“I’ll be nearby if anyone needs me,” she says, looking right at me.
I nod. Strange. It seems like Mr. Bozhidar would be the one who needs her assistance not me. I face the man who’s the key to getting Stellariva Vineyards out of the hole we’re in and back to the light. Out of the red and into the black. Or something like that. I may be a wee bit nervous now that we’re face-to-face. He’s just so much man (don’t think about it), and he exudes power.
I stare as he removes his top hat with a flourish.
“Good evening,” he drawls in a deep silky voice that wraps around me like a dark caress.
I step closer, drawn in, and then remember the old-school manners Neli told me were important to him. I drop into an awkward curtsy as I clutch the wine bottles against my chest, my purse dropping forward off my shoulder and hitting the floor. My planner spills out of it, exposing one of my many lists. “Good evening, Mr. Bozhidar.”
I go for my purse and planner, but he’s faster, tucking the planner back in and snagging the strap with a single finger.
“Quite a long list,” he says.
I straighten, meeting those glittering black eyes that seem to hint at something mysterious. “I’m a planner. Love to make a plan and check stuff off my list. It’s kinda my thing.”
He sets my purse back on my shoulder, his touch through the thin fabric of my dress sending a spark through me.
I lick my lips. “Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. I brought two of our best vintages as a gift.” I offer him the wine. “Would you like a tasting?”
He leans close, his black eyes gleaming. “A taste?”
My heart is in my throat, a distant warning of danger sounding in my mind. I take a step back.
Wait. I’m being silly. I’m just feeling intimidated. Who wouldn’t be in his presence? Good looking, successful, wealthy.
I gather my nerves and remain focused on the prize. “Yes, I’d love to get your opinion on our wine.”
“The wine, yes, of course,” he murmurs. “We shall have some.”
I offer him the bottles, but he doesn’t take them. Instead he snaps his fingers, announcing, “Bring these to the parlor.”
I glance around. Does he have a maid or a butler who appears at the snap of his fingers? Neli appears. She must’ve stayed close like she said. I guess she helps him a lot.
He hands her his top hat and gestures for her to take the wine bottles.
She tucks his hat under one arm and takes the bottles from me. “The great hall would be more comfortable than the parlor. Right this way, Stella.”
I follow her, sensing Mr. Bozhidar’s looming presence behind me more than hearing it. He moves quietly for a man of his size.
We step through a large archway into what is truly a great hall with a long wooden table and enough room to accommodate—fifty people, at least. There’s a line of wooden chairs with intricate scrollwork carved into the top of each one. An enormous candelabra overhead brings out the gold motif in the post and beam ceiling. A stone hearth dominates the opposite end of the hall. Sconces that resemble torches line the walls between arched mullioned windows.
Wow. No detail was spared to make it feel like an authentic castle.
Mr. Bozhidar pulls out a chair for me adjacent to the head of the table, and I take the offered seat. He really does value manners. And bathing. Mmm… I inhale deeply, taking in the clean scent of his fresh woodsy aftershave. Oddly, it’s somehow familiar. Maybe my ex used it.
He takes the seat at the head of the table, and I try to focus my attention back on the matter at hand. I’m here for business. Not smelling his smooth clean skin.
“I’ll be right back with glasses and a cheese platter,” Neli says.
Mr. Bozhidar stares at her. “Cheese platter? Just bring the silver platter with the cheese on top. I do not know how—”
“Boz.” Neli smiles tightly. “I’m sure Stella would like to hear about our latest award-winning vintage.” She gives him a significant look. Some kind of problem with the cheese platter around here?
“I would,” I say enthusiastically. “You must be very proud to take the gold medal at last year’s Challenge International du Vin, in France.” I did my research on the latest news from their winery earlier today. Our winery could never compete at their level internationally; however, there’s a big competition in New York coming up next month for domestic wines. I’m hoping we can scrape up the entry fee and submit our best wine. It’s a long shot, but now is not the time to be careful. It’ll take big, bold ideas and a miracle to save Stellariva.
Neli quickly walks from the room. I think she doesn’t want to miss much of our meeting. Maybe she’s afraid he’ll share all his wine-making secrets. I can feel his stare as I set my purse over the back of the chair, waiting for him to tell me about his recent win. Those black eyes. For a moment there, he felt dangerous. Maybe there is something off about him like my dad said. No, no. Don’t be silly.
Again, I fight back my nerves. I’m sitting in the room with a wine-industry legend, but he’s still just a man who puts his pants on one leg at a time. When he wears pants.
“Your gold medal win?” I prompt.
He steeples his long fingers together on the table. “Ah, yes. Our merlot.”
“I’m so impressed. That’s a very prestigious competition.”
“Yes, yes, would you like to try our winning wine?”
The jitters return. Why can’t I seem to settle down? “Sure. That would be wonderful.”
He stands. “Let’s take this to the cellar. I will give you a tour.”
“Should we wait for Neli?” I ask. “She’s bringing us a cheese platter.” Or a silver platter with cheese on it or something with cheese. I’m really not sure.
“I have no use for that. Come.” He crooks his elbow for me to take, like a gentleman from a more courtly era. It’s unusual, but I actually like his old-school ways. It makes me feel like we’re in another world—like you see in those movies about knights in armor, sword fights, and lavish feasts. Kind of exciting, really. Must be the medieval atmosphere.
I cross to him and rest my hand on his arm, meeting hard muscle. My heart starts its lusty drumbeat once more.
We’re barely through the front hall when Neli appears with a platter of cheese, olives, and crackers. She holds two wineglasses by the stems in her other hand. “Where’re you going?”
“The cellars,” Mr. Bozhidar says. “We will dine later.”
“Just a minute,” she says. “I’ll go with you.”
“No need,” he says at the same time as I say, “That would be nice.”
He stiffens and looks down at me. “You wish for a chaperone?”
Chaperone? Now that’s really old-school. “Uh, I thought it would be nice for her to join us. Isn’t Neli a critical part of the success of your winery?”
“Why, yes, I am,” she says, setting the glasses and platter on a hall table before rushing back to us. “Thank you, Stella, for saying so. It seems Mr. Bozhidar is eager to show off our wine.”
“As he should be,” I say.
A few minutes later, I step into the most spectacular cellar I’ve ever seen. It’s an enormous vaulted space, made entirely of pale stone bricks with multiple archways, and lit with candelabras overhead and sconces along the sides of every archway. “Whoa,” I breathe as we walk through the space, my hand still tucked in the crook of Mr. Bozhidar’s arm.