.” And then she practically pushes us toward the barrels and doesn’t leave us until we begin the process of dunking our feet in the washing bins.
I take off my loafers and roll up my jeans, following in Giselle’s lead as she removes her sandals and dips each foot in. I can’t help but notice how slender her feet are and how gorgeous her long legs look in her short, flowy white dress.
“I’m truly sorry about this,” I tell her, feeling bad that her aunt practically forced her to do this with me. And yet, I’m quite glad that she did as I take in this beauty before me.
“It’s really no problem. I was going to do it at some point; it’s tradition. And you definitely need to experience this at least once in a lifetime,” she replies with a smile. “I’m actually surprised you’ve never done this before, since you’re from Italy.”
I’m caught off guard that she knows where I’m from, but then I remember she works here and probably knows I’m one of their potential investors.
“It is surprising, but I guess I don’t get out much. Too busy working,” I say with a shrug.
“I can understand that.”
We dry off our feet in silence and walk over to the only open barrel full of grapes. The stompings have been going on for almost an hour now, but there are still plenty of grape bunches left inside.
“So, I just get in?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow and feeling like a buffoon standing here.
“Yep. Go for it.”
I step in and wiggle my feet into the grapes until I feel steady. It’s a strange texture, both mushy and pokey from the stems. Then, I reach out my hand to Giselle to help her in.
When she places her hand in mine, our eyes lock again and this time it feels like an electrical current buzzing through me. I get lost in her greenish-blue eyes and forget where I am and what I’m doing until she gives my hand a little squeeze and I come to. Pulling her in, she tries to get her bearings in the grapes, but stumbles right into my chest. At six foot five, I’m towering over her, and her forehead bumps right into my chest. I wrap my hands around her arms to steady her; as she looks up at me, her cheeks burn a bright pink.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, biting one side of her lower lip.
“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad I’m not the only one struggling here.”
“Yeah, they don’t ever warn you that it’s not the easiest of tasks. Normally, I’ve had a lot more wine before I attempt this.”
“That makes much more sense. So, we just start stomping our feet?”
“Yeah, think of it like you’re dancing,” she explains. “Here, it might be easier if we hold hands.” She brings her hands up and intertwines our fingers. They fit perfectly in mine, and as if she had the same thought, we look at each other and smile. God, she’s a vision before me. The autumn sun is starting to go down and it’s casting a glow behind her. She looks heaven sent in her white dress.
We both start moving our feet, and luckily there’s a group of musicians playing polka music to help it be less awkward. I accidentally step on her toes, and she erupts into giggles as I apologize profusely.
“Am I the worst grape stomping partner you’ve ever had?” I ask, and my question only makes her laugh more.
“No, not at all, believe it or not.”
“Oh, you're just being kind now.”
“I swear, you’re definitely not the worst. This is more fun than I’ve had in a while, actually,” she says with a bit of a sad smile.
“You have a lovely laugh, by the way.”
“Really?” The way she bites her lip and smiles up at me makes my heart skip a beat.
“Really,” I say, wiping a stray hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear.
“No one has ever told me that before,” she says quietly, looking out into the crowd. I rub my jaw, trying to make sense of how it’s possible that no man has ever told her that?
I gently touch her chin and bring her face back to mine. “Well, now you know.” God, how I want to kiss her and make her forget any man who came before that didn’t adore everything about her.
“Do you want to get some wine?” she asks, tilting her head toward the bar.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I say, flashing her a smile as I help us out of the barrel. After rinsing our feet off and getting our shoes back on, she surprises me by taking my hand and leading us over to the wine bar.
As I follow behind her, I can’t help but feel like I was meant to meet her, betrothal be damned.