23. Alba
TWENTY-THREE
ALBA
I’d been wined and dined before—but not like this.
Not in a secret hideaway garden, with the noise and chaos of the city muffled, and the scent of fresh herbs making me forget we were still enduring the tail end of winter.
Vaughn chose a rich Syrah wine and made a big show of talking about the notes he could taste in it.
“That online wine tasting course is paying off,” I said, grinning.
“It’s a bit floral,” he continued, smacking his lips. “Must have been grown in a cool climate.”
I pursed my mouth and plucked the bottle from the silver bucket where Ralphie had placed it to save space on the tiny table, squinting at the label.
“‘…grown in our highest-elevation California vineyard, the cooler climate allows our Syrah to develop the full-bodied flavor with hints of floral notes’—you memorized this label, didn’t you? ”
“You are so rude, Alba,” Vaughn replied, laughing. “I can taste the blackberry and the new oak! And anyone could taste the violet blossoms in this. I mean, come on.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, scanning the label as my lips curled into a smile. “I bet you can also taste how the difficult growing conditions have made this an oft-undervalued grape.”
“One of my favorite things about it,” Vaughn replied, his eyes on me.
My cheeks warmed, and I placed the bottle back on the table. Ralphie had left us some fresh bread with olive oil and good balsamic vinegar, and I mopped some of the dip up on a hunk of chewy, wood-fired bread. Delicious.
Our pizza arrived not long after, when the wine had filled my belly with a buzzing warmth.
Or maybe that was because of Vaughn’s smile, illuminated by the fairy lights strung over our heads.
He gestured for me to serve myself, then hummed when the cheese pull to end all cheese pulls came with my chosen slice.
I laughed, throwing all my etiquette training out the window as I opened my mouth and dangled all the melted cheese into it before taking a bite of the tip of the slice.
A groan went through me as I chewed mozzarella- and marinara-flavored bliss.
This was, hands down, the best date I’d ever been on.
I’d laughed more in the hour that we’d been sitting here than on the rest of the dates in my life combined.
I felt at ease and happy and light. We were hidden away here, with lush greenery, warm lighting, and good food. It was easy to get carried away.
That’s why I didn’t have my guard all the way up when Vaughn topped up my glass, looked me right in the eyes, and asked, “Will you go to the gala with me, Alba?”
My refusal didn’t come as quickly as it had before. Instead, I fingered the stem of the wine glass and bit my bottom lip.
“Is it because of me? You don’t want to be seen with me?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“So why not? Don’t you want to show all those people that they haven’t broken you?”
“You sound like my friend Deena.” I took a sip, watching him across the table.
He leaned forward, reaching over to put his hand on top of mine. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
“I didn’t handle seeing Yvette and—and James very well,” I said, stumbling over his name.
“They caught you by surprise. This time, you’ll be ready.”
“Why do you care?”
Vaughn huffed, frowning at me like my question made no sense. “Because it kills me to see you shrink yourself, Alba. You’re the most driven, strong, stubborn woman I’ve ever met. And you’re going to let a bunch of rich assholes make you feel small?”
“Might I remind you that one of those rich assholes is going to be offering you a fat wad of cash for part ownership of your company?”
“That’s work. This is different.”
“Hmm.”
Vaughn cleared his throat. Then he said, “I want you to come with me. I want you there by my side, Alba. What would I do there on my own? It’s like all these fancy restaurants we’ve been to. What would be the point of me going to them if you weren’t there?”
His words made my heart stutter. I took another sip of wine to calm myself, then set the glass down on the white tablecloth and blinked my gaze up to meet his.
“You don’t mean that,” I whispered. Once he was through with me, he’d move on to bigger and better things. Wasn’t that what always happened?
Things were blissful now, but they would end. They always did—and I was always left out in the cold. Engagements, love affairs, family. They meant nothing. Why would this be any different?
And I was speeding toward the end right now by refusing him. I wasn’t doing what he wanted, and he’d leave me by the wayside because of it. I had to twist myself into knots for people to love me, to care about me, and even then it was never enough.
Vaughn brushed my hand with his fingers, then leaned back and grabbed the last slice of pizza.
“Maybe you’re right. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.
” He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed.
I ignored the pit in my stomach that told me he would pull away, that the fairytale romance would die right here in the middle of a pizza restaurant’s greenhouse.
The lights glinted off the surface of my wine. The smear of marinara on my plate looked almost black in the dimness.
My whirlwind with Vaughn was coming to an end. Rejection was incoming. I could feel it like an arthritic woman feeling a coming storm in her bones. I’d gotten a temporary reprieve, but the end was nigh. I’d refused him, and he would reject me.
Then Vaughn finished his piece of pizza, brushed the cornmeal off his fingers, and said, “I think you should meet my daughter.”