My remark elicited a small chuckle and a flash of that demented hyena. “That’s for sure,” he said.
I tilted my head. “I didn’t expect you to refer to me as your wife. You could have warned me.” But I made sure to infuse some lightness in my tone. It didn’t bother me. We were trying to make this marriage publicly convincing, after all. I was just glad I hadn’t taken a drink of water before he said it.
Grayson made a visible effort to relax, leaning back in his chair and regarding me. “You said we should make our marriage look real for the sake of preventing your father’s suspicion. I just figured if word gets around town that I’m married, it couldn’t hurt in that effort. Diane Fernsby will definitely help with that now.”
“True…” She’d probably already spread the news to several people and might only be down the block.
Grayson took the credit card receipt from the waiter and began signing the slip. I wanted to believe he was putting some effort into making our marriage appear legitimate in public, but I suspected he hadn’t mentioned I was his wife for my sake or because of my father. I had a feeling he’d mentioned I was his wife as a way to shut Diane Fernsby up and for that reason alone.
The disappointing thing was, I had known he ran hot and cold, but we had been getting along so well before Diane Fernsby showed up and mentioned his ex. What was that all about anyway? It sounded like some woman named Vanessa had jilted Grayson. Where was she now? I wondered if she lived in Napa and if one of the people Diane Fernsby would spread the news of our marriage to was her.
Ah well, I couldn’t concern myself with my husband’s personal life. No matter how physically tempting he could be, trying to read him was frankly exhausting.
Grayson led me out of the restaurant to his truck. The comfortable mood we’d managed during dinner was slightly stilted now. But when we were both seated in the cab of his truck, he turned to me. “I’m sorry about that, Kira. I’ve lived in this town my whole life, and a lot has happened with my family in the last six years. People are curious, I suppose. I’m sorry I exposed you to it. I’m sorry if that was uncomfortable.”
People are curious. Sure. I was too sometimes. But… “Curiosity is different than blatant rudeness,” I murmured, staring out the front window.
“I probably deserve their rudeness,” Grayson said. “As far as Napa is concerned, I’m a murderer and an ex-con. And I murdered a neighboring town’s golden boy.”
I studied his profile as he stared out the window. I remembered what I’d read about his crime online. The boy who had died had lived in the nearby county of Sonoma.
I bit my lip, not knowing exactly what to say. “You didn’t murder him, Grayson. It was an accident. You told me so yourself.”
“And yet he’s still just as dead.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good—”
“No.”
We sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment before he glanced at me. I thought I saw regret in his dark eyes. Was I beginning to read him better? “I know how to show a girl a good time, huh?”
I breathed out a laugh. “According to Diane, there are quite a few of them.” I shot him an ironic smile.
Grayson made a face. “Sorry about that. Despite the fact that my stepmother was never very fond of me, Diane wanted her daughter and me together. Suzie just—”
“Wasn’t your type?”
Grayson chuckled. “Was always just a friend.”
I nodded, glad the awkwardness of a few moments before was gone. But speaking of curious… “Grayson, who’s Vanessa?”
Grayson didn’t answer immediately, but I saw his shoulders tense. “Vanessa is my brother’s wife.”
“Oh.” His brother had married his girlfriend—the woman he’d been planning to marry—while he was in prison? Ouch. I barely suppressed a wince, imagining what that must have been like for him. No wonder he didn’t speak to his brother anymore. No wonder he was so damn moody. Not that I wanted to make excuses for him, but he carried the weight of betrayal. And that was a heavy load to bear. “I’m sorry, Grayson,” I said.
He nodded once, acknowledging my words, and then started the truck and pulled out of our parking spot. The ride home was mostly quiet, the radio playing softly in the background. When we pulled around the fountain and stopped in front of his house, Grayson turned to me. “Do you want a drink? I happen to own a bottle of wine that I have on expert authority is richly layered and exuberant.” His mock snooty smile went serious. “One drink to make up for being ambushed at dinner?”
I smiled. What could one drink hurt? “Richly layered, you say? Exuberant too? How can I resist?”
He laughed softly. Grayson came around the truck and offered me his hand and then I followed my husband inside his house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grayson
We were sitting on semi-rusted lounge chairs on the patio, a glass of wine in each of our hands, sipping in comfortable silence as we looked out over the covered pool—most likely murky and sludge filled beneath. It wasn’t the most romantic location and I’d had every intention of trying to seduce her tonight. But after what happened at the restaurant, I wasn’t exactly feeling very enthusiastic about wooing her. Mostly, I felt humiliated. “You know what we should do?” Kira suddenly asked, leaning forward abruptly and taking me by surprise.
“I have a feeling nothing good ever follows those words when they’re coming from your mouth,” I said.
“Funny. No, really. It’s a good idea.”
“Okay, what?”
“We should throw a party!”
I leaned my head back on the chair as I watched her. “A party? Why in the world would we do that?”
“Well,” she said, sitting up completely and swinging her legs to the side so she was facing me, “it seems to me the town is…leery of you right now. It certainly couldn’t hurt the Hawthorn Winery’s image to obtain a better social standing in your own community. Am I right?”
“Probably.” She was right. If I was going to have a fighting chance of bringing my family business back to life, being the black sheep of wine country wasn’t going to help. Still… “How would a party help exactly?”
“It would just be a start,” she said, looking thoughtful. “But word spreads, you know. If we invited some of the more influential people in the community and they felt welcomed by you, they’d be more likely to extend the same courtesy your way. Gossip has a way of making people forget that there’s a human being behind the story. Inviting people here would remind them of that. I think, innately, people want to understand and forgive.”
“You give people too much credit.”
She appeared to consider that, a small wrinkle appearing between her eyes. “Maybe. But I really do believe it. I think it’s true more often than it’s not.”
After taking a sip of wine, I said, “You must be familiar with gossip.”
She let out an agreeable chuff that ended in a small sigh. “Most of my life has been spent in the public eye.” Her eyes slid away, and she appeared troubled. I had the sudden instinct to reach out to her. Strange. Unfamiliar. I looked away, taking another sip of the buttery white wine, savoring the hints of butterscotch and pear.