Chapter 22
Bianca
T he harvest dinner at Belmonte isn’t super fancy, but I think I should wear something nicer than cut-offs or jeans. I’m not exactly a fancy person and I have exactly one dress here with me—a cotton sundress. Maybe this is a good excuse to buy something new?
There are a couple of small shops in town, but this warrants a trip to Napa where there’s more selection. When I ask Ana and Millie for advice on where to go, they want to come with me. So we’re going to do lunch and a little shopping.
“Okay, so what’s going on with you and the hockey player?” Ana asks.
“Jansen.”
“Right.” She grins.
“He and Miles have been running together,” Millie says, which I already know. “Miles thinks he’s a great guy.”
So do I.
“It’s just a fling thing,” I say, though the words feel hollow.
Millie’s driving and she parks in a parking garage in downtown Napa. We stroll down the street and around a corner and she leads us into a women’s wear boutique. I look around. It’s cute! Kind of funky, with a couple of purple velvet couches, bright pink pedestal tables, plants, and wicker-shaded pendant lamps.
I’m distracted by a display of jeans and sweaters, but Ana gently pushes me away from them and toward the rack of dresses Millie is already rifling through.
“Long or short?” she asks.
“I don’t know.”
“With sleeves? Or no?”
I throw up my hands. “I have no idea!”
“No sleeves,” Ana says. “Like this one.” She plucks a dress from the rack—strapless and form fitting in a black and white pattern.
I nod. “That’s okay.”
“How about this?” Millie holds up a dress. “Completely different.”
Yes. It’s hot pink, very short with a poufy skirt, spaghetti straps, and big bows on the bodice.
I look up at her. “Do you know me at all?”
She laughs.
“I am not a pink poufy girl,” I say.
“But you have such great legs, this would look amazing.” She pouts. “What color are you, then?”
“Deep colors,” Anna says. “Jewel tones.”
I give her a skeptical look.
“Here we go.” She shows me a long, slender dress with a halter neckline. The silky fabric is in shades of navy, deep green, and dark red.
“I like that.” I touch the fabric with my fingertips.
“Okay! One to try on. What else?’
“I only need one dress.”
“You have to try on more than one!”
I say a firm no to a sequin and feathers number, and to a black ruffled chiffon dress that’s pretty but too fancy for the harvest dinner.
They load me up with other options and then lock me into a dressing room. I wrinkle my nose at all the garments hanging there. Trying on clothes is not my idea of fun.
The first one I try on is a purple one that caught my attention. I love purple. It matches the stains on my fingers. Haha!
Okay, it’s a purple print, flowers in shades of mauve, plum, and periwinkle. It’s also a halter style, but different with a plunging neckline and ruched and fitted around the waist.
Eeek. I study myself in the mirror. Holy cleavage, batman. I tug at the small ruffle on the edge of the neckline.
It’s a long dress but it has a slit. I flutter the skirt and do a twirl. That slit is high.
“Let’s see!” Ana calls.
I suck in a breath and open the door.
“Ohhh. Nice.”
I pluck at the bodice again. “It’s really low.”
“Sexy.” Millie nods approvingly. “Jansen will love it.”
Well, that’s all she has to say and I’m sold. But truthfully, I love it too. The fabric is my dream. So I’ll go along with the revealing style.
I do like the idea of Jansen loving it.
“But try the others!” Millie urges.
“Do I have to?” I whine. “I like this one.”
They exchange a look.
“Fine,” Ana says. “More time for cocktails at lunch.”
As I head to the counter to pay for the dress, Millie asks, “What do you have for shoes?”
“Uh…flip flops?”
Her head rears back and her eyes pop open. “No.”
“Shoes are in that corner.” The sales associate points with a smile. “I’ll hold the dress here.”
Great. Now I have to buy shoes, too.
Immediately Ana picks up a pair of sandals that are nothing but two tiny straps and a stiletto heel.
“I can’t walk in those,” I object. “Especially not in the yard. Those heels will sink into the ground.”
