“I didn’t say anything, darling,” she replied with an affectionate pat on his hand.
Gideon found himself inexplicably charmed by their interplay, and privately hoped that his grandfather would convince Iva to marry him. He didn’t really understand her hesitation; but clearly, Iva Bergstrom was not a gold-digger in any way, shape, or form. She would be the senior Nath’s fourth wife—but she was so different from the other three women he’d wed—all of whom had been cut from the same brittle mold—that Gideon knew his grandfather would be perfectly happy.
They chatted about a number of topics as they waited for their food, and the owner of the restaurant stopped by to greet them.
“Gideon, this is Trib—the genius behind this place,” Iva said.
The restaurateur was a young fifty and had white-blond hair cut in a very short but fashionable style. He wore a poppy pink bowtie with robin’s egg pinstripes, and a crisp button-down shirt in a slightly darker shade of blue. A midnight blue sport coat and charcoal trousers completed his attire—and he managed to look like a Ralph Lauren model instead of an Easter egg. “What a pleasure to meet you,” Trib gushed, shaking Gideon’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you from your grandfather and Iva.”
“If the food is as fantastic as it looks on the menu, and as enjoyable as the ambience, I guarantee I’ll be back,” Gideon replied. “Your wine list is very impressive.”
Trib preened a little. “I do my own sommelier work, and every vintage on it are ones I adore. The Barolo in particular is outstanding.”
Gideon smiled. “Either you’re very good at assessing your customers’ taste, or you cheated and asked what I ordered.” He lifted his glass of wine to indicate that he’d already ordered the Barolo.
“I’m justverygood,” Trib replied with a wink, and Gideon realized belatedly that the man was flirting with him.Yikes.
He took a too-large sip of wine, nearly choking on the expensive vintage, as Iva eased in to the rescue. “Now, Trib, leave him alone. Poor Gideon is no match for you—and, charming as you are, you’re not exactly his type.”
“Story of my life,” Trib replied with mock dismay, and he and Iva chuckled gaily. Gideon, slightly mortified, looked at his grandfather, who seemed more confused than anything.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Tribune,” Iva replied, swatting at him affectionately. “You of the trail of manly broken hearts?”
“Well,” he said modestly. “I just haven’t found the right one yet. Pleasure to meet you, Gideon, truly. I hope the Barolo and your meal meet your expectations.”
And with that, Trib was blessedly off to visit and chat with other customers, as the restaurant was beginning to fill.
There was a moment of awkward silence as Gideon tried to assimilate the fact that amanhad been flirting with him—in front of hisgrandfather. But just then, the server arrived with their meals, and the moment passed.
“So everything’s all wrapped up with the Valente estate, then, Gideon?” his grandfather said after the server walked away. “No…er…problems with any of the heirs? Nothing unusual?”
“No,” Gideon replied, looking at him carefully. “Did you expect there to be problems?” A sudden suspicion grabbed him. “That’s not why you ended your vacation early, is it? To check up on this—onme?”
As soon as he said it, Gideon realized he was being foolish. Why would his grandfather do that?
Gideon wasnothis father, and his grandfather trusted him implicitly.
Adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses up and down on the bridge of his nose—a sign that he was uncomfortable—the older man replied, “Not at all, m’boy. It’s just—I always felt there was something not right about Valente, and, to be completely honest, I never liked the bastard one bit—even though he was a good—a hefty—client. I always felt like he had something to hide, something that lurked just below the surface…and what better time for it to come out than when he’s dead and gone, and his family is quibbling over the estate?”
“But the family didn’t quibble over the estate. There was no problem whatsoever with the reading of the will, no one contested anything or even hinted about it—even when they learned about Fi—Ms. Murphy’s bequest.”
Gideon Senior frowned as he eyed his salmon. “Yes, this Miss Murphy is a mystery. You say she didn’t even know who he was? What kind of idiot thing was Valente thinking?” He shook his head, his unruly silver hair gleaming in the low light of the restaurant.
“Not only did she not know who he was, but once I showed her his picture and she thought she remembered him, she commented about how sweet and kind the elderly man was.” Gideon took a sip of the very excellent Barolo as his grandfather’s jaw dropped.
“My goodness, Hollis,” Iva murmured. “What on earth is wrong?”
“Valente was as far from sweet and kind as a piranha is,” Gideon Senior informed her, ignoring the fact that he had a mouthful of food.
Clucking, Iva smoothed back a white curl and smiled with mildness. “Now, Hollis, don’t tell me that even a piranha doesn’t have a soft, warm side—after all, look atyou.”
Gideon vacillated between merely rolling his eyes and turning away from the sappy sentiment that now flowed between the young-at-heart lovers. Instead, he settled for taking another bite of the branzini he’d ordered.
“Regarding this Miss Murphy’s comment about Valente—as I was saying, is it so far-fetched that he might have a soft side? And that, for some reason, she coaxed it out of him? After all, it could just be that he interacted with people whodidn’tbring out the best of him,” Iva continued.
Gideon looked at her in surprise. “Fiona said almost exactly the same thing,” he said.
“Fiona?” Iva asked delicately. But her blue eyes suddenly became very sharp.
