A whispered buzz swept through the crowd. Most of the guests wouldn’t know who Joe was, but her parents did, as did her sisters. Mia spilled the beans by popping to her feet and clapping her hands together.
“That’s my brother?” she asked in obvious delight. “This is so cool.”
“Mia,” Brenna murmured for Joe’s benefit. “She’s the baby of the family. Too smart for her own good and we all adore her. You met Francesca already, and the guy beside her is Sam, her fiance. Katie is standing over there. Next to her is Zach, her fiance. Grandpa Lorenzo is the fierce-looking old guy. His wife, Grandma Tessa, is next to him, and Grammy M is sitting with her date.”
The Marcelli family walked slowly toward them. Brenna’s parents arrived first. Tears filled her mother’s eyes and her father looked stunned, which made sense. Outside of soap operas, events like this didn’t happen.
Brenna cleared her throat. “So, everyone, this is Joe. Joe, my…um, make that our parents. Colleen and Marco Marcelli.”
There was an awkward moment when no one moved. Finally Joe approached their father and held out his hand. They shook. Joe glanced anxiously at their mother, who continued to cry.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
She blinked several times, then reached up and touched his face. “Is it really you?”
Looking more than a little uncomfortable, he nodded. “I’m Joe Larson.”
The Grands approached, along with Grandpa Lorenzo. Brenna’s sisters hovered in the background. Grandma Tessa pulled out her rosary.
“God is blessing our family,” she whispered.
Grandpa Lorenzo moved close and clutched Joe by the shoulders. “I see my father in you.”
Brenna leaned close. “I haven’t seen pictures, so I can’t tell you if that’s a good thing or not.”
Grandpa Lorenzo ignored her. “You are welcome, Joe Larson.” He frowned. “Joe. That isn’t right. You were to be named Antonio, after my father.”
Joe winced. “Tough luck for me, huh?”
There was a moment of silence, then everyone laughed. Grandma Tessa pushed her husband aside and reached up to pinch Joe’s cheek. Brenna was pleased when her macho brother flinched. Grandma Tessa had some power in her old fingers. Grammy M linked arms with her daughter. Katie and Mia approached for an introduction.
Her mother took over, saying again and again, “This is my son.” Her father seemed content to simply smile at his firstborn.
Brenna stepped back to watch the family interact with Joe. Despite what his existence meant to her, she’d liked him from the first moment she’d met him. Now he was here, and judging from the reaction, he would be welcomed with open arms.
Not a surprise, she told herself as Grandpa Lorenzo moved close and spoke in low tones. No doubt the elder Marcelli was spelling out the possibilities of inheriting the winery. Only an idiot would turn down an inheritance like the Marcelli winery, and Joe didn’t look like a fool. She was going to lose everything, just because she didn’t have a penis.
“We never meant to let you go,” her mother was saying. She touched Joe’s arm over and over as if reassuring herself that he was really there. The Grands were pressing in, and Brenna realized that Joe had the trapped look of a cornered animal. Oddly, she felt responsible for him, which meant she should probably come to the rescue.
“Okay, break it up,” she said, slipping between Joe and the family. “Give the guy a couple of minutes to catch his breath. I’m going to take him up to the house and get him settled. Why don’t the rest of you go satisfy the curiosity of our guests?”
Her mother hesitated. Brenna leaned close and hugged her. “I won’t let him get away,” she whispered. “But I think there’s too many of us for a first meeting.”
Their mother nodded. Tears filled her eyes again. “We’re happy you’re here.”
Joe gave a clipped nod. “Thank you.”
The “ma’am” was there at the end of the sentence, but silent. Brenna wondered if he would ever think of Colleen Marcelli as his mother.
“I can come back in the morning,” he said. “We can, ah, talk.”
“Come back?” Grandpa Lorenzo exclaimed, sounding outraged. “Where are you going?”
“To a motel. I saw one not far from here.”
Brenna winced. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
She barely got the words out before conversation exploded.
“You must stay here,” Grandma Tessa said forcefully. “You’re family.”
“You’d be no trouble a’tall,” Grammy M informed him.
“You getting away is so not going to happen,” Mia said with a grin.
Brenna looked at Joe and shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just plain easier to give in.”
“Sure. I guess I could stay for a while.”
“Good plan,” she murmured.
Joe picked up his duffel. Brenna glanced toward the tables and wondered if she should say something to Nic about joining him in a few minutes. Then Joe started toward the house and she hurried after him.
Temporary staff filled the kitchen. Brenna collected a plate of food, a bottle of wine, and two glasses, then led the way into the dining room.
“Take a load off,” she said, jerking her head toward the large table.
Joe set the duffel on the floor, then pulled out a chair. He took the plate she offered, along with flatware.
“Is that wine all for me?” he asked.
She laughed. “Don’t sweat it. I’m not trying to get you drunk. I thought it would take the edge off. Besides, Marcelli Wines is your heritage. Think of this as the beginning of your education. Your inheritance won’t come for free.”
He ignored her statement and glanced toward the kitchen. “You have any beer?”
“Peasant,” she muttered as she expertly opened the bottle of Cabernet. After pouring them each a glass, she took the seat opposite his and sank onto the chair.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He sliced off a piece of chicken. “Sure.”
“You look a little shell-shocked.”
His dark gaze narrowed. “The hell I do.”
She laughed. “Sensitive, aren’t we? Does this have something to do with your rough-and-tumble reputation? Do you really know fifty-seven ways to kill me?”
He chewed without speaking. Brenna sipped her wine and studied his face. His coloring was more Italian than Irish, but his features were a blend of the two.
“Second thoughts about coming here?” she asked.
“I’m way past that.” He picked up his wineglass and frowned at the contents.
“You’re supposed to admire the color,” she told him. “Appreciate the blends of reds and purples. Next, smell the bouquet.” She demonstrated. “Black cherry, chocolate, a little plum.”
He sniffed. “It smells like wine.”
She winced. “Right. Next, a sip. Let the liquid roll around on your tongue as you experience all the-”
Joe chugged about a third of the wine, swallowed, shrugged, and set the glass on the table. “Not bad.”
“That wine received a ninety-two from Wine Spectator,” she said faintly. “It was so highly allocated we had people offering nearly double the retail price per case. I won a gold medal for that wine.”
“It’s fine.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Gee, thanks.”
How on earth could her grandfather consider leaving everything to a man who said their prize wine was fine? It was so wrong, it was almost funny. She would start laughing just as soon as the pain faded a little.
The door to the kitchen opened and Mia entered. “Hi, Joe,” she said as she sashayed toward them.
He eyed her cautiously.
Mia rested one hip on the table and leaned toward him. “So, you’re quite the hunk. Are there more like you at home?”
Joe made a show of glancing at his watch. “Aren’t you up a little late.”