“Okay, you have a point. How about flat sandals?”
Millie finds a pair of slides crusted with pearls.
I study them doubtfully. “Those are pretty elaborate.”
“They’re cute.”
“I could use some new Birkenstocks.”
They look at me like I just said I want to go to the dinner naked.
I survey the shelves. “Oh, here. These.” I pick up a pair of tan sandals with thin leather straps. “I like these.”
“I guess they’ll do,” Millie says.
I peer at the price tag. “Jesus. We should have gone to Old Navy.”
They both crack up at that.
“I like Old Navy!” I protest.
“We know.” Millie pats my shoulder. “I like it too. But not for a date with a handsome hockey player.”
“It’s a business date.”
They both snort.
With my purchases bagged up, we emerge back outside to bright fall sunshine. “Okay, I’m starving,” I say. “Where to?”
“Riverside Grill,” Ana says. “This way.”
We elect to sit outside on the patio with a view of the river. It’s peaceful and pleasant and I let out a long sigh as I relax into my chair. “This is lovely.” I pick up the wine menu and peruse it.
“Order a bottle,” Millie says. “Whatever you like. We’ll share.”
I pick out a cabernet from Paso Robles and order a crab enchilada that sounds amazing.
Of course we have to hear wedding details, it’s coming so close now. Millie doesn’t seem stressed at all, though. And we all catch up on our jobs and families.
“You only came to one yoga class,” Ana says to me.
I wince. “I know. Sorry. It’s been so busy. Things are starting to settle down…”
“But you’re leaving,” she finishes.
I push my lips out. “Yeah. But I really need to work out. It’s good for stress.”
“It is.” Millie nods.
“I always meet my step count.” I hold up my arm with the fitness tracker on my wrist.
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Apparently new studies show only five minutes of vigorous exercise a day helps your heath,” Ana says.
“No, no,” Millie interjects. “That was for people who don’t exercise at all. If they started doing five minutes a day, it had an effect on their heart health.”
“Oh.” Ana frowns. “It’s hard to stay on top of all the latest news.”
I make a face. I don’t have a hard time, because I don’t even try. But I should. My life has been so insular while I’ve been here. Maybe everyone is right—I’ve been working too hard. I worked hard in Argentina, too, but at least I got out sometimes, hiking, horseback riding…things that are all available here, too. In fact, now that I think of it, the things I liked about Mendoza—the blend of urban and rural, the rustic ambience combined with the magic of wine—are here as well.
“Thanks for keeping it real,” I say to my friends. “I’ve been kind of isolated in the wine world.”
“But you love it.” Ana smiles at me.
“I do. But there’s more to life than wine.”
“There’s sex,” Millie says.
I give her a look.
She grins. “You’ve been doing that, too.”
I have to laugh. “Okay, yeah.” There’s been quite a lot of that, actually. And top tier, five star, first class sex.
“There are lots of health benefits from sex,” she points out.
“Now I don’t feel so bad.” I give them a naughty smile.
I study my new dress in the mirror, ready for the harvest dinner, then go downstairs to the kitchen. Rosa’s there with her laptop on the table.
“I can’t believe you’re going to that dinner,” she says. “We should be boycotting it, since they didn’t even invite us.”
“We’re part of the family. And part of the community. They can’t exclude us like this.”
“True.” Her bottom lip drops into a brief pout. “It kind of hurts.”
“I know. I was pissed when I saw that invitation.” I drop onto a chair at the table.
Rosa’s focused on her computer screen. “Why didn’t you tell me about you and Jansen?”
“I…I don’t know. It’s personal.”
“We’re sisters. We can share personal stuff.”
Is she…hurt? I study her face.
She looks up. “Is this about what you said before? About how you felt like I didn’t have time for you?”
My insides all tighten up. Is it? Am I letting old hurts impact my relationship with Rosa now? “Maybe?”
“I know you’re a private person. I know you have other friends. But we’re sisters.”
