Chapter 2
The worst part of the car ride was undoubtedly Sabine’s driveway, with the noise of gravel and its uneven surface.
The rest of the roads had been fine, although it took nearly half an hour to reach the next town where the restaurant was located.
This meant almost thirty minutes of being ignored, glanced at maliciously in the mirror, and jostled whenever Sabine needed to brake hard—far more often than Natalie had thought possible.
She would, however, trade five minutes of this excruciating lunch for ten stuck in the back of that nightmare classic car.
No more than twenty words had been spoken in English during the hour they had been seated—and almost all of them were by Patrice, Sabine’s brother, who conveniently relished the opportunity to interrogate Ian while completely ignoring Natalie.
She had to admit, though, that the food they had received so far was excellent.
Natalie didn’t believe the level of service would allow the place to survive stateside for more than a few months.
They were guests of the owner, yet they still waited nearly fifteen minutes for the menus to be delivered, and their appetizers arrived a solid half hour after they ordered them.
She had been doing her best not to sit and play on her phone. It helped that the Wi-Fi was terrible, but she couldn’t lie—when her phone pinged with a text message, she was absolutely thrilled to have an excuse to pick it up and busy herself with whatever was—
“Ah, shoot,” she whispered, causing Ian to look at her with concern.
Dismissing his concern, she shook her head and opened the text from Jordan.
From Jordan: Hey, so, I just want to say that I’m sorry for the way I lost my cool with you the other day.
That really wasn’t decent of me and you have been totally right to give me the cold shoulder since then.
I should know better than to try and police how you spend your time, it was a jerk move, and I hope we can still be cool—I’ve missed you.
Natalie glared at the phone, trying to piece together where she wanted to start. Yeah, it was a jerk move. Yes, he should be sorry, and she would have been totally in the right if she had been giving him the cold shoulder. That is, of course, only if she had been.
How, exactly, can you give someone the cold shoulder when you don’t speak to them regularly and haven’t seen them in person? Plus, he clearly doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for.
Her mind whirled with these thoughts as she planned out her reply in her mind, going over the text again and again until something clicked into place.
“Wait…” she whispered, flicking back to his text.
…should know better than to try and police how you spend your time…
He hadn’t been policing how she spent her time—he had suggested that she was effectively cheating on Neil by traveling with Ian. For work. Not to mention, Neil was not at all bothered by the travel arrangements.
Then, with a pinch of disappointment, she realized that Jordan was treating her exactly the same way he had when they were together.
Implying that she was the untrustworthy one and that he was only jealous because she didn’t seem to love him as much as she should.
However, now he was trying to instigate something between her and Neil.
Was he trying to provoke an argument between them?
With a twist of anxiety, Natalie’s stomach sank.
She had been very clear with Jordan that they were not getting back together.
Ever. Even if he had only cheated on her a few months before their wedding and stopped there, they would still never reconcile.
The fact that he had gotten blind drunk, nearly crashed his car into her aunt’s workplace, and was arrested for it all was just icing on the cake.
It didn’t matter that he seemed to be putting in all this work—work that was supposed to be for his own recovery and had nothing to do with their friendship.
Friendship being a strong word to describe it.
Even more than that—what the heck was up with missing her?
From Jordan: Can I get even an acknowledgment that you got the text? It’s fine if you’re still mad, I just want to know if I’m worried over nothing.
Still mad? She hadn’t been mad about it for…well, since it happened, really. She’d almost forgotten about it in all the excitement since.
He didn’t deserve a reply, and she was not interested in a conversation with him, yet she felt compelled to say something.
Nothing that would initiate an argument or ignite hope—Lord, how she prayed there was no hope to ignite—but something to bring it to a close.
Natalie sighed, copied the text from her notes app, re-read it, and deleted most of it before settling on an appropriate response.
From Natalie: I received it, thank you for the apology.
She silenced her phone and switched from the messages to the social media management app that Candice had set up for her.
