Chapter Eight
Birdie had prepared herself to go home last night.
She’d braced for it mentally and tried to accept the sting of rejection, especially after their conversation when Alexis hadn’t looked even the slightest bit interested in her.
Which was why Birdie had nearly short-circuited right there on those bleached cobblestones when Alexis had actually said her name.
She hadn’t believed it at first. It had taken hours to sink in, even after she’d been ushered to the villa, assigned a room—she was sharing with Bianca, of all people—and unpacked her suitcase with clumsy, distracted hands.
And now here she was, standing in a stone cellar hall that smelled faintly of oak barrels and sickeningly sweet grapes, on a group date chosen by the viewers.
The place was bigger than Birdie expected.
The ceiling arched low, with thick wooden beams stretching overhead.
Fat barrels lined the limestone walls in regimented rows.
A low wooden platform had been set up in the center.
On top of it were two open-topped wooden vats brimming with plump, dark purple grapes just waiting to be stomped.
Across from her, Louise looked as if she’d stepped right out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting.
Her jet-black hair was glossy and pinned up with tiny pearl combs, and her ivory skin was so flawless it practically glowed against the cellar light.
Meanwhile, Bianca was leaning against a barrel with an easy kind of confidence Birdie couldn’t imagine possessing.
The cameras loved her. Tanned skin, sunlit blonde hair, legs for days.
Birdie had even caught herself staring at her on separate occasions and had to force her eyes down to her toes to avoid appearing creepy.
And Alexis was possibly somewhere behind that door. Birdie didn’t have to wait long for her assumption to be confirmed. It swung open with a heavy wooden groan.
Vivian walked in first with a flash of citrus-colored linen that clashed with her platinum blonde cut. Her glinting red lips somehow pulled the entire ensemble together.
Alexis followed. The cameras shifted, their long necks whirring in her direction.
She looked stunning in a yellow sundress with thin straps tied at the shoulders.
Although the outfit probably wasn’t practical for grape stomping.
Her hair was half pulled up to keep out of her face, the rest flowing over her shoulders. Her feet were clad in golden sandals.
“Good morning, ladies,” Vivian said sprightly, coming to stand in the center of the two barrels.
“Don’t you all look gorgeous!” She stepped to the side and, with a dramatic sweep of her arm, introduced Alexis, who didn’t exactly need an introduction.
Everyone’s eyes were on her already. “Our bachelorette.”
Alexis smiled. It only half reached her eyes, and Birdie wondered if she had something to do with it. Probably so. No, definitely so.
“What’s better than drinking wine?” Vivian asked, her voice bright and airy.
She paused to let the suspense hang in the air for a few seconds before adding, “Making it, of course. You’ll be divided into teams. The viewers have already voted on your pairings, so unfortunately there’s no shouting dibs on Alexis.
” She pulled a card out of her pocket. “The first pair is Bianca and Louise.”
Neither Bianca nor Louise looked thrilled.
Though they did manage fake smiles when the cameras panned toward them.
And honestly, Birdie wasn’t exactly over the moon either, even if she had won the prize of Alexis.
Birdie didn’t need to be a mind reader to see that Alexis was severely unhappy with the viewer’s choice.
“And…” Vivian went on, stretching the word out like a ribbon. “That means Alexis and Birdie will pair up.” She pointed in their direction and then added, “Now, ladies, stomping grapes might look simple, but it’s an art. And who better to explain than someone who actually does it for a living?”
A man in his fifties stepped forward from the shadows, and Birdie was shocked she hadn’t noticed him before. His hair had more salt than pepper. His shirt was rolled to the elbows, and his pants were brown and held together by a rich leather belt.
“This is Monsieur Laurent,” Vivian said. “He’s been tending vines here in Provence for more than thirty years.”
Laurent inclined his head politely, and with an accent that was rich and rolling, he began to speak.
“Bonjour, mesdames. Today, you will be stomping Grenache grapes. These grapes are big, juicy, and perfect for blending. They are a little softer, so they crush easily underfoot.” He gestured to the barrels.