I nod slowly. “It’s not just that I’m private. It’s…” Oh God. I swallow, my throat constricted. “It’s easier to not get too close to people. Then it doesn’t hurt as much when they leave, or when they let me down.”
She nods, her face solemn. “I understand that. I’m just sad that you feel that way about me.”
“I’m sorry.” I blink at the sting in the corners of my eyes. “You’re right. Our childhood was a long time ago. We’re adults now. I shouldn’t be living in the past like that. And you’ve never really let me down. Other than that time you wouldn’t let me go to the movies with you and Sasha.”
“What?” Her mouth sags open.
“I’m kidding.”
“Are you, though?” she asks slowly.
My heart twists. I look away and suck my lower lip between my teeth. “I mean, it hurt at the time. I was just a kid, though.” A lump of air catches in my chest.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know. But…I’ve spent literally half my life wondering what I could have done to make Mama leave. So I was probably oversensitive about stuff like that.”
“Oh, Bee.” Her voice is strangled.
“I’m over it,” I assure her, lifting my chin.
There’s a knock at the back door, startling us. Jansen. I go to let him in.
He looks gorgeous as always, his beard stubble trimmed, hair combed back off his face. He’s wearing beige chinos, a navy blue shirt fitted to his muscled body with the sleeves rolled back on his strong forearms, and…my gaze drops to his feet…expensive-looking loafers. I’m a little shaky from the conversation I just had, and he looks so strong, so safe…so precious.
I go very still as I’m flooded with feelings of desire and affection and…I close my eyes on a rush of fierce, complex emotions. Love. I’m in love with him.
I love to be with Jansen. I love being in bed with him…having our hot little fling…but I like just being with him. Working. Having a picnic. Trying to get Moose to sit. Just hanging out. I like talking to him. Making him laugh. Also rubbing my hands all over him. He is becoming one of my favorite people.
Oh shit.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brow muscles bunching low.
I blink. I want to throw myself into his arms and feel him wrap me up in his strength and comfort. But I restrain myself and dig up a stiff smile. “Nothing!”
His frown eases and his eyes grow hot as he takes in the low-cut neckline and the high-cut slit of my dress. “Wow. You look gorgeous.”
My heart cartwheels behind my ribs. “Thank you. You look gorgeous, too.”
“Hey, Jansen,” Rosa calls from the kitchen.
He pokes his head around the door. “Hi, Rosa. Would you like to join us?”
She screws up her face. “I don’t have a ticket. Damn them.”
“You could crash the party with us.” He grins.
“Tempting,” she says. “You go and give them hell.”
Jansen and I step back outside where the low sun casts long shadows across the yard and road. Jansen drives us to Belmonte in his truck. I try to act normal. Like I haven’t just snorted several lines of coke. Or zip lined through the redwoods near Sonoma. Like my heart isn’t racing like a squirrel on crack.
“This dinner is a Belmonte tradition,” I babble mindlessly. “Uncle Geno will have invited friends and prominent members of the community like the mayor and council, and owners of the bigger businesses in not only Oak Creek Canyon, but Napa and St. Helena.”
“I’m actually looking forward to this.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. I don’t get out much. It’s been so busy. So it’s good to meet other people here in the community. Also…I want to give them hell.”
I stare at him. “Give who hell?”
“Your family.” He glances sideways at me. “They make you sad.”
I blink. He’s not wrong. His assessment of that and his plan to give them hell has my heart swelling up so big I can’t breathe. Oh God. I’m in so much trouble.
We park in the already crowded lot and stroll toward the yard. Round tables covered in white cloths are arranged under the trees, small flower arrangements on each table, with simple wooden folding chairs. Guests mingle, their laughter floating on the air along with the cool jazz tune playing and the clink of glasses. A couple of men in white shirts pour wine at the bar.
Jansen gestures to the bar. “We need some of that.”
“Oh, hell yeah.” I breathe out and start toward the bar.
I take a sip of the Belmonte cab sauv served to me and nod. “I would say this wine pairs well with difficult family members.”
