We never discussed it again.
“I was hoping I could get an invite.”
Unease slips down my spine, and I clear my throat. “I thought you were more of a hard liquor fan,” I say, trying to sound like I’m joking.
“Well, I’m not a big drinker of wine, I agree, but I want to be there when my only son shows off his new winery. It’s going to be a proud moment, I’m sure.”
A proud moment I absolutely one hundred percent don’t want him to be a part of. “Are you sure you want to come? It’ll be boring. Hardly anyone there that you know besides my friends.”
“Anyone from baseball?” he asks.
Yeah. A few people, and I definitely don’t want him around them. He tends to get in heated arguments whenever they discuss baseball and specifically his past in both the game and the league.
But shit, how can I refuse him? He’s my father.
“A small handful but not a lot,” I tell him, keeping my gaze focused on the road ahead of me. I hadn’t even bothered sending him an invitation for tomorrow. I wonder if he’s pissed. I wonder if this is some strange way for him to get revenge on me for ignoring him.
I wouldn’t put it past my father. He’s just that type of guy.
“I saw a write up in the paper,” he explains. He still lives in the Bay Area, having been born and raised there. We were both lucky to be included in professional teams close to where we grew up. My dad always attributed it to the DeLuca curse—an apt word considering how crappy both of our pro careers became. “And realized this was going down tomorrow. I won’t be able to attend the day events—I saw you’re doing a tour and a wine tasting and all that good stuff—but I’d love to show up at the party tomorrow night if you’ll have me.”
“That can be arranged,” I say, regret filling me in an instant. I hope this isn’t a mistake.
“Great, good! I can’t wait to see you. It’s been far too long, son. I miss you.”
Yeah, right. “It’ll be good to see you too, but you do understand I’m going to be busy the entire night and won’t have much time for miscellaneous chitchat.” I won’t have much time for his calculated reminiscing over our sometimes troubled past either. He loves to do that too and push me into a guilt spiral.
Our relationship is twenty levels of f**ked up, I swear.
“I understand completely,” he assures me. “I’ll just be there basking in your glory, always the proud father. I won’t disrupt your little party tomorrow night, I promise. Don’t worry about me.”
That he’s describing tomorrow’s event as “my little party” already sets me on edge, the ass**le. I swear he says those sorts of things on purpose. I don’t believe a word he says.
And I hate that I feel this way.
After he hangs up, I ponder over how I can handle the problem that is my father. I wonder if Bryn would help me. But if I set Bryn in my dad’s sights, he’ll probably try and make a pass and she’ll end up beyond insulted.
Yeah. That’s a risk I really don’t want to take. Do I have a choice though? It’s like my dad needs a babysitter and only a specialized few will do.
Still, I definitely don’t want to subject Bryn to my rude bastard of a father.
Chapter Six
Matt
“THE PLACE LOOKS fabulous, man.” Archer slaps me on the back so hard, I take a step forward, wincing when pain shoots through my knee. It still hurts. It’ll always hurt. “You pulled it off. I bet everybody will have DeLuca Winery falling from their lips come tomorrow.”
“Thanks, but the party only just started,” I say, ever the grim reaper as I worry about anything and everything. The grounds are crowded with people, the lot filled with cars, including the dirt field we opened up specifically for the event.
My father still hasn’t arrived which worries the shit out of me, but I can’t sweat it. Maybe he’ll never come at all. I figure I won’t be that lucky. He knows how to put a damper on any party, big or small.
The image of my father crashing into the party, loud and drunk and making me look like a fool has set me on edge. I need to do something to take that edge off and quick.
“You’re all gloom and doom today, ass**le. Perk up. Life is good,” Gage says, saluting me with his glass before he takes a swallow of a DeLuca Cabernet.
“Don’t be so mean,” Marina chastises as she slips her arm through Gage’s. “It’s an amazing party, Matt. I know everyone’s impressed.”
“Thanks, Marina.” Her words mean a lot to me since she comes from one of the oldest families in the area. If anyone knows what’s going on in the Napa Valley, it’s Marina Knight. That I can impress her and she hears nothing but good things from those she knows, lets me breathe easier.
A little bit easier, at least.
My name is on the label, on the sign out front, on the building. It’s a surreal feeling, finally seeing the fruition of months and months of hard labor, sweat, and tears.
The day’s events came off without a hitch. The tour was a success, heavily attended by many, including plenty of local media. The wine tasting had been a nerve-wracking experience but soon turned into complete relief. Almost everyone enjoyed what they sampled, though there had been a few naysayers, but that was to be expected.
Bryn led the tasting, composed and elegant and thoughtful and amusing. She’d enraptured everyone, talking so enthusiastically about the wine and the DeLuca name and what it’s going to mean to the Napa Valley in the coming years. Hell, even I believed my own hype.
She’d been utter perfection, and I never got a chance to thank or praise her. I still haven’t seen her arrive tonight and that surprised me. I figured she’d be here already.
I need her to be here already.
Gage and Marina head for one of food tables, and I glance around, checking out the crowd. I notice that the small live band is tuning up and getting ready to play. The weather tonight is perfect, not too cold, though I have outdoor heaters going on low to fill the air with warmth. There’s a gentle breeze rustling the majestic oaks that are all over the property. White lights are strung in the trees surrounding the courtyard, illuminating the party without being too bright. There are bars set up on each corner of the courtyard, and they all have long lines, everyone wanting a glass of one of the new DeLuca wines. Servers move through the crowds with their trays, offering appetizers or flutes of sparkling wine.