“The key is rhythm. Step firmly but evenly, like you’re dancing.
If you only smash, you make a mess. If you find your rhythm, you make beautiful juice. ”
All of that went straight over Birdie’s head. Dance. She wasn’t that good at dancing in the first place. Yes, she could swing her hips, but she needed music for that. And also a touch of alcohol to burn her throat on the way down. Neither of which came her way.
“Merci, Laurent,” Vivian said. “Now, into the barrels you go. Team Alexis and Birdie, here.” She patted the rim of the first barrel. “Team Bianca and Louise, over there.”
After their feet had been properly washed and sanitized, Birdie climbed in first. She winced at the squish of cold grapes under her bare feet.
The sensation was shocking. It was slippery, sticky, and a little like stepping into a jar of jam that hadn’t been stirred properly.
She grabbed the edge of the barrel for balance.
Her cheeks heated as the camera zoomed in.
Then Alexis joined her.
Birdie felt the shift immediately. The wood creaked under their combined weight, and she felt the faint brush of Alexis’s arm against hers as she steadied herself.
The way their knees and shoulders almost touched felt way too close for comfort.
It was cool in the cellar, but Birdie was feeling hot and bothered.
And frankly, she didn’t like it one bit.
Her body was betraying her, reacting to Alexis in a way it really shouldn’t.
Alexis didn’t give a shit about her. So why the hell did her stomach flutter when their hips brushed?
Why did her mind insist on replaying every second of the night in that hotel room in Portland?
“Start slow,” Laurent instructed. “Press down with your heels, then roll forward. Like this.” He demonstrated on the cellar floor, and Birdie moved her focus back to the grapes beneath her feet and tried to mimic the motion.
It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy either.
She stumbled on her second step and slipped slightly into Alexis’s side. Alexis caught her elbow on instinct, but the touch was so quick Birdie wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.
Still, she muttered a quick “Thanks” just in case and focused on the grapes beneath her feet.
The skins burst with each step, releasing a tangy-sweet scent that rose up like fog, clinging to her skin and to her hair.
She told herself to concentrate on the smell of Provence instead of Alexis right next to her.
Alexis’s eyes were fixed on her feet, acting like she’d rather be stuck in a traffic jam than here, with Birdie at her side.
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Bianca said with a voice that was smooth, rich, and velvet-soft.
“Last summer, I visited Stellenbosch. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but they call the area the Winelands, so you know you’re in the right spot.
Anyway, we got to tour some of the smaller estates and even went to Ken Forrester Wines’ annual Harvest Stomp.
It was quite a treat. You should really consider a trip out there. ”
“Oh, aren’t you full of adventure,” Louise said, but she didn’t sound at all excited.
“Life should be an adventure,” Bianca said, not noticing or at least choosing not to notice the sarcasm. She shifted her weight so the sun from the cellar window caught her blonde hair, making it glow. “I try to travel overseas at least four times a year. A little more in the last couple of years.”
“Four times!” Louise stammered, exasperated. “What on earth do you do that allows that kind of travel?”
Bianca laughed. “I’m a content creator.”
“You mean an influencer?” Louise said.
Bianca’s smile faltered just a bit, but she picked it back up. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t like being called that. I’m not trying to influence anyone. I just show people what’s out there in the world.”
Louise tilted her head and then nudged it toward Birdie and Alexis, who were both quietly stomping grapes like their lives depended on it. “What do you think, Alexis?” Birdie asked. “Influencer or content creator?”
Alexis stiffened beside Birdie. It wasn’t even subtle. Her shoulders went rigid like a board, and Birdie caught herself wondering if Alexis feared saying the wrong thing, given her history. Maybe she felt like she needed to overcorrect after last season’s chaos.
“Well,” she said finally. “I’d say she found a way to make her passions work for her. I’d call that smart.”
Bianca grinned from ear to ear. “Well, thank you, Alexis. I appreciate that coming from you.”
Alexis nodded and then said nothing. Just silence.
Louise turned back to ask a few more questions, and Bianca cheerily launched into explanations.
Birdie could easily let Alexis sulk in silence.
