Chapter 6 #2
"We still talk plenty," Celeste says, swirling the water in her glass. "But they can be so controlling and weird that I have to keep really clear boundaries, otherwise it spirals into pure chaos. My family is basically a Shakespearean tragedy. Feuding houses, poisoned cups, the whole business."
I shake my head, leaning forward. "I'd heard whispers about the drama over the years, but I figured it was mostly industry gossip."
"If only." Celeste chuckles. "There are literally poisoned cups."
Isabelle's eyes go wide. "You're joking. Like, actual murderers? Okay, I take it back, compared to that my family are practically saints."
“Yep.” Celeste nods. “One of my cousins actually tried to poison a relative for inheritance.
He's in prison now, but when it happened, my uncle's side tried to pin the whole thing on the maid who'd served the wine.
She was innocent, so I stepped in and got her a lawyer.
They turned on me for that, and that's when my own parents lost it.
In retaliation, my parents hired someone to burn down my uncle's main storehouse. "
She shrugs like it's nothing more than a squabble over Tuesday dinner, while Isabelle and I both gape at her.
"Wait, the Vignon vineyard fire?" I hiss as Isabelle's gaze darts between the two of us. "I remember reading about that in the news. Everyone said it was an electrical issue."
"Nope. That's the cover up,” Celeste says. “But if you dig into the police reports from that summer, the truth's all there in the fine print."
"Wow. That could be its own limited series on HBO." I shake my head. "I don't envy that level of drama. Though I'd be a liar if I said I didn't still desperately want to get a look inside those legendary cellars of yours."
"Tell you what," she laughs, "if we ever make it over to France together, I'll endure the mandatory family torture for your sake and give you a proper tour."
"Oh my god, I would probably actually lose consciousness." I feel giddy at the suggestion. "The vintage history alone..."
"It would be a blast to go as a group," Celeste says. "I spent my childhood in the industry and I still adore it. Though you definitely have a deeper fever for it than I do."
"Oh, don't get me started." I laugh. "There's just such an artistry to wine. The pairings, the stories, the way one good bottle can hold a whole season. It's the best."
"Margot is actually the mastermind behind our monthly wine selections." Isabelle smiles and pats my forearm.
I return the smile. Isabelle is as devoted to the kitchen as I am to the cellar, and she's always been the kind of friend who recognizes that same fire in me. There's something wonderful about a best friend who sees you that clearly.
"Wait." Isabelle glances toward the entrance. "I thought Sabrina was joining the party too?"
I sigh. "She is, eventually. Marco is dropping her off and then she's hitching a ride home with me. But they operate on a version of time that doesn't involve clocks."
Isabelle nods. "Great. Well, we're doing a full tasting menu today. Alex is prepared to wait on us hand and foot, so order whatever your heart desires. Although I am officially drafting you all as guinea pigs for my latest special."
My mouth waters as the savory smell drifts out from the kitchen. Everything Isabelle and Alex make is the best thing I've ever eaten, until the next time I come back.
"That sounds like exactly what my soul requires." I lean forward. "Also, you are not going to believe the day I've had."
I fill them in on the auction date situation, watching them both gape in a mix of horror and amusement as I recount the nightmare.
Isabelle considers me over the rim of her glass. "You know, the more I hear about your job, the more unhinged it sounds. Sommelier and client relations really ought to come with about thirty separate subcategories for everything you actually do."
I snort into my wine. "Usually I love it, and the pay is good. But this?"
"Maybe it won't be the disaster you're picturing." Celeste gives me a sympathetic look. "You said you two had been getting along better after the rocky start. Right?"
“Yes.” I rub my temple. "He's not actually a monster. We've survived several weeks of marketing obligations and everything has been perfectly fine."
"So what's the problem?" Isabelle asks, taking a sip of her wine.
"I can't put my finger on it." I fiddle with the stem of my glass, avoiding her gaze. "It's like I convince myself we've finally found a professional rhythm, and then... I don't know. He finds a way to get right under my skin."
Isabelle laughs. "Hmm. And what kind of getting under your skin is that, exactly?"
"Not that kind." I lift a hand, waving off the implication.