He chokes on a laugh.
We find our table where a few people stand around talking. They smile at us and Jansen introduces himself. “Hi, I’m Jansen Beck. I’m the new owner of Take Flight. Now called Bar Down.”
One man shakes his hand. “Oh hey, good to meet you. I’m Tyler Borhek and this is my wife, Zoe.”
“Bianca Martinelli!” the woman says. “Oh my gosh, we went to school together in middle school.”
“Zoe! Of course. How are you?” Ack. She’s the one who told me my mom left because she didn’t love me. It’s so much fun, coming home.
Jansen glances at me. He remembers. Is he going to give her hell, too? When our eyes meet, his glint with amusement. But instead of saying anything, he moves closer to me, slides an arm around my waist, and kisses my temple.
He’s showing Zoe that I’m loved.
Except, I’m not. I’ve fallen in love with a man who has renounced relationships.
I stick a smile on my face and make small talk with Zoe and Tyler and the other couples there. Of course we talk about wine and harvest—they all work in local wineries as well.
We’re joined by other guests and we mingle through the crowd with our wine. Jansen’s watching me as much as he looks at the other guests, setting a hand on the small of my back, brushing my shoulder, sliding his arm around my waist. We called it a “business dinner,” but this doesn’t feel like business.
It feels good. So good. I sense his support and approval for how I’m working the room. Er, the yard. It’s so tempting to believe it’s real. That he has feelings for me, too.
We run into my cousins. Seeing all three of them together, I’m struck with how handsome they all are. They all give me hugs and I start to introduce them to Jansen, but they remind me they’ve already met.
“I know it’s a crazy time of year,” I say to them. “But I was thinking that you guys should come over to Caparelli one night for dinner. Rosa makes Nonna’s Bolognese sauce just as well as Nonna did.”
“Impossible,” Gianni says with a grin.
I smile too. “Okay, it’s pretty close. And I’m getting pretty good at making her garlic bread. Anyway, we could have some spaghetti and wine and talk about old times, and catch up, just us cousins.”
“That’d be great,” Vitto says with unexpected enthusiasm.
“Good! Where’s Uncle Geno?”
“I think he’s still inside with our congressman,” Leo says. “They’re talking about that new AISommelier technology.”
I frown. “Is someone actually doing that here?”
“In Santa Barbara.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Leo shrugs. “They say it takes the complexity out of choosing the perfect wine.”
“What’s wrong with people doing that?” I ask peevishly.
“You can’t have sommeliers everywhere. This way people can go online and get comparisons, tasting notes. Pairing suggestions.”
“Hmmm,” Jansen says.
I give him a narrow-eyed look. “You’re not thinking about that.”
He grins. “Maybe we need to get with the times.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Oh hey, there’s Uncle Geno. Hey, Uncle Geno, look who’s here.” Leo waves.
Uncle Geno looks up, nods, frowns at seeing me, then says a few words to the people he’s with before starting across the lawn toward us.
“Bianca,” he says, ignoring everyone else. From his tone I expect something different than, “So nice to see you.”
“You too, Uncle Geno.” I smile at him, showing my teeth. “It’s a lovely evening. I have so many memories of the harvest dinners.”
“It’s a tradition,” he agrees. Is he going to call me out on not having an invitation? But he turns to Jansen. “Hello, Jansen.”
“Hi, Mr. Lamberti.” Jansen extends a casual hand. “Good to see you again.”
Uncle Geno’s face tightens. Apparently the night he met Jansen he had a total melt down over Rosa and Jake’s marriage. “So you’ve taken over Take Flight.”
“That’s right. Now called Bar Down.”
“I hear you’re a hockey player.”
Jansen smiles. “Yep. I retired a couple of years ago. I played for the Long Beach Golden Eagles.”
Uncle Geno shrugs. “I don’t know much about hockey.”
“That’s okay. I don’t know much about wine.” Jansen gives a charming, self-deprecating smile.
