In a surreal turn of events, she had her dark-haired ex to thank for it.
He looked like a bad boy tamed for the occasion in white denim pants and a cream summer sweater that showed off the width of his shoulders. When he threw back his head and laughed, his throat was tan and strong, so different from that strung-out rock star who’d shown up at her winery launch. The sunset cast a rosy gold glow and sparks of it caught in his hair.
“...so then I saw this dragon flying over and I thought, whoops, someone’s gettin’ canned, ’cause you know about dragons and fire,” Henry said and Sofia blinked and looked up at him.
“Sure, sure,” Roxanne murmured on Sofia’s opposite side. “But dragons usually hoard gold so if they’re in the vicinity, you’ve got to balance win-losses.”
Sofia swiveled to look at her. “What are you two talking about?”
“There she is!” Henry boomed, drawing a few looks with his Texas-size voice.
“We were talking about how devastated we were to be ignored while you were eye-fondling the rock star,” Roxanne said, grinning evilly.
Sofia scowled and lowered her voice, hoping the two would do the same. “I wasn’t—”
“Were,” Henry said.
“And don’t worry,” Roxanne said, tilting toward her. In an off-the-shoulder red peasant dress that highlighted how kickboxing was a good antidote to childbearing weight, Roxanne looked like a swimsuit model and not a mogul and mother of two. “He’s been sneaking glances, too. He looks at you like I looked at my first million.”
“Except when I do shit like this...” Henry said as he slipped his arm around Sofia’s waist and pulled her against his thick, muscle-y side, covered in a black polo shirt and jeans. She leaned against him, because it was easy and comfortable, because their friendship had always been tactile after an attempted kiss in the first few months let them know they’d never feel lust. “When I hug you, that little guy thinks he can take me.”
Henry was twice the width of Aish and Aish had never been jealous of anyone because men who perceive themselves as golden idols don’t envy ants and both of her pseudo siblings were acting like annoying teens so Sofia had no idea why the defense “He’s not little,” popped out of her mouth.
She was as shocked as they were thrilled.
Maybe turning to the boy she once loved for a distraction orgasm hadn’t been the best idea. But that’s all it was. Aish Salinger, more beautiful with hours of hard work on his long frame, had been a handy alternative to falling apart in the middle of a vineyard. An orgasm was an orgasm, and although this was the boy who showed her that she could have them, there was no reason it should outweigh other stress-relief orgasms she’d had in her life.
“I got a rule, too, Sofia. I’m not going to fuck you until we agree this is more than a one-time thing.”
It wasn’t going to be more than a one-time thing. She smoothed her hand down the hip of her white linen sheath dress as a reminder.
“It’s all pretend,” she’d told Aish, and she couldn’t allow their pretend flirtation to turn into real...itch scratching. Filling the 24-7 news cycle along with Sofia’s video was a photograph of Aish and Sofia. It showed him looking up at her on the truck bed while she’d looked down at him.
It was a photo Sofia didn’t want to see more than once.
But social media was raving about the warming temps between the princess and the rock star. Bodega Sofia finally had some good press, and Aish was too important to that continued momentum to allow their arrangement to get complicated.
As if he was the voice of el diablo on her shoulder, Henry drawled, a touch quieter, “You know, it’s okay if you want to try to get to know him again. When the cameras aren’t around.”
Sofia straightened and pushed herself out of his hold as she raised the wineglass to her lips, calmed and centered herself with the taste of the savory rosé she’d made from her brother’s grapes. For a second—unintended and unwanted—she wondered what Aish had thought of it. He’d said nothing about the half glasses he’d sampled.
“Why would I do that?” she said quietly.
She could feel the telegraphing messages being sent between Henry and Roxanne over her head.
“Well, I know we don’t talk boys or curl each other’s hair,” Henry said, and was that a dig for her not sharing with him what had happened with Aish all those years ago? “But I’ve never seen you look at a guy the way you look at him.”
“He hurt you,” Roxanne said. A lo hecho, pecho, what was done was done and her sister-in-law never hid from it. “Maybe spending some time with him would help you let go of some of that hurt.”
It wasn’t their fault. They didn’t know how cruel they were being. But if Sofia told her and Henry what had really happened, how he had left her alone and terrified in a hospital in a foreign country, neither of them would be talking about reacquainting herself with Aish Salinger. They’d be dragging him up into the mountains and throwing him from the highest peak.
If they knew what Sofia had begged of him—in the vineyard, in her cellar—despite what he’d done to her, they might throw her off right behind him.
Sofia had to be better than a lost cause.
It was of course now, when she was submerged in dark emotions, that Henry tapped her hip and she saw Aish and his manager making their way across the pool deck toward them. Aish looked flinty-eyed at Henry.
Sofia focused on Devonte so she wouldn’t get caught up in the ludicrous idea that Aish was jealous.
“Princess, I’ll be taking off in the morning. Just wanted a chance to say goodbye,” the manager said.
Surprised, she
