Saving The Family Vineyard (Cali Reunion #10)

Chapter 1

The long lines of vines extending from the front of the Dubois house were beautiful in the summer sunlight that warmed the patio stones beneath her feet; yet, somehow, Natalie felt left out in the cold.

Ian and Sabine Dubois had been chatting in French for well over two minutes now, and it was evidently captivating enough for Ian to forget to pause and translate for her. Not for the first time that afternoon, either.

If she were being totally honest, there was probably a good reason for that.

She couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for Ian to be catapulted into the role of translator and interpreter without any training.

Observing how his expression sometimes went blank as he searched for a way to express something that seemed to have no translation—and how quickly he shifted into repeating what she had said in a language she barely understood—Natalie had developed an intense admiration for the people translating live broadcasts.

Shifting from foot to foot, she sighed and rested her elbows on the railing that separated the patio from the small patch of green lawn before the vines began.

She was hungry, the sun was quickly transitioning from pleasantly warm to painfully hot, and for all she knew, Ian and Sabine might be planning to murder her.

Probably not, but considering the way Sabine occasionally shot her a dismissive glare, only to paint on a smile the second she turned back to Ian—she wasn’t willing to make bets.

Since their arrival two days ago, she’d received nothing but hostility.

Isabelle didn’t seem inclined to acknowledge their existence but would occasionally speak to Ian when they crossed paths.

The patriarch of the family seemed completely out of touch with reality.

He would stop by to chat, glare at Natalie, and then leave again.

As she opened the calendar app on her phone, she counted the days since they landed in Paris, under the mistaken belief that this whole ordeal would take two weeks—at most, three.

It was nearly August, and they had made little progress in discovering any information about the blight that had devastated so many hundreds of Fitzgerald Hills vines, or whether it was even linked to the rootstock.

Given how this visit was progressing, there was no chance they would agree to sell them more rootstock to replenish their fields.

Natalie sighed and shook her head, wondering why they were even bothering.

This thought had crossed her mind more than once in the few days since arriving here.

It had reared its ugly head once or twice since the car catastrophe, but the difference was that she had managed to ignore the nagging guilt while they were stranded by their malicious rental car because she was enjoying herself.

Now that she was miserable, a social pariah, and left alone with her own thoughts most of the time—as Sabine seemed to be actively preventing Ian from including her in the conversation—it was harder to justify the prolonged nature of the trip.

Logically, she knew there was no rush. The infected vines had been removed and were in the process of being systematically and safely destroyed.

It broke her heart to think of all the years currently going up in smoke, but it had to be done.

“Natalie?” Ian’s voice broke her musing, and she straightened, turning to face the pair.

“Sorry, what?”

“Are you hungry?” His tone let her know this was not the first time he had repeated himself.

“Uh, yes,” she said. “Sorry, I was thinking about something—”

Sabine sniffed dismissively and said something in French before switching to her “I’m speaking English because you’re stupid” voice to address Natalie.

“Of course she should join us. It will be a good experience for an American to eat food that hasn’t traveled a thousand kilometers to be deep-fried. ”

She had learned over the two and a half days they had been there that she could actually stop herself from twitching whenever Sabine spoke to her, but it seemed to be getting harder each time she had to.

“We’ve had a lot of amazing food in France,” she replied. “But I’m always happy to try some more.”

Ignoring her, Sabine smiled sweetly at Ian and gestured to the side of the house.

“She has a car and will drive us.” His voice was quiet, sounding almost apologetic. “She really wants to take us to this restaurant her brother owns.”

Natalie nodded and smiled, but inside, she groaned. Another family member to ridicule and mock her for her lack of French—how refreshing. “Sure. Has there been any vineyard conversation?”

He definitely looked sheepish now. “Not as much as I’d like. She’s very interested in America and what it’s like to live in a big city.”

“I didn’t know you had lived in any big cities.” She wasn’t sure why this made her annoyed—after all, it wasn’t like they were friends.

“Uh, yeah, for a little bit,” Ian said uncomfortably, glancing at Sabine’s retreating form. “Boston, but also Seattle for half a year, and New York for a few. London, Paris—um, we should really go. I don’t think she’ll appreciate it if we keep her waiting.”

The way he sprang into action to follow Sabine around the house made Natalie want to roll her eyes. Of course, Sabine was stunning—tall and lean with auburn hair with the most subtle blond highlights Natalie had ever seen. She shook her head and moved to follow them.

Men are so freaking predictable.

She followed their trail past the small flower beds and around to the gravel parking area, where Sabine leaned a bit suggestively against a deep red vintage convertible. To his credit, Ian was admiring the car while ignoring the way Sabine had positioned herself at just the right angle.

Saying something in French, Sabine stifled a laugh. Ian’s face dropped, and his gaze snapped to Natalie, though he didn’t relay the message before replying.

“Ah, you see, it is not a two-seater.” Sabine turned to smile at Natalie as she gestured to the car. “But you might be too big to fit in the back seat.”

Well, that would certainly explain Ian’s hesitation to translate.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Natalie replied, making sure her smile was sickly sweet. “So long as your suspension can handle the weighty load.”

The French woman stared at her for a moment, clearly taken aback, before letting out a halfhearted laugh and opening the door.

She reached down and popped a lever that allowed the front seat to fold forward.

Eyeing the narrow gap, Natalie refused to let her face reveal any of the trepidation she now felt about having to squeeze herself through the space.

Patting the rivets on her jeans to avoid scratching the paintwork, Natalie retained as much dignity as possible while contorting herself into the back seat of the tiny classic car.

Even then, however, she could not feel victorious—the back barely accommodated her, leaving her to sit uncomfortably with her knees leaning to the side and pressing against the front seats.

This would definitely not be legal in a modern car, she thought, glaring as Sabine and Ian slid into the front with relative ease.

Although Ian did still struggle to coordinate his long legs into the footwell.

“I’ll swap with you on the way back,” he said over his shoulder.

Natalie laughed. “Only if she puts the roof down and you hang your feet over the edge.”