Uncle Geo doesn’t smile back. “There seem to be a lot of people with no knowledge or experience trying to run wineries.”
Oh yeah. I felt that burn. My teeth grind together.
“Actually, I’m really lucky I have Bianca helping me,” Jansen says. “She’s incredible. So knowledgeable and smart. She’s had a bunch of great ideas for me to get my brand off the ground. I’m learning a lot from her.”
Gianni, Leo, and Vitto all bite back grins. Vitto gives him a nod of appreciation.
And I’m once again having a moment where I’m falling a little deeper into love with him.
Uncle Geno frowns at me. “I thought you were working at Caparelli.”
“I am. But I’ve been helping Jansen, too. I’m sure you know that Randall retired when the Wrights sold. And this isn’t a good time of year to be looking for a new winemaker.”
Uncle Geno appears nonplussed by this.
“Did you hear about Bianca’s award nomination?” Jansen asks.
Their faces all wear surprised expressions.
I’m struggling with more affection and gratitude to this man.
“Award?” Geno asks.
“Yeah.” Jensen smiles easily. “Everyone’s so proud of her. Nominated for the Star Winemakers Award for best cabernet franc.”
“Holy shit,” Vitto says. “That’s amazing.”
I smile tentatively. I’m not sure how happy he is for me.
But he breaks into a face-splitting grin. “Seriously! That is a high honor.”
“Thank you.”
They all congratulate me, even Uncle Geno, although I think he looks puzzled. I guess because it’s me. Ugh.
At that moment, Aunt Janet joins us, slipping her arm through Uncle Geno’s. “Hello Bianca. And Jansen. So nice to see you.” She looks at Uncle Geno, her forehead puckered. “I thought…well.” She shakes her head. “It’s just about dinner time. We should all take our seats.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to the meal,” I say brightly.
Jansen and I return to the table and join the others sitting there who we met earlier. As the sun sets, the lights strung through the walnut trees come on, creating a fairy-tale atmosphere. Servers bring the first course—grilled artichokes with parmesan truffle aioli—and pour the paired wine.
“Artichokes are difficult to pair with wine,” I say. “I’m curious about this.”
“It’s a sauvignon blanc,” the server tells me.
I nod and wait until everyone has wine in their glasses to take a sip.
“How is it?” Zoe asks. “We need to hear from the winemaker.”
I look at Jansen. “What do you think?”
I smile slowly. “Dry. Some citrus, I think, and no oak.”
“Bone dry,” I confirm with a smile. “Light and crisp. I think it’s a good choice for artichokes.”
“I’ve been so immersed in harvest and learning technicalities about wine production, there’s been no time for sampling good food and matched wines,” Jensen says to the table.
“What about our picnic,” I whisper to him.
He grins. “Oh yeah. Fine dining.”
I burst out laughing and lean my head briefly on his shoulder.
Ooops. This is supposed to be a business dinner. I’m getting all sentimental and soppy.
The next course is a Caesar salad and the wine a chardonnay. An oaky chardonnay.
“What do you think?” I ask Jansen again.
“I think the acidity cuts through the creaminess of the salad dressing. And the full body complements the richness.”
“I agree. It’s perfect.”
The next course isn’t so successful for me. The pan roasted half chicken accompanied by asparagus, wild mushrooms, peas, and chicken au jus is delicious. The wine? A merlot.
“I think it works,” Jansen says.
“It’s fine. But this chicken is simple—no creamy or spicy sauce. I think the merlot’s a bit overpowering. But you know what would be perfect?”
“What?”
“An orange wine.”
He grins. “I need to taste this magical orange wine.”
“I have some. We can try it later.”
Also not very boss/employee talk, if anyone’s listening to us. Oh well.
I drink more wine.
“Did you say orange wine?” Zoe asks, leaning forward.
“I did.”
I’m happy to talk about that, sharing my new knowledge.
“Is it a secret?” Jansen leans in to ask quietly.
