When she’d been the only one caring for the kingdom in her early twenties, she felt like she was flapping a fan at a forest fire: listening to her people’s woes that she couldn’t fix, trying to keep her brother’s head out of the sand, and attempting to circumvent her parents’ worst abuses of power.
But when her brother returned and took his place with his billionaire bride at his side, Sofia had felt unnecessary. Unneeded. So she’d left.
She spun around in her chair to seek reassurance that this all wasn’t just her “delusion,” but the worry on Carmen Louisa’s face had her shutting her mouth. Her winery manager and lifelong mentor had entrusted Sofia with her life’s savings, several harvests of top-quality Tempranillo fruit, and her family’s reputation as legendary winegrowers. For so long, Sofia had been in the woman’s care. Now the woman was in hers.
Sofia straightened in her desk chair and set her chin. “Okay,” she said, looking at Namrita. “What do we do?”
“Well...” Namrita said. Her long pause and the way she stroked her bob told Sofia more than anything else how desperate things were. “Maybe this pro-mance wasn’t the way to go.”
Sofia’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” He was here. His feet had walked her winery. His hand had pruned her vines. She’d had to endure his voice and his touch and glimpses of him out of the corner of her eyes for the last week. Now Namrita was saying it was a mistake?
“Maybe we ask Aish and the interns to leave and we launch again in six months on a quieter—”
“No,” Sofia shot out angrily. She’d spent the last week running from one task to the next: checking the grapes then holding workshops for the interns then prepping the winery then writing scripts then faking two hours of sleep in her hospedería bed. She’d done everything Namrita had asked of her. “How can you suggest giving up?”
Namrita looked surprisingly vulnerable for a woman in a Chanel blazer, a stack of pearl bracelets, and oversized ripped jeans. “I’ve let you down. I didn’t take seriously how hard this was going to be for you, and I asked you to do the one thing that was intolerable. If this fails, it’s my fault. You’ve worked too hard to fail.”
Sofia was surprised by Namrita’s concern. The PR rep was an unrelenting whip cracker and Sofia resented every second she was forced away from harvest preparations to impress the unimpressionable and fake an attraction to a man she hated.
Now she had to accept the responsibility that, no, she hadn’t done everything Namrita had asked of her.
She’d actually lulled herself into believing that #Aishia was going okay. Those images proved it wasn’t. And the world’s gaze was going to wander off her winery—her “purgatory” winery in her “backwater” kingdom—if she didn’t improve the view soon.
“Mira, look,” Sofia said, raising her hands to clasp the women’s in her own. “I can fix this. I just need to give the interns a reason to stay. So what do we do?”
Namrita gave her a grimace. “I need to find out which intern the press is talking to. I had no idea they were that unhappy.”
Carmen Louisa nodded in agreement. “Manon has said nothing.” They’d all been encouraged by the way the French hotel executive had sought a friendship with Carmen Louisa. Having a second luxury hotel in the Monte besides Hospedería de Bodega Sofia would be a coup.
The grower grimaced before she said, “I hate to suggest it, but maybe we allow Aish to lead some demonstrations in the field. I’ve been surprised by his wine knowledge.”
Sofia fought her sneer. She was saved from answering when a door leading into the winery crashed open.
“Sofia!” Aish yelled.
She could hear Roman trying to stall him.
“Dude.” Aish’s voice echoed through the winery. The processing facility was empty; employees and interns were taking a well-earned siesta after spending the morning prepping equipment for harvest. “The only way you’re keeping me from her is if you hog-tie me and lock me in my room.”
Henry’s thick drawl was coming closer. “We can stuff him in a closet until everyone’s gone to bed.”
She spun around in her chair as Aish came into view through the glass. When he saw Sofia, he charged forward, his manager, Roman, and Henry on his heels.
The glass walls shook as he threw open the door. “Can you call off your fucking...”
Abruptly, he stopped. Blinked. And stared at her from the doorway.
In a black oxford shirt buttoned to his neck and rolled-up sleeves exposing his forearms, artfully faded jeans, and manicured black scruff he hadn’t been able to grow when he was twenty-one, he looked like he’d just walked off a Rolling Stone cover shoot.
Feeling pinned by his gaze, she asked, “¿Qué?”
“You’re wearing glasses.”
She raised her hand to the round tortoiseshell frames on her face. “And?”
“You didn’t used to need glasses,” he said. His stare was unapologetic. “You look hot as fuck.”
“Man...” she heard Devonte groan as Roman and Henry each grabbed a shoulder.
“Wait, fuck, I’m sorry...” They got him turned around as he struggled, a giant man between two titans.
He should be sorry. But his base compliment had unwanted heat flaring through her. Aish always had a filthy mouth, no filter between his wants and his lips, and it had driven her crazy. She’d craved anything he commanded when he talked dirty.
“Sofia, please, I’m sorry,” he called over his shoulder, almost at the door. “I saw that news story. We’ve got to figure out a way to make this work.”
Namrita put a hand on her shoulder. Carmen Louisa leaned toward her ear. “El tiene razón. Escucha lo que tiene que decir.”
He’s right. You should hear him out. Aish didn’t speak Spanish, so it was their go-to when he was nearby.
The PR exec on Sofia’s right had put together a plan that successfully drew the world’s attention. The grower on her
