Grayson didn't answer immediately, but I saw his shoulders tense. He continued to stare out the front window as he said, "Vanessa is my brother's wife."
"Oh." The word was more breath than sound. His brother had married his girlfriend—the woman he’d been planning to marry—while he was in prison? I winced, imagining what that must have been like for him. No wonder he didn't speak to his brother anymore. "I'm sorry, Grayson," I said, at a loss for what to say.
He nodded his head 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 quite delightful."
I smiled. I was probably being foolish to care, but it seemed as if he didn't want to be alone. What could one drink hurt?
"Delightful, you say? I like delightful."
He laughed softly. We got out of the truck and I followed my husband inside his house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grayson
"You know what we should do?" Kira suddenly asked, leaning forward abruptly, taking me by surprise. We were sitting on semi-rusted lounge chairs on the patio, a glass of wine in each of our hands. We had been sipping in comfortable silence, looking out over the covered pool—most likely murky and sludge-filled beneath. I had had every intention of trying to seduce her tonight. I didn't think it would be very hard—she had responded to my kiss earlier with such enthusiastic passion. But after what happened at the restaurant, I wasn't exactly feeling all that lustful.
"I have a feeling nothing good ever follows those words when they're coming from your mouth," I said.
She shot me a smirk. "No, really. It's a good idea."
"Okay, what?"
"We should throw a party!"
I raised one brow, leaning 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, swinging her legs to the side so she could face me, "it seems to me the Napa community 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?"
"Well . . . I suppose." She was right. If I were going to have a fighting chance of bringing my family business back to life, it wouldn't help if I were the black sheep of wine country. Still . . . "How would a party help in that regard 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 your way. Gossip has a way of making people forget the subject is a human being. 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, frown lines appearing between her eyes. "Maybe. But I like to think not. At least in most cases anyway." She suddenly looked vulnerable.
After taking a sip of wine, I said, "You must be familiar with gossip."
"Well, of course. Much of my life has been in the public eye." Her expression looked pained and I had the sudden instinct to take her in my arms. I looked away, taking another sip of the buttery white wine, savoring the hints of butterscotch and pear.
"Anyway," I said, changing the subject, "how will people be reminded I'm a human being? I thought you considered me more dragon than human."
"True." She smiled. "You'd have to curb your reptilian tendencies for one night."
I chuckled, studying the shadows and highlights of her features in the dim light of the moon and the few house lights still on behind us.