“Mmm. Not exactly. I just don’t want to tell the whole world about it and then it turns out to taste like Alka seltzer.”
He chokes on a laugh. “Fair. But I don’t think that’ll happen.”
“Did I hear that you used to play hockey?” the man across the table from us asks Jansen. Tucker Diaz.
“That’s right.”
“I know another guy who was a professional player. Lewis York.”
Jansen nods.
“I think he played in the AHL,” Tucker says. “Anyway, he runs a youth hockey organization in Kirkmont, about forty minutes from here. They have a bunch of teams for girls and boys. One of the boys who played here when he was younger just got drafted into the NHL.”
“No way.” Jansen’s interest is piqued.
“Truth. He’s a pretty talented kid.”
“That’s awesome.”
“I don’t know if you’re into coaching but Lewis is always looking for help. He’s about your age, has a couple of kids that play now.”
Jansen cocks his head and nods slowly.
“It’s called Bobcats hockey,” Tucker continues. “You can find it online. Next time I see Lewis I’ll tell him we have a pro hockey player living here now. He’ll be thrilled, and I know he’d love to hear from you.”
“Yeah. That would be great. Thanks.”
Is he thinking of doing that? I know he misses hockey. Maybe this would be a good thing for him, to find a way to bring the sport he loves back into his life.
Dessert arrives, strawberry shortcake accompanied by a sparkling chenin blanc. I smile with delight when I taste the wine. “Nice. A little acidic bite cuts through the cream, and the peach and citrus complement the strawberries.”
“It’s fantastic,” Jansen agrees. “Now I want to make sparkling wines.”
I smile. “We can talk about that for the future.”
After dinner, guests start mingling again. Vitto and Leo join us.
“So, Jansen,” Vitto says. “What are your intentions toward Bianca?”
I nearly spew chardonnay all over everyone. “Vitto!”
“What?” He turns back to Jansen and tilts his head.
Jansen seems amused. “That’s a bit old-fashioned. Why aren’t you asking Bianca what her intentions are toward me ?”
I freakin’ love that, but holy shit, I can’t handle this right now. “Good point.” I shake my head. “It’s just business.”
They all give me skeptical looks. “It doesn’t look like just business,” Gianni says pointedly, his gaze dropping to Jansen’s hand on my hip.
I slide my tongue over my bottom lip, then say, “Okay, fine. I’m using him for sex.”
Now everyone else chokes, including Jansen. I give him a look that says, right ?
“You asked,” I tell my cousins.
“True.” Vitto shakes his head. “Okay, then. Are you married, Jansen?”
I roll my eyes.
Jansen laughs. “Not anymore.”
“Ah. Divorced?” Leo arches an eyebrow. “What happened with your marriage?”
“Leo! That’s personal!” I can’t believe they’re doing this!
“She cheated on me,” Jansen says, deadpan.
I gasp, then slap my hand over my mouth. Is that true? I did not know that!
“Oh man. That sucks.” Vitto slaps a hand on Jansen’s shoulder. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah.” Leo shakes his head. “You have any kids?”
“Nope.” He lifts his wineglass to his lips, not looking at me.
His wife cheated on him? Why didn’t he tell me that? I tune out the conversation as I mull all this over, my stomach squeezing. We’ve talked about so many things. I feel stupid that I didn’t know that. I also feel…hurt.
I guess I shouldn’t. We’re not in a serious relationship. He doesn’t have to tell me everything. We’ve both been honest about that. Except…I’ve fallen in love with him. And I do feel hurt. And, well, sad.
The truth is—he doesn’t really tell me anything about his past life. He told me retirement was hard, but that’s it. He told me he’s divorced, but that’s it. And I’ve been open with him about so much. Damn. Am I not good enough for him to tell me those kinds of personal things?
We’ve been sleeping together and I thought I could do it without catching feelings. I know better than to let someone in like that, someone who’s going to let me down. But I can’t deny the ache in my chest.