"If it isn't my favorite group of women!"
We look up as Sabrina sweeps toward the table in an explosion of color from head to toe, blue eyeshadow and all, her arms wide in a dramatic greeting.
"Celeste, hi, looking as radiant as ever. Isabelle, the aroma in here is making me weak. I'm starving." She presses a quick kiss against my cheek before settling into her chair. "Now, I want the full debrief on whatever I just missed."
Isabelle laughs. "You're just in time for the tail end of a very scandalous conversation, actually."
“It’s not scandalous, besides I already called and told Sabrina all about it.” I tip my glass toward Sabrina. "I was just catching them up on the whole gala situation."
"Yes, it's a national tragedy.” Sabrina nods. “Margot is being forced to endure an evening with a man who is tragically both handsome and charming. Shall we have a moment of silence for her struggle?"
Laughter ripples around the table while I aim a withering, elder-sister look her way. "I knew I should have revoked your invitation today."
She only grins. "Oh, hush. And you're taking this a bit hard, aren't you? You never get rattled like this, which leads me to wonder. The lady doth protest too much?"
"See, I was suspecting the exact same thing," Isabelle says.
I bury my face in my hands. "That is absolutely not what's happening here. He is so not my type, and besides, no athletes. Remember?"
“I remember,” Sabrina says, her face softening as Isabelle squeezes my arm. "Jason was horrible and did a real number on you. And for the record, if I ever see him again, I'm going to spit in his face for what he did to you, and then knee him squarely in the balls, and then?—"
"As always, I appreciate your unwavering commitment to violence on my behalf. But he's not worth a battery charge." I cut her off with a laugh.
"Alright, alright. Just know he has it coming.” Sabrina grins.
“But hear me out, your usual type, the one you're so attached to, hasn't exactly delivered the happily-ever-after.
And I'm not claiming a hockey player is the cure-all.
I'm just saying, keep an open mind for someone who might surprise you. "
I snort. "You want me to keep an open mind for a guy that I actively dislike."
She shakes her head. "I'm saying don't be so closed off. Plus, I suspect you don't dislike him nearly as much as you claim."
Both Isabelle and Celeste are wearing matching, knowing looks that make me want to crawl under the table. I'm just drawing breath to launch a defense when Alex arrives beside us, a plate of something savory and incredible-smelling in his hands.
"Hey, guys. Always nice to have the whole group together," he says, setting the dish down.
"Saved by the food." I exhale a long, grateful sigh. "Alex, you have no idea how much I needed this interruption right now."
He laughs. "Well, I’m always game to provide a distraction. And you must be Celeste? Great to finally meet you."
He shakes her hand while Isabelle handles the introductions, the group sliding into small talk.
Sabrina, never one for a filter, immediately puts in an order for one of his specialty cocktails, which Alex grants with a smile.
She's basically their surrogate little sister at this point, and they dote on her in a way I find ridiculously sweet.
Alex catches Isabelle's eye on his way back to the kitchen and gives her a quick, private wink, and the look she returns softens her whole face in a way that always makes me a little wistful.
They make it look so easy, being in love, planning a wedding while running their dream place, and somehow having more fun than anyone I know while they do it.
I turn my glass slowly by the stem while the table talk fades to a hum around me, my mind drifting toward things I try not to think about too often.
I love my life. I love my independence, the house I've curated exactly to my taste, the total lack of a man around to whine about the floral throw pillows.
It's a full life. I'd just be lying if I said I didn't sometimes want someone to share it with. Maybe it's a symptom of growing up on a steady diet of Jane Austen and those sweeping, dramatic romance novels from the eighties, but I've always been a bit of a helpless romantic.
Sabrina nudges my shoulder, catching my eye with a questioning look. You okay? I give a quick, reassuring nod, and she gives my forearm a supportive squeeze before returning to the conversation.
My phone buzzes against the table. I glance down, and it's him.
Cillian: So. I hear you might be my date?
I lock the screen and set it back down without replying, ignoring the way my pulse picks up. Maybe Sabrina has a point about the open mind thing. But she's wrong about Cillian. He is not the exception to my rule.