4. Isabella
Thenext morning, with the clarity only a good sleep can bring, I likened my attraction to Max to my urge to touch wet paint—tempting, but certainly not wise.
Nomatter how soft his eyes looked when he talked to me or how his forearm seemed to call me to trace it, Max was a temptation I had to resist.
Anew city, a new job, and a new Izzy.
Onewho was strong, independent, and not swayed by handsome bartenders who smelled like woodsmoke and dreams.
Iwas here for a fresh start.
Besides, I had decided at the last brunch I attended with three of my girlfriends, all now engaged, settling down wasn’t for me.
Especiallyafter Nikos.
AsI stood in the space that had once been my childhood bedroom, the silence around me was a stark contrast to the bustling life I had known. The truth was, I had always been a free spirit, a seeker of the next thrill, the next story to tell. I was the epitome of adventure, my heart pumping for new experiences and new people, especially if that new person brought along the promise of excitement. Yet deep down, I realized the adrenaline rush was a temporary fix, not the foundation of a life shared with someone I could truly call a partner.
Ihad always been the protagonist in my own romantic saga, weaving in and out of whirlwind escapades that promised the rush of love at first sight. Yet, the idea of love as an enduring presence, a steady flame rather than a firework, was something I’d not truly entertained. My rendezvous across the globe had been chapters of excitement, not lifelong commitments. AndNikos, with his dreams of a family life abroad, had been yet another adventure I was almost ready to embark upon.
Butthe quiet confession in Nikos’s farewell had struck a chord. I realized it wasn’t about missing him or our could-have-been life. It was about finding myself. The realization dawned that I didn’t need to be swept off my feet. I needed to land. To settle not for less, but for real—for the real me to emerge and decide what my next chapter would be, for myself and no one else. I was not looking for PrinceCharming. I was searching for my place in the world. The adventure would always call me, but now I sought an adventure that could lead to a homecoming, to a place and a person where my heart could finally rest.
Promisesto myself now took a different shape: no more mistaking excitement for depth; no more conflating fleeting passion with enduring affection. The brush of fingers, once electrifying, now spoke of momentary pleasure, not lifelong companionship
Whenthe conversation I had long evaded surfaced, the truth in his words was undeniable. “Settling down isn’t you, Iz,” he’d said, not with malice but with a clarity I had shielded myself from. “We both knew where this was headed from day one; we just let it go on a little longer than we should have.”
Hewas right. Not because I feared commitment but because my spirit hadn’t yet found the peace needed to commit. Nikos had seen the horizon of our ending before I had, not because our love was flawed, but because our paths were always meant to diverge. His vision of the future was clear, and mine—a mosaic of experiences—was still arranging itself into a picture I could call home.
Luckilythe skies outside had also cleared, and as I stepped out onto the sidewalk and slid into the waiting town car, I felt confident in my refined direction. The sun was shining, my black satin button-up didn’t forecast my nipples to the world, and I was actually excited about my new job.
Myconfidence quickly shifted to annoyance as I took in, what was apparently going to be a routine sighting, Max high on the bar ladder, his back muscles flexing as he reached above him. Max wasn’t thick and buff like someone who lived at the gym, but he was fit. It looked like he was the type of person who enjoyed going for a hike or a run but also enjoyed saying yes to takeout and dessert. He had the body of a man who didn’t make you feel insecure about yourself. But these were details I did not need to be noticing.
“Why do you not have a shirt on?” were the first words out of my mouth.
“Hi, good morning.” Max’s face did this stupid lopsided grin making one single dimple pop up on his cheek.
“It’s not morning.” I slid my phone out of the side pocket of my bag—I’d given my Celine time to dry out and had switched to my black Prada—and tapped the screen. “It’s 1:53 in the afternoon.”
“It’s the first time I’ve seen you today, and it feels weird to tell you good afternoon when I haven’t gotten to tell you good morning.” Max sat the wine bottle on the bar top and then turned to grip the ladder to make another journey up to the top.
“What are you doing anyways?” I had to ask the question to justify why I stayed rooted to my spot, eyes cascading up as Max climbed the rungs. God, his ass looked good in those pants.
“I was expecting a shipment today for a private tasting I’m doing tonight but it never showed. I wondered if the ChateauMargaux would be a good substitute for what I had originally planned,” Max said as he reached the top.
“ButI also wonder if I should go with the ChateauChevalBlanc.” He seemed to be speaking to himself at this point.
Maxtwisted and reached for another bottle from the very top. “Or perhaps the Romanée-Conti.” He examined the bottle and brought both down to the bar top before turning and heading right back up the ladder. “OrI could go with the PenfoldsGrange from Barossa or the ScreamingEagleCabernetSauvignon from Napa.”
Icould spot the panic in his eyes all the way from down here. Even if I had to trail my eyes past his wide chest first. “Okay,” I said as I sat my bag down on the counter loud enough to zap him out of his panicked trance. “What would help you make your decision?”
“Honestly, the best way to decide is to sample them.” Max glanced over to a high-tech device sitting on the corner of the bar. “I’ve got a Coravin here. It lets us pour wine without removing the cork, preserving the rest of the bottle.”
Iraised an eyebrow. “Fancy. Will it affect the taste?”
Maxchuckled. “Trust the process. It’ll be just as if we uncorked them.”
Hecarefully picked up each bottle and wiped away the dust, revealing the glistening glass beneath. “You know, most people buy these bottles for the name and to showcase them in their homes. Few actually drink them.”
“You’re awfully chatty when you’re nervous,” I remarked, my tone teasing.
Maxflashed his lopsided grin again. “And you’re still ogling me.” He reached down and pulled on his undershirt that was draped over a nearby chair. “Better?”
Ipretended to ponder. “Marginally.”
