Chapter 21 Snapper
SNAPPER
Sterling Creek Winery’s event space looked much the same as it had the night of the Wicked Winemakers’ Ball, except rather than a dinner followed by a bachelor auction—one I hoped to never be in again—tonight, a wine auction was taking place.
Display cases lined the walls, each holding bottles of Christmas Blessing Wine that gleamed under spotlights.
Two thousand bottles, numbered and authenticated, ready to be sold to the highest bidders.
The room was full of people I knew and more I didn’t. Baron Van Orr’s PR team had managed what seemed impossible in the short time he had to publicize tonight’s event.
On the other hand, that we had extraordinary wine to sell had been a far more difficult feat.
I found Saffron standing near the entrance, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“Stop catastrophizing,” I said.
Her gaze met mine. “I’m not.”
“You’re chewing your bottom lip.”
“That’s not catastrophizing; that’s anxiety.”
“Same thing.” I moved her hand away from where she’d been twisting her engagement ring. “It’s going to work.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I keep meaning it.”
Lucas emerged from the back room where he’d been coordinating with the auction house staff. Baron Van Orr was with him, both men looking more relaxed and having more fun than I’d ever seen them.
“Sixty minutes to showtime,” Lucas said. “And we’re ready.”
Baron held up a glossy catalog that told the story of three families reuniting after seventy years. “The PR firm says there are far more international investors than they anticipated.”
“That’s good, right?” Saffron asked.
“That’s excellent.” Baron set the catalog on a nearby table. “The pre-auction buzz has been stronger than anything I’ve seen in twenty years of attending these events.”
“What if it’s all hype?” Saffron asked. “What if people show up, taste it, and decide it’s not worth the excitement?”
“Then, they’re idiots.” Lucas put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “But, Saffron, stop second-guessing yourself.” He motioned to where tasting tables had been set up. “Do the reactions over there look like the wine is anything less than extraordinary?”
When she returned to chewing her bottom lip, her father put his arm around her shoulders. “Believe in yourself, daughter.”
“Easier said than done,” I heard her mutter.
The next hour crawled. The auction house staff reviewed bidding procedures and payment processing while a wine journalist from a major publication arrived to photograph the bottles and interview Baron about his grandmother’s role in the original blend.
I stayed close to Saffron, one hand on the small of her back, grounding both of us while chaos swirled around us.
The energy in the room shifted as guests took their seats. This was real. This was happening.
I looked over and saw Ma sweep in with Tryst, Jaicon, my siblings, and their spouses. The only person noticeably missing tonight was Isabel Van Orr, not that we knew why she chose not to attend.
“Tonight is your night, mija,” my mother said, pulling Saffron into a hug. “Enjoy every second.”
“I’m trying not to throw up,” she admitted.
“That’s normal. I threw up before my wedding.” Ma patted her cheek. “You’ll be fine.”
I gathered my fiancée in my arms and kissed her.
“Stop being weird,” Kick said, bumping into me.
“Kissing my future bride is not weird.”
“Whatever,” he muttered before walking away.
Felicity and Wagner arrived with Diana. The sisters hugged and cried a little, then laughed at themselves for crying. Wagner kept checking his phone for updates from the babysitter watching Beatrice, and Felicity kept telling him to relax.
“She’s fine,” Saffron said. “Stop worrying.”
“Says the woman who’s been pacing for two hours,” Felicity shot back.
The stragglers at the tasting tables took their seats when the auctioneer announced he’d get started in five minutes.
“The balance is remarkable for such a young wine,” one collector said to his companion as they walked by.
“That aged component bridges everything,” someone else said.
“Exemplary vintage,” said another woman. “I’ve been collecting wine for forty years, and I’ve never encountered anything quite like this.”
Saffron heard that last comment, and her grip on my hand tightened. “They really love it.”
“Of course they do. It’s a masterpiece.”
“Our masterpiece,” she said.
“Ours,” I agreed.
At seven o’clock sharp, the auctioneer took the stage. The man was a friend of Baron’s who had decades of experience working high-end wine auctions.
“Welcome. Tonight, we’re offering two thousand bottles of the Christmas Blessing Wine, recreated after seventy years. A significant portion of tonight’s proceeds has been designated for local charities.” After those in the room applauded, he held up his gavel. “Let’s begin.”
The first lot was a single bottle. Bidding opened at five hundred dollars.
