His by Pierce Arielle

Author:Pierce, Arielle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-12-22T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

My feeling of trusting in Peter lasted through the dinner. It was a slow, rather boring affair, if you ask me. As I had feared, I was the only lover of any of the men here. Neither Mark nor Joe talked about any other men in their lives, nor did they talk much to me, for that matter. Pretty much all the three men went on and on (and on and on, etc.) about was the vines. Was the Zin ready yet? How did the Sauvignon get through the recent heavy rains we’d had? Did the Chardonnay ever develop in the stainless steel vats and would it affect their gross profit? How many oak casks did they have ready this year and did they decide to go with American or French oak?

The food on my plate was as uninspiring as the conversation. It was all oh-so-proper stuff in bite sized portions piled up on top of one another in the worst possible way. I mean, who puts fish on the weird nest that was the veggies? It just made the entire thing taste of the sea. Yuck. At least Peter didn't notice that I turned my plate into a Pollock painting. He was too busy talking wine with his buddies.

No one looked my way. For once, even Mark paid me no mind. And Peter seemed relaxed since we had come down to eat. After dessert―which was a big improvement over dinner―the guys poured some more wine and carried the conversation into some big-ass living room with a fireplace so vast that I bet I could walk inside it and stretch out. It looked far bigger than my bed back at my dad's place back in San Francisco. As even Peter was ignoring me, I decided to go have a wander around the place.

My shoes had been left back in the bedroom, so I padded about silently. The slate flooring was cool underfoot, a nice change after the unexpected heat of the day. It must have been Mother Nature's way of getting her last hurrah in before that gray, drizzly fog known as a northern California winter set in.

There were servants about but I didn't encounter a single soul as I slipped away from the living room. The rest of the building was dark, and I found myself back in the display room where we had been earlier. The customers were gone now, and I touched the smooth wood of the bar where they had been just hours before. The moon threw long shadows into the room where the wine bottles still stood on the upturned barrels. The presence of the vineyard as seen through the huge windows was overbearing. I dared not look out, lest the scene turn into some terrible 80's horror film. This was, after all, the right setting for one. Instead I ran a hand over one of the wine barrels, over the rusty metal that held it together, and over the rough wood, such a contrast to the polished bar top.

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