Natalie had been posting several days behind their actual activities, and she felt conflicted about whether she should share anything regarding their current situation.
They weren’t disclosing any issues with their vines at Fitzgerald Hills, and she was somewhat apprehensive about mentioning the vineyard, given how hostile Sabine and her family were.
If she were honest, a significant part of her didn’t want to tag the winery or the restaurant they were sitting in because she didn’t like Sabine.
She knew it was petty but didn’t care.
She selected a time-lapse of a particularly pretty part of their drive into town and tapped out a caption.
NatFizz: When the landscape is this pretty, just being a passenger counts as meditation…
“Your duck, mademoiselle,” a male voice announced beside her, making her jump.
“Oh, hi, sorry,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Thank you.”
It took her a moment to realize that she had been so upset over Jordan’s text that she hadn’t even noticed her appetizer plate being taken away. Much to her surprise, the waiter then pulled out the empty chair next to her and sat down.
Confused, Natalie looked at Ian and Sabine—but neither of them seemed concerned at all.
Upon a second glance, Natalie recognized that the person she had assumed was a waiter was actually Sabine’s brother.
She smiled wider than she otherwise would have—surely she could get at least one of these people to like her, right?
With a sly smile, Patrice winked at her, causing her resolve to waver. “Cici tells me that your French is not good,” Patrice said as a plate was placed in front of him by one of his staff. “Perhaps having a local tutor would be a boon for you.”
She eyed his plate and saw that he had also ordered the duck. “I have a tutor, but we’re so busy that it’s rarely convenient.”
“Ah, well, if you do not practice, you do not learn,” Patrice said. “This is why my English is so bad. It is very embarrassing.”
Somehow, despite what he said being very close to his sister’s comments during their first encounter, Patrice’s tone carried self-deprecation rather than a veiled insult.
“Everyone’s English seems almost perfect to me,” she said, slicing a bite of the duck and dipping it in the thick sauce on the side of the plate.
“Ah, see—almost. Not good enough. This canard, though, perfect, no?”
He might as well not have spoken for all the good it did him—Natalie had eaten duck before, but not like this. She closed her eyes as she chewed. How had he managed to make it so tender without it feeling mushy? Where was this flavor even coming from?
“This duck is perfect,” she managed. “That’s incredible. How did you learn to cook like this?”
Patrice laughed, his smile wide and genuine now that he wasn’t winking at her. “Oh, fantastique. I am glad you are not totally dead inside. Yes, it is perfect. I started very small, always in the kitchen in trouble, right, Cici?”
Sabine said something to him in French, causing him to roll his eyes before turning back to Natalie.
“Chef take me in, her little troublemaker,” he continued.
“Then, I hate school, but I love cooking. I get in a little trouble here and there, so Mama and Papa send me away. Lucky for me—and now for you—they send me to Italy to attend Apicius International School of Hospitality. I grow up a little; then I study some more at Le Cordon Bleu Paris for patisserie. I was fortunate; I was spotted by a chef and got a job in a three Michelin Star kitchen in Paris. I learn everything.” He punctuated his sentence with little hand movements, and as he said everything, he spread his hands wide to the ceiling.
“Pssh,” Sabine interjected. “He got the daughter of the head chef pregnant, and it was either get a job and start earning money or have her father break every bone in his body.”
“That had nothing to do with it,” he said quickly. “Besides, she was never pregnant. It was, how it is called…a wedding trap. She is very happily married now—to someone else, thanks to God.”
“Ha! Only if that baby was born six weeks early and still full size,” Sabine snapped, miming a huge pregnant belly with her hands.
Ian caught her eye as she watched the sibling conflict, trying not to laugh or let her mouth hang open in shock. She noticed that he was also attempting to react appropriately while the siblings glared at each other.
“Well, father or not, you roast a fantastic duck,” Ian said suddenly, causing both Sabine and Patrice to stare at him—and Natalie to burst into uncontrollable laughter.