But here and now, Sofia was academically and long-windedly taking the group through the history of vineyard trellising.
Aish waved away the gnats again.
“Aish!” she said with more irritation. A few of the interns chuckled. They probably thought the down-on-his-luck rock star was as high as a kite.
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought they were annoying you.”
“Something is annoying me,” she shot back.
This time, she got a genuine laugh from the group.
“Forgive us. He’s regressing.” And she said it just right, pointing her thumb at him, good-natured exasperation on her face. Aish couldn’t have scripted it any better. Amelia, the wine blogger, was scowling, but the French hotel exec gave them a warm smile.
Sofia launched into the warming global climate and how it had changed Monte winegrowing. He could hear the pride, history, and resolve bubbling behind her words. Could the others?
When he looked around, most of the interns were eyeing him. Waiting to see what stunt he pulled next. And the cameras in the cordoned-off media area...shit. They were stuck on him. They probably missed her whole fucking speech.
Might as well get it over with.
He stepped closer and waved his hand above her head one last time before he planned to retreat to the back.
She grabbed his hand like it was a gnat she was going to crush. “Stop it!” she snarled, pushing his hand against his chest. She shoved, forcing him to stumble back.
He heard a chorus of sharp inhales.
Her eyes were meteorites. “Stop playing the idiot,” she said. “You can do better than this. I deserve better than this!”
A sharp, feminine sound of affirmation shot from the group.
She stepped away and his hand fell, burning, to his side.
No one around them breathed. The gnats were gone.
Thank God for the roar of a vehicle coming down the gravel road. It gave people something to focus on as a white truck came over the rise.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit... He stared at the back of her head, at her slight body in grower’s clothes. He kept his face impassive, aware of the cameras.
Shit fuck.
Stop playing the idiot. Was that what he’d been doing? For the last ten years, he’d done whatever he wanted—wrote songs, fucked, partied, performed, dicked around at his uncle’s winery—and received nothing but praise and money. Then John’s death had pulled back the curtain of how much he’d been ignoring.
You can do better than this. When they were young, Sofia had always made him feel adored and admired. But she’d also pushed him. She expected more of him than others did.
She’d been the one person who thought he was capable of being more than just perfect.
I deserve better than this, she’d insisted.
Aish needed to take a good, hard look at how he was fucking this up—his one, best, last chance.
Devonte nudged him out of his existential crisis as the truck, its windows heavily tinted, parked. People craned their necks and the media—thank Christ—turned their cameras.
The truck doors cracked open and a man’s heavy work boot appeared on one side, a woman’s high-heeled boot on the other. There were murmurs and high little voices.
Then the world’s most admired couple—Príncipe Mateo and his wife, billionaire Roxanne Medina—emerged around the truck doors holding their never-seen toddler twins. The birth of Liliana and Gabriel Esperanza y Medina three years ago had involved a breathless, worldwide countdown that ended with a gasping whimper because of the lack of photos the royal couple shared with the public. The two munchkins now wore sunglasses and ball caps—their dad was famous for his unprincely ball caps—but they were still painfully cute with their round cheeks and matching overalls. They waved excitedly at their aunt as they wriggled in their parents’ arms.
“Buenos dias,” Mateo called to the slack-jawed crowd, sunlight shining in his blond-streaked hair. Aish now got the whole “Golden Prince” nickname. “I’m getting the impression Sofia forgot to tell you we were coming?”
All eyes turned to Sofia.
She gave a cool Spanish shrug. “I thought they could use a surprise,” she said. And then she hurried over and embraced them all.
The interns murmured with excitement as the cameras focused on the beautiful bunch.
In the interview yesterday, that Consejo dickhead had threatened Mateo right along with Sofia. The fact that the royal couple were here, revealing their kids to the interns at the same time as the world, proclaimed exactly what the Consejo could do with their threats. If this was Sofia’s idea, it was a brilliant one.
The beefy bodyguard—Sofia called him Henry—also stepped out of the truck. Aish didn’t like how he popped up at random moments, keeping an eye on him like Aish was going to go claw at Sofia’s door. Aish didn’t like how blond and milk-fed he looked, like he could chew through linebackers with his strong white teeth while lobbing touchdowns. And Aish really didn’t like the way he touched Sofia, like he did now, walking up to her and squeezing her against him and running his hand over her waist while Sofia leaned effortlessly against him and chatted with her family.
“Who’s this Henry guy?” he whispered to Devonte.
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean...shit. Sorry.” He took a breath and shook out his fists. “Could you find out what his story is?”
“Yeah. If she’s sleeping with him, do you want me to tell you?”
No. Yes. Then he could kill him. Although a body that size would be hard to hide...
“Just...just let me know if it’s serious.” The hulk swept Sofia’s bangs out of her eyes just like Aish wanted to. If it turned out Sofia was in love with the giant...well, it wouldn’t be great for #Aishia. And personally, it would send Aish fetal.
Sofia laughed, head thrown back and beautiful. Happy. It was the first time he’d seen her genuinely smile in the week that he’d been here. Then, thank God for small favors, she stepped away from the behemoth and claimed Liliana from her mother. The little girl wrapped chubby arms around her aunt’s neck and squeezed.
When Sofia began walking toward the