Withthat, Max began the sampling process. My gaze was drawn to the muscles in his hands and forearms as he fixed the Coravin atop the first bottle, the ChateauMargaux. He pressed the device down, and a thin stream of wine poured into one of the glasses.
Ashe moved on to each bottle, he offered a tidbit of information. “ChateauChevalBlanc is known for its elegance—a perfect blend of CabernetFranc and Merlot. TheDomaine de la Romanée-Conti? It’s one of the best PinotNoirs in the world. It embodies the essence of Burgundy.”
Pouringfrom the PenfoldsGrange bottle, he continued, “Australia’s pride. A rich and powerful wine that speaks volumes of the BarossaValley.”
Lastly, as he poured the ScreamingEagleCabernetSauvignon, he added with a note of respect in his voice, “A cult classic. If you’re looking for the pinnacle of what NapaValley can produce, this is it.”
Iswirled the first wine in my glass, admiring its deep crimson hue and inhaling its complex bouquet. “Well, let’s find your replacement, WineGuru.”
Icouldn’t stop the moan that escaped my mouth if I had been promised a million dollars to not do it. The taste of the wine on my tongue melted me. I closed my eyes and held the flavor in my mouth to savor it.
“It’s okay if you swallow,” Max said from the other side of the bar. My eyes flew open as a blush crept up my cheeks at the tone of his voice. He was leaning against the back of the bar, wineglass swirling in his hand and a smirk on his face.
“I’m almost scared to try the others,” I said. “That one is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Max smiled. “For this next one, close your eyes. Swirl the glass and smell the wine before you taste it.”
Inodded, an obedient student. Max slid a glass over to me and our fingertips grazed as I reached for the stem. I closed my eyes as I felt the brush of his thumb against my pinky. I lightly swirled the glass and lifted it to my nose to absorb the aroma.
WhenI closed my eyes and swirled the ChateauMargaux, I was immediately enveloped in a complex bouquet. The predominant scent was that of ripe blackberries and cherries intertwined with subtle undertones of violets. AsI continued to inhale, layers of cedar, tobacco, and a hint of graphite came forward, rounded out by a whisper of vanilla from the oak aging.
Itmade me feel warm and relaxed, and I melted into my seat. Max’s voice was low and calm from across the bar. He leaned in toward me, watching my every reaction. “Now,” he said, his voice slow and steady, “tilt the glass back just a little. I want just the tip of your tongue to get the first taste.”
Myheart was pounding in my chest as I lifted the rim of the glass to my lips. The cool edge pressed against my bottom lip as I tipped it up. The warm liquid hit the tip of my tongue, and I could detect the fruit and woodsy flavors.
“Now,” Max continued, his voice taking on a suggestive lilt, “let the wine flow across your palate. Roll it around, letting it touch all parts of your mouth.”
Ifollowed his instructions, allowing the wine to dance over my tongue, tasting the subtleties in every corner of my mouth.
“Breathe in gently with your mouth open. It helps to aerate the wine, letting you experience the deeper flavors and undertones,” Max instructed. I did as he said, inhaling softly, which intensified the taste and brought out more nuanced flavors.
Iopened my eyes to find Max observing me intently, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Good, now swallow. And after you do, press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. You’ll get the wine’s full finish that way.”
AsI did, I caught hints of dark chocolate and soft spice, finishing with a gentle tannic grip that lingered delightfully. The wine was truly exquisite.
Maxleaned forward, placing his elbows on the bar, his face inches from mine. “And? How was it?”
“It was . . . intense,” I admitted, my voice huskier than I intended. The close proximity and the intimate lesson were clearly affecting me.
Movementcaught my attention from the corner of my eye, and I sat up straight at the edge of the bar. Dominic walked through the lobby and stood at the end of the bar.
Thesilence following Dominic’s entrance was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that always seemed to buzz around forbidden things. His gaze was locked onto Max and me, an unreadable expression etched across his face. Max’s smile faltered, the closeness of our laughter-filled moment now a stark contrast to the stiffness that replaced it.
Dominic’svoice broke through the stillness, his words carrying a weight that anchored me back to reality. “You guys know you shouldn’t fuck, right?” His words weren’t harsh but were tinged with the concern of crossing invisible lines.
“JesusChrist, Dom!” The protest erupted from me before I could temper it, while Max managed a strangled cough, the sound a perfect echo of the awkwardness now hanging between us.
Domraised his hands defensively, a clear sign he wanted to ease the tension he’d inadvertently caused. “I’m just saying. This place . . . it can mess with your head, and I don’t want to see you guys getting hurt or making things weird for everyone else. So please, just don’t go there.”
Myheart pounded a rhythm of panic and denial. “Oh my god, Dom. He’s your age, for heaven’s sake. I’m not going to fuck him.” The words, meant to sound decisive, came out more like a plea, even to my own ears.
Alook passed between the three of us, a silent acknowledgment of the complicated dynamics at play. We lingered in that awkward space, the air thick with the things left unsaid, each of us processing the unexpected interruption to the afternoon’s flow.
Tryingto break the tense moment, Max cleared his throat and motioned toward the boxes of wine he had selected for the evening. “I’ll start setting up,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with the effort of regaining composure. “We’ve got a big night ahead of us.” Max busied himself with the wine again, a futile attempt to smother the tension. I could sense the change in his demeanor, the ease we shared moments ago now replaced by a careful distance.
Inodded, my earlier defiance slowly crumbling into contemplation. WasI really as transparent as Dom suggested? With a deep breath, I pushed off the bar and turned my attention to the task at hand, the preparation for the evening’s tasting event—a convenient distraction from the complexities of what lay unspoken between us. It was clear now that whatever was unfolding couldn’t be contained within the walls of the PrismSociety, nor could it be as easily dismissed as I had hoped.