7. Gabriel
GAbrIEL
IHAD ALWAYS considered myself a man who appreciated wine. Red, white, sparkling, expensive, I enjoyed it all—and that included stealing sips of my father’s wine as a teen when he wasn’t looking.
But never once had I ever looked at a barrel of grapes and thought, Yes, that needs my foot.
Solterra, apparently, disagreed.
Their annual wine-stomping festival had taken over the entire downtown square, with countless barrels set up alongside the food vendors, games, and a concert stage.
When I’d seen it on the day’s itinerary, I thought it sounded a little too good to be true, considering how I’d spent my time here since I arrived.
Alejandro was determined to give me a miserable visit, so having a day relaxing at a festival and drinking wine sounded too good to be true.
Turns out, it was.
With my ass still smarting from yesterday’s polo match, I followed my escort, Zachery, unimpressed by the way he passed all the food and wine booths I wanted to stop at.
Then again, I was visiting royalty. I could do whatever I wanted.
An enticing red blend caught my eye, and I veered off course to stop by the booth. The woman behind the table bowed her head and greeted me formally, but I waved her off.
“This looks delicious,” I said, scanning the bottles lined up, their labels a sparkling gold sun.
“Would you like to try it, Your Highness?”
“I thought you’d never ask”—I glanced at her name tag and smiled—“Marta. Tell me about your blend.”
As she started to describe the flavor profile and I practically salivated, Zachery approached.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” he said. “It’s Solterran tradition to stomp the grapes before partaking in the wine.”
I smirked. “Right. And is that a tradition the prince has laid out solely for me today?”
“No, sir.”
I managed to stop myself from rolling my eyes, but just barely. “Fine. Let’s go watch some grape stomping, then.” To Marta I added, “Save me a glass, please.”
We headed down to the main tent, where I was sure I’d find a scowling Prince Alejandro—probably with a full glass of red already in his hands, the bastard.
“Uh, sir?” Zachery squinted under the bright sun, looking uncomfortable, though something told me it wasn’t from the heat.
“Yes?”
“When I mentioned stomping the grapes…that included you. Sir.”
I stopped moving. “What?”
He didn’t meet my eyes. “It’s a tradition, like I said. Everyone who wants to drink must stomp the grapes.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Quite.”
“You expect me to believe Prince Alejandro is stomping for his own wine?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bullshit. I didn’t say it, but I thought it. Before Zachery could say anything else, I started moving again, searching for the raven-haired, pain-in-my-ass prince under the main tent.
There he was, standing barefoot by the largest barrel in a pair of loose, dark brown trousers that were rolled up to his knees, a white shirt open at his throat and a red sash tied around his waist. A crowd had already gathered around him, and he was grinning, obviously enjoying the admiration and attention.
Then he caught sight of me and what I knew was my displeased expression, because it made his smile get bigger.
“Prince Gabriel,” he called out, his gaze roving over me, head to toe. “You’re overdressed for the occasion.”
I tried to ignore the fact that my body didn’t seem to mind his once-over whatsoever. Rather, it wanted to react—and not in a way appropriate for such a public place.
“My apologies,” I said, closing the distance between us. “I was under the impression that, as a guest of honor, I’d be lounging on a throne getting fanned while I watched Solterra’s finest prepare my wine.”
“Oh. Did your schedule fail to mention you’d have to work for your drinks today?” He smirked. “I’ll have to speak to Elena about the misprint.”
“I’m sure Elena does her job exactly as she’s required to.”
His dark eyes dropped down to my mouth briefly before lifting, and why the hell did that make my cock ache all of a sudden?
“You should take your shoes off. Your Highness.”
There were two trains of thought that veered off in my mind at that order. The first being that I wouldn’t mind taking off more than my shoes if he asked me to, which was completely out of the question.
The second was taking off my dress shoes and slapping him with them.
I bent down to untie the laces, but crouching down had the backs of my thighs cramping after my spending more time on a horse than I ever had.
“A little sore there? Do you require assistance?”
“Not unless you’re planning to come and massage me.”
“That will be a cold day in hell.”
“Maybe some other time, then.”
Once my shoes and socks were removed, I washed my feet thoroughly then rolled my pants up my legs. When I straightened and put my hands on my hips, Alejandro’s lips twitched.
“What? Not all of us dress like some drunken pirate.”
“Sí, eso lo entiendo. You decided to dress like a stuffy accountant.”
Jesus, that accent on his tongue. It was dangerous to my peace of mind. Not exactly the headspace I wanted to be in as I was led to the small steps beside his barrel.
“Wait, I’m getting in the same barrel as you?”