That was exactly what it looked like she was doing.
But Birdie had to say something. She couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
And so, she bent her head slightly to speak in a voice low enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up, even though none were aimed at them anyway.
Two were fixed on Bianca, who had just hiked up her skirt, revealing long, unnaturally gorgeous legs.
Birdie had gone green with envy when she’d first seen Bianca’s legs.
It wasn’t fair that some people were blessed and others were not.
Birdie’s silhouette wasn’t exactly frumpy, but it wasn’t Gisele Bündchen either.
Birdie stole a quick glance in Vivian’s direction.
She was distracted by a piece of paper in her hand.
She didn’t want her to see them interact right now, not after last night when Vivian had looked at them so suspiciously.
Birdie hadn’t considered this before, but what if there was a rule against being a contestant whom the bachelorette had previously slept with?
What if someone found out, and she got shipped home on the spot?
But that wasn’t what she was thinking right now. There was something far more pressing she needed to know. She tilted her head closer to Alexis and murmured, “Why’d you choose me if you don’t want me to be here?”
Alexis didn’t look at her. And when she did speak, her mouth barely moved. “It was a slip of the tongue.”
“Right,” Birdie whispered. “Because my name just accidentally fell out of your mouth.”
“Exactly,” Alexis snapped back, still whispering, still looking ahead at the cellar wall. “It was a mistake. I planned to call Harper’s name, but I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”
Birdie’s foot pressed harder into the grapes, and the juice splashed up against her calves. Bianca said something about traveling to Turkey and some famous cheesecake she’d eaten called the San Sebastian cheesecake. Louise had followed it up with, “Who the hell is recording you doing all this?”
“Geez,” Birdie said, her chest tightening as heat pricked behind her ears.
She heard Louise tell Bianca that she’d once asked a cutesy older Korean couple to take a photo of her with the Space Needle in the background, but they took selfies instead.
Bianca laughed loudly, and Birdie took the chance to spit out another whisper to Alexis. “That makes me feel really special.”
Alexis gave her the side-eye but didn’t answer.
“Are you going to act like this every single time we’re in the same room together?” Birdie mumbled, well aware that the cameras were about to shift toward them again. If she had anything else to say, now was the time to do it. “Because if you are, you might as well just send me home.”
“Fine! The next ceremony is in two days. You might not want to unpack your suitcase,” Alexis replied, breathing hard out of her nose.
Birdie was about to fire back something biting, something that would sting, but then Alexis’s heel slipped on a clump of grape skins. She lurched sideways with a yelp.
Instinct kicked in. Birdie grabbed Alexis’s arm and yanked her upright.
Which would’ve been fine, except Birdie’s own footing was treacherous, because the grapes were slicker than soap.
Her ankle slid, and her balance tipped. Suddenly she was clutching onto Alexis, trying not to topple over like two drunks at a wedding.
Their knees knocked, shoulders collided, and Birdie’s hand ended up braced against Alexis’s ribcage, holding on tighter than she meant to.
For one dizzying second, the world shrank to the sticky slosh of grapes and the hot thud of her pulse. Alexis’s breath was quick against her cheek, and her hand was on Birdie’s hip, with her fingers gripping a touch harder than they should.
But then Alexis caught herself and pulled away like Birdie’s touch burned.
“Can you please just concentrate on what we’re supposed to be doing?” Alexis hissed, glaring at her feet.
“Hey, I wasn’t the one who fell,” Birdie shot back.
She had lots more to say, but the cameras were squarely on them now, and out of the corner of her eye she caught Vivian watching.
She was smiling but there was something else to it and suddenly Birdie was reminded of a childhood memory when they’d visited her aunt in Brisbane, and she’d gobbled up three lemon slices at morning tea after being told one only and her aunt had smiled.
But it was more like an, I’m watching you, so don’t think about taking any more type of smile.
Birdie let out a frustrated sigh and balanced herself.
Vivian shouted from the side. “Good work, ladies! Keep it up. That picnic is going to be well-deserved. Keep going! Stomp. Stomp. Stomp!”