“Exemplary vintage,” said another woman. “I’ve been collecting wine for forty years, and I’ve never encountered anything quite like this.”
Saffron heard that last comment, and her grip on my hand tightened. “They really love it.”
“Of course they do. It’s a masterpiece.”
“Our masterpiece,” she said.
“Ours,” I agreed.
At seven o’clock sharp, the auctioneer took the stage. The man was a friend of Baron’s who had decades of experience working high-end wine auctions.
“Welcome. Tonight, we’re offering two thousand bottles of the Christmas Blessing Wine, recreated after seventy years. A significant portion of tonight’s proceeds has been designated for local charities.” After those in the room applauded, he held up his gavel. “Let’s begin.”
The first lot was a single bottle. Bidding opened at five hundred dollars.
A paddle went up immediately. Then another. Within thirty seconds, the price had doubled.
“One thousand,” the auctioneer called. “Do I hear twelve hundred?”
More paddles.
“Fifteen hundred. Do I hear two thousand?”
The bidding climbed faster than I’d anticipated. Two thousand became twenty-five hundred, then three thousand. Collectors competed with the kind of intensity usually reserved for rare Bordeaux or aged Burgundy.
The gavel came down at thirty-two hundred dollars for a single bottle.
Saffron swayed beside me, and I tightened my arm around her waist.
“That’s just the start,” I whispered.
Case lots went next. Six and twelve bottles had been packaged together for collectors who wanted volume. The bidding was even more competitive. The first case of twelve opened at fifteen thousand and sold for twenty-eight thousand.The second went for thirty-one thousand. The third hit thirty-eight thousand, and the room erupted in more applause.
“This is insane,” Saffron said under her breath.
“This is success.”
I glanced around the room while the bidding continued. My family stood together on the left side, every one of them watching with expressions that ranged from pride to disbelief. Lucas and Diana were with Baron on the right, and my future father-in-law had tears spilling over on his cheeks that he wiped away as quickly as he could.
The auction continued for two hours. Single bottles, cases, larger lots for restaurants and wine programs. Every lot exceeded its estimated value. Some by double. The energy in the room increased with each pound of the gavel.
“This is the final lot of the evening,” the auctioneer announced. “Twelve bottles with sequential numbers from the heart of the production run. These are some of the finest bottles in the entire collection. Opening bid is twenty thousand dollars.”
Paddles shot up around the room. More than I could count.
“Twenty-five thousand. Do I hear thirty?”
Another paddle.
“Thirty-five thousand. Do I hear forty?”
The bidding climbed in five-thousand-dollar increments. Forty became forty-five, then fifty. At fifty-five thousand, half the paddles dropped out. At sixty thousand, only three bidders remained.
“Sixty-five thousand,” the auctioneer called. “Do I hear sixty-eight?”
A paddle went up in the back corner.
“Sixty-eight thousand. Going once.” He raised his gavel. “Going twice.” Pause. “Sold for sixty-eight thousand dollars.”
