The Marcelli Bride

to the dining room. Her eyes were wide and filled with pain.

Perfect, Joe thought grimly. The day was going just perfect.

He hesitated, not sure what to say, then he figured there weren’t any words and he stalked out of the house.

Darcy wandered through the various rooms of the winery. Although Brenna had given a very detailed tour, she couldn’t remember what all the equipment was for. The various barrels were marked, but not in any language she recognized. She supposed there was a code that explained what was inside, when it had been put in the barrel, and maybe even when it was supposed to come out.

All so interesting, she thought, breathing in the thick scent of grapes and wine and something yeasty-almost like bread. She found herself wanting to know more about the process and how the decisions were made.

“So you’re intrigued.”

She turned and found Grandpa Lorenzo standing behind her. “I’ll admit it,” she told him with a smile. “I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know about wine until I got here. I don’t drink it much at home, and when I go out, someone else usually picks.”

“Without wine, there can’t be life,” the elderly man told her. “Come. I will show you.”

He leaned heavily on his cane as he led the way into another room filled with large, stainless steel vats.

“The white wines,” he said. “Chardonnays and blends. Different kinds of barrels give a different taste.”

“But how can metal give a taste at all?” she asked.

“You are right. The wine is different because it doesn’t have the flavors of the wood. We play tricks with the grapes. We tease them and coax them. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they do not. Like children. We know what is best, but there are times everyone has to learn on his own.”

He led her into a room filled with all kinds of equipment and a narrow conveyor belt that looked like a snake. “We bottle here. You will come and watch. It’s very interesting. Brenna can’t stand to be here. She says the treatment is too hard on the wine and it makes her sad to see it battered.”

He pointed out where the barrels were emptied and how the liquid flowed into the bottles. Labels were applied, corks pushed in, then sealed with foil coverings.

“So many things can go wrong,” Lorenzo told her. “The bottles don’t move, the wine doesn’t pour, the labels are crooked. But we persevere and then we have this…”

He opened a door, and she saw cases of wine nearly stacked to the ceiling. They were everywhere, leaving only enough space for a small table, a phone, and an intercom.

“My retreat,” he said. “When I want to be alone. I like the room when it’s like this-crowded before the trucks come to take the wine away. In a few days it will be empty. I spend my afternoons out here. Tessa worries about me. I’m too old to be alone.” He touched the intercom. “I call her from here. It buzzes in the kitchen. But still she worries. An old woman.”

Darcy heard the love in his voice, and it made her feel warm inside. They had to have been married fifty or sixty years, yet there was still caring, still affection.

“You’re very lucky,” she said.

“You would think so, eh, but look at this.” He opened one of the cases and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. He pointed at the label. “The same one for too many years. But can we get a new one? No. Brenna brings me designs. They’re so bad. Animals and flowers. We are Marcelli Wines. We have a proud tradition.”

His voice lowered and his expression softened. “Now she has a baby of her own to keep her busy. So the labels will stay, and we will go on.”

“I can’t believe she runs two wineries,” Darcy said. “That’s pretty amazing.”

“Yes. Too much, sometimes, but she’s stubborn. When I wouldn’t let her run Marcelli, she started her own label. Foolish girl. But the first releases are out. She scored high and sold everything within a week.”

There was pride in his voice. Darcy understood that Grandpa Lorenzo would be an exacting boss, but she wouldn’t mind dealing with the old man. For him, family was everything.

“You have a sister?” he asked.

“Yes. Lauren.”

Lorenzo nodded. “And your mother?”

“She died when I was sixteen. My father never remarried. In politics it’s difficult to find the time to have a personal life.”

“Still, a man shouldn’t be alone. It’s not right. Look at my Joe. Alone for too many years.”

Darcy laughed. “You’re not subtle, are you?”

“I’m an old man who wants to see his only grandson married. He’s a handsome fellow. Strong. He would be a good provider.”

Darcy grinned. “Yes, and he seems to have very nice teeth. I’m sure he’ll be a good breeder.”

Lorenzo smiled. “You tease me.”

“A little. I don’t think Joe is interested in me that way.” Although he had just kissed her. Hmm, the lip-pressing did sort of make things more intriguing.

“You could make him interested,” Lorenzo said. “You have ways.”

“Not as many as you’d think.”

“Darcy?”

She heard someone calling her name. A familiar someone. Male, tall, and with good teeth.

“We’re in here,” she yelled.

Joe walked into the storage room. “Paige and Alex were going crazy. You disappeared.”

“Oh, sorry. Your grandfather and I were just talking.”

“About you,” Lorenzo said. “About your heritage.”

Joe shook his head. “Not now, old man. Let me get Darcy back to her Secret Service team.”

“What about this family?” Lorenzo demanded, banging his cane on the wooden floor. “What about your duty to it? You should be married and having babies.”

“Okay, gotta go,” Darcy said, taking that as her cue to leave. She waved and hurried out of the room. Oh, yeah. Hanging with Alex and Paige was much less pressure than dealing with Joe’s inability to get along with his family.

Joe watched Darcy duck out. Lucky her. She could simply walk away.

“I’m not interested in getting married,” he said calmly.

“So we all know. And what will happen when you are? What will you call her?”

Joe frowned. “My wife?”

“Will she be a Larson? That is not your real name. You are a Marcelli. You should take back the family name. Be proud you are one of us.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Joe growled as he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Change his name? He was Joe Larson, always had been. It was bad enough the old man pressured him about getting married, and now Brenna expected him to learn more about the winery.

The need to run, to bolt for freedom, quickened his step, but there wasn’t anywhere to go. As long as Darcy Jensen was in residence, he was trapped.

He’d barely made it to the barrel room of the winery when he ran into Alex Vanmeter. The head of security didn’t look happy as he glared at Joe and announced, “We have to talk.”

8

Alex led Joe around to the back of the winery and checked to make sure they were alone. Then he turned on Joe and let loose.

“What were you thinking?” the agent demanded. Fury tightened his features and sharpened his voice. “You are our liaison with the family. You’re a goddamn trained SEAL. You’re supposed to be protecting Darcy, not putting her in danger. You have no right to prance around here, sucking face with the president’s daughter.”

Joe groaned. Between his family and Darcy, he was in the seventh level of hell and sinking fast.