I also feel unreasonably pissed at Jansens’ ex-wife. Who would do that to him? She’s clearly an evil bitch and I hurt for Jansen.
People are leaving and I need to focus and find Uncle Geno. I ask Leo where he is and he points toward the fountain where he and Aunt Janet are talking to a couple.
“I’m going to talk to him,” I say to Jansen in a low voice.
“Want me to come with you?”
“No. That’s okay. I can do this.”
Feeling twitchy and irritated, I straighten my shoulders and march across the grass toward him. In perfect timing, he says goodnight to the guests and I pounce. “Uncle Geno.”
He turns, eyebrows raised.
I keep my voice low so others don’t hear us. “Why didn’t you invite us to this dinner?”
He seems surprised that I’ve been so direct. His mouth opens, then closes.
Aunt Janet casts him a worried look.
“You don’t have a good reason, do you? It was just to exclude us.”
His lips thin. “You seem to not want to be part of the Lamberti family anymore.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. Why would you say that?”
“If you were part of the family, you’d let us keep the wineries together. We’d all work for Belmonte.”
I stare at him, then shake my head. “I wouldn’t be working for Belmonte, though. You wouldn’t hire me as a winemaker. Would you?”
“We have a winemaker. Vittorio is doing very well.”
“Exactly.” Old hurt and resentment rises up inside me on top of my already irked state, a pressure building in my chest. “I’d be working as a cellar rat forever if we kept the wineries together and I stayed here.”
He says nothing.
“That’s not what I want,” I tell him, the words coming out in a rush. “And that’s not what Nonna wanted. And you know that.”
His face tightens.
“You can’t believe I’ve been nominated for such a prestigious award, can you?” I demand. “You’ve never taken me seriously. You brushed off my ideas, and my attempts to create wines. You never bothered to see if I had any talent.” I raise my chin and hold his gaze. “Well, news flash. I do have talent. My boss in Argentina believed in me. I have opportunities there that I would never have here at Belmonte.”
“Or at Caparelli,” he points out.
My ire flares even hotter. “Why not Caparelli? Just because we’re basically starting over, doesn’t mean we can’t be successful with it. You keep making that mistake. And it’s really pissing me off.”
His chin jerks down and his forehead turns frowny.
“Bianca,” Aunt Janet says, clearly ill at ease.
I look at my aunt. She’s a nice lady, but she’ll always support her husband. “Well, thanks for a lovely evening,” I say crisply. “Even though you didn’t invite me.”
And I turn back to Jansen.
He frowns as I storm up to him. “Uh oh.”
My cousins have moved away to talk to other guests, so it’s just him and me.
“Yeah,” I snap. “Uh oh. Let’s go.”
“Okay.” He takes my hand and we start walking toward the driveway. “What happened?”
I shake off his touch. “I lost my shit.”
“Oh.”
“He pisses me off! Argh. I tried to be calm and unemotional and ask what was going on with leaving us out of this party, but he insulted us again, and…” I sigh. “I think I made things worse.”
We walk toward his truck in silence, other than the sound of our steps on the road and crickets in the grass.
Once in the truck, buckled up, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me your wife cheated on you?”
There’s a beat, and then he says, “Because it doesn’t matter.”
“I think something like that matters.”
“I mean, it doesn’t matter to us. It’s done. It was a long time ago.”
“Hmmm.” My chest is spinning with emotion and thoughts are jumbled inside my head. I don’t know what to think right now, but I do know I’m worked up. I need to figure things out.
When we arrive at the road to Caparelli, he looks over at me. “Come to my place?”
I gaze at him, emotions still churning inside me. Sex is a great distraction, but…maybe I’m getting too close to Jansen. Clearly, he sees me as a fuck buddy and nothing more. Which is what we both want! I press my lips together and shake my head. “Not tonight.”
The air in the truck turns thick.
“Okay.” He pulls in at Caparelli and stops.
I jump out. “Good night. Thanks for taking me to the dinner.”
I turn and march toward Caparelli, knots coiled in my belly, my chin trembling.