Alejandro’s brow rose. “It was your idea for us to mend fences, was it not? That’s why you’re here. What better way to do that than stomping grapes together?”
I narrowed my eyes on his all-too-accommodating expression. “Right. But what’s the catch?”
“The catch?”
“Yes. Are you planning to drown me in the juice?” I put a hand on the edge of the barrel and slipped a foot inside the waiting grapes.
It felt…revolting. Like sliding your foot in slime.
“Not really my style,” Alejandro said, and looked out to the crowd that was gathering around to see their prince pulverize grapes with his feet.
Maybe it was some weird sign of respect to drink from the barrel directly afterward?
Gross.
“So, um, why do we have to stomp on these before drinking? I would’ve thought you’d have people to do that.”
Alejandro aimed a disgusted look my way.
“It’s tradition. I know it might seem beneath someone of Valoria’s pedigree to get his feet dirty, but here in Solterra we like to be connected to our people, to the food and wine it produces.
It makes us appreciate the land we occupy and never take it for granted. ”
Fair point. But it was much easier to appreciate such gifts from the earth when it wasn’t always cold and raining. Valoria wasn’t exactly known for its spectacular summers the way Solterra was.
“Well, then, since you’re the expert, why don’t you show me how it’s done?”
“There’s no special way. Just imagine you’re stomping all over someone’s privacy to accomplish your goals and you should be fine.”
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” I said, taking a step forward. When my foot slid slightly and I began to wobble, Alejandro cocked his head.
“I’m merely pointing out the facts, Your Highness. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with so I can go and become the drunken pirate you so fondly mentioned earlier.”
Alejandro began to stomp around the large barrel, squishing the grapes with ease as he turned his back on me to face the crowd.
They all started to cheer and wave at their prince as he moved about, while I held my arms out to my sides and gingerly lifted one foot at a time, afraid I’d go skating through the liquid and end up face first in the fruit.
All the better for Alejandro to, in fact, drown me.
I wouldn’t put it past him, either. As he made his way around the edge of the barrel, he’d throw the occasional glare my way just in case I didn’t already know what a shit job I was doing.
So sue me, I wasn’t a practiced grape stomper. Or polo player. Or…anything, really.
I was aware I’d grown up privileged. But so had he. He didn’t have to rub my nose in the fact he was so skilled at everything. I was sure there were a few things I was better than him at.
Like kissing, for instance. I’d practiced that a lot. As a teen and a man. Bet I could best him in that. Then again, Alejandro did have a rather well-known reputation as a lothario. But…so did I.
So maybe—
A foot behind mine made me stumble, and as my arms windmilled, I began to pitch backward, until…
I landed ass first in the piles of red grapes.
I whipped my head around to see Alejandro behind me, a devious twinkle in his eyes.
“My apologies,” he said, looking anything but remorseful. “My foot slipped.”
“Right behind mine?”
He shrugged, but his smirk told me all I needed to know.
Bastard.
“It happens sometimes.”
“In a barrel this big? Doubtful. Or maybe you just wanted to be close to me.”
“Now that’s doubtful.”
I tried to stand, but my foot slipped, my hand followed, and I landed right back on my sore behind.
Alejandro snorted, and I could hear laughter beyond the wooden walls I could no longer see over.
Great. This was just great.
I could see the headlines now: Prince Gabriel of Valoria gets handed his ass—or lands on it—after attempting to make peace with the brokenhearted Prince of Solterra, Alejandro de la Vega.
Or maybe that was his plan. To humiliate us the way he had been.
Well, I wasn’t so easily bothered, and if he was going to go low, then so was I.
My eyes followed him as he moved around me with ease, stomping the grapes like they weren’t slippery little suckers designed to break your leg or your ass.
He turned his back on me to once again face his adoring group of fans, and just as he went to move to the right, I slipped my foot between his and tangled his feet up with mine.
As he tottered back and forth, I grinned. But it wasn’t until he began to pitch forward—and the edge of the barrel was just out of reach—that I really felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Because there was no way in hell he was going to be able to catch himself.
I was right. He didn’t. And the sound of his curse, right before his face smooshed into the grapes, was…delicious.
Alejandro’s head snapped around, and the sight of all that red juice running down his scowling face was the best thing I’d seen in my life.
I grinned as I said the exact same thing he’d said to me. “My foot slipped.” I shrugged. “It happens sometimes.”
As he got to his hands and knees and pushed back up to his feet, I was shocked he didn’t pounce and strangle me. Instead, he moved over to where his footman waited to help him out of the barrel and left me sitting there in amongst the grapes.
Aww, it seemed he wasn’t so good at losing at games. But at least I was closer to evening the score.
Alejandro: 2
Me: 1…for now.