He heard a sweet sound, opened his eyes, saw Sofia’s tooth-bitten grin. He realized he might have said that out loud.
Her brother grumped but patted his head. “We love you, too. I think.” Roman raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Now let’s get outta here.”
I think. Aish kept his eyes on Sofia as exhaustion weighed his lids. He wasn’t going to be disappointed that Sofia hadn’t said it back. She didn’t have to love him. She didn’t owe him anything. Just as soon as he took a little nap, he’d make sure she knew that.
Even if she didn’t return his love, she would always be the best thing that ever happened to him.
September 30
Two days later, the last day of September, the last day of Bodega Sofia’s superstar internship program, the Monte del Vino Real was in an uproar. No villager was home. Instead they were filling the tabernas and partying in the town plaza with the tourists and reporters that mobbed the small kingdom, reveling in the wild story and sharing new tidbits. John Hamilton was alive! He’d kidnapped and tried to kill Aish Salinger! Princesa Sofia and her bodyguard of a brother had saved the day! The media—who’d been curious about Roman Sheppard, the reluctant half prince who’d famously rescued an heiress years ago—were now mad to interview the ex-army ranger. Any reservations the people of the Monte had had about the quiet and stalwart American were now gone. Roman Sheppard would be in their nightly prayers for helping their princesa.
Not that their princesa needed help, they bragged to reporters. Their princesa peleadora had saved the harvest season, had reinvented the Monte winemaking industry when all odds were against her, and now had rescued a rock star. They were proud to have a brave and bold princess who never went down without a fight.
The liberal toasting in the streets to their warrior princess—a nickname quickly overtaking party-girl princess—meant that rumors were flying wildly, although none could compete with the spare bits of truth shared in two press releases, released jointly by the rock star’s manager and the princess’s PR rep. John Hamilton was in custody for kidnapping and attempted murder. Juan Carlos Pascual and two additional members of the Consejo Regulador del Monte also were in custody for aiding and abetting, and authorities were seeking hotel executive Manon Boucher for questioning. Both Princesa Sofia and Young Son’s Aish Salinger were in good health and would give complete accounts of what happened to them at an afternoon press conference.
The world waited with bated breath for this 4 p.m. press conference, having spent thirty days watching the courtship of #Aishia stutter then fester then bloom then teeter precariously. After the drama of the last month, not even the most hardened cynic believed the relationship was faked. Would the warrior princess and the devoted rock star finally get their happily ever after? Would Aish go down on one knee? Would Sofia? Or, now that the internship was over, would they shake hands and go their separate ways, leaving the world heartbroken and howling?
As viewers at home bit their nails and watched their clocks, wine flowed throughout the Monte, locals cheered with tourists, and reporters anxiously prepped themselves for the story of their lives.
In the cellar of Bodega Sofia, however, everything was calm and quiet. Quiet, except for the clang of Aish’s boots against the metal steps as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Calm, except for the nerves obvious in his handsome face as he rounded the steps and made eye contact with Sofia, who was sitting behind a white marble bar in the middle of the majestically lit cathedral space.
“Sofia?” he asked, staying near the stairs.
She hated the deep purple bruise high up on his sharp cheekbone, hated the way he held his normally languid body stiff with his aches and bruises. She wished she’d been able to get to John before she’d had to jump into the pool to save Aish from drowning, gotten in a couple of kicks before Roman’s security team had dragged him away.
But she loved the way Aish stood there on her black marble floor under glowing lights, tall and breathing and here and alive, in his long-sleeve black button-up shirt, his black rock star jeans and boots, his blue-black hair pompadoured and perfect. What a glory it was to stare at a beautiful man.
“Come here, Aish,” she called, motioning to the two filled glasses and the bottle of wine she’d set on the bar. Her wine. One of her best.
He stayed where he was. “Shouldn’t we get ready for the press conference?”
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip to hold back her smile. This was a boy who’d asked if he could make her wet within minutes of meeting her, who’d barraged her with questions and touches when she’d seethed at his presence, who’d been ready in an instant to throw away his career to save her dreams. She’d never seen him wary, never witnessed him hesitate.
He truly didn’t know how today was going to turn out.
“We’re doing the press conference here,” she said, picking up her wine. Aish wasn’t the only one with a few nerves. “The cellar is the heart of Bodega Sofia, but you’ve only had bad experiences here. I wanted to show it to you in a better light.”
Aish reached up to wrap his long hand around a metal stair rung. “Okay.”
Helpless, she let her smile loose. He was so gorgeous, so vibrant and male. She wanted to warm herself at the flame of him. He was so far away. “Aren’t you going to come here, Aish?”
His hand clenched the rung. “I don’t want to demand anything you’re not willing