A paddle went up immediately. Then another. Within thirty seconds, the price had doubled.
“One thousand,” the auctioneer called. “Do I hear twelve hundred?”
More paddles.
“Fifteen hundred. Do I hear two thousand?”
The bidding climbed faster than I’d anticipated. Two thousand became twenty-five hundred, then three thousand. Collectors competed with the kind of intensity usually reserved for rare Bordeaux or aged Burgundy.
The gavel came down at thirty-two hundred dollars for a single bottle.
Saffron swayed beside me, and I tightened my arm around her waist.
“That’s just the start,” I whispered.
Case lots went next. Six and twelve bottles had been packaged together for collectors who wanted volume.
The bidding was even more competitive. The first case of twelve opened at fifteen thousand and sold for twenty-eight thousand.
The second went for thirty-one thousand.
The third hit thirty-eight thousand, and the room erupted in more applause.
“This is insane,” Saffron said under her breath.
“This is success.”
I glanced around the room while the bidding continued.
My family stood together on the left side, every one of them watching with expressions that ranged from pride to disbelief.
Lucas and Diana were with Baron on the right, and my future father-in-law had tears spilling over on his cheeks that he wiped away as quickly as he could.
The auction continued for two hours. Single bottles, cases, larger lots for restaurants and wine programs. Every lot exceeded its estimated value. Some by double. The energy in the room increased with each pound of the gavel.
“This is the final lot of the evening,” the auctioneer announced. “Twelve bottles with sequential numbers from the heart of the production run. These are some of the finest bottles in the entire collection. Opening bid is twenty thousand dollars.”
Paddles shot up around the room. More than I could count.
“Twenty-five thousand. Do I hear thirty?”
Another paddle.
“Thirty-five thousand. Do I hear forty?”
The bidding climbed in five-thousand-dollar increments. Forty became forty-five, then fifty. At fifty-five thousand, half the paddles dropped out. At sixty thousand, only three bidders remained.
“Sixty-five thousand,” the auctioneer called. “Do I hear sixty-eight?”
A paddle went up in the back corner.
“Sixty-eight thousand. Going once.” He raised his gavel. “Going twice.” Pause. “Sold for sixty-eight thousand dollars.”
The gavel came down, and the room exploded in applause.
The auctioneer asked for a moment to tally the final totals. The buzz of conversation filled the space while we waited. Speculation ran rampant—three million, maybe three and a half, possibly four.
Saffron’s hand shook in mine. I brought it to my lips and kissed her knuckles.
“Whatever the number is, we won,” I said quietly.
“I know. I just—I’m having a hard time taking it all in. Believing it’s real.”
“It is, Saff, and so are we.”
The auctioneer returned to the stage, and the room went silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to announce that the final total for this evening’s auction of the Christmas Blessing Wine is four point two million dollars.”
Applause thundered off the stone walls. People were on their feet, cheering, and celebrating not just the wine but the story behind it.
Saffron gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes filled, and tears streaked down her cheeks.
Lucas pushed through the crowd and lifted Saffron off her feet. Both of them were crying, holding each other like they were afraid to let go. Diana joined them seconds later, wrapping her arms around them as the celebration continued.
Ma found me and hugged me hard enough to crack ribs. “I’m so proud of you, mijo. So incredibly proud.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
“Your father would be proud too. Of the man you’ve become. Of what you did for this family.”
My throat closed, and I couldn’t speak, so I just hugged her tighter.
Tryst appeared next and gripped my shoulder. “Well done, nephew.”
“Couldn’t have done it without Los Caballeros,” I said quietly enough that only he could hear.
“That’s what the brotherhood is for.”
While our family and Baron offered to let the Hopes keep all the proceeds, Lucas wouldn’t hear of it.
He insisted the profits be split three ways, and we agreed.
Given the total raised, I had no doubt a one-third share wouldn’t just cover their debt; it would give them operating capital well into the future.
While payments were processed, we moved to a private room Sterling Creek had set aside for post-auction celebration. Champagne appeared, and glasses were distributed to everyone.
Tryst raised his glass first. “To family. To friendship. To partnerships that transcend generations and heal old wounds.”
“To family,” we echoed, and the sound of glasses clinking filled the room.
Lucas stood next. He looked around at the faces of the three families that were reunited after seventy years apart.