Page 67

Birdie’s interest is instant, though she glances at me first.

“Go,” I tell her. “Try to remember you’re only looking.”

“I have never appreciated how little faith you have in me.” She turns to Tessa. “How badly is it damaged?”

“The leaf won’t sit level, and one hinge has begun pulling free.”

“That’s because someone forced it.” Birdie starts walking before Tessa can answer. “Show me.”

Tessa looks over her shoulder at Andrei. Her smile is brief and far too satisfied.

I watch Tessa lead Birdie toward the lodge, then fold my arms. “That was convenient.”

“She asked about the table yesterday.” Andrei rests one hand on the stall door.

“I’m sure the table is damaged.” I turn to face him. “I’m less convinced Tessa needed Birdie to inspect it at this exact moment.”

His attention stays on me. “You think she arranged the timing?”

“I think she knew exactly what she was doing.”

“She usually does.” A trace of amusement enters his voice as he gestures toward the downhill path. “Would you like to see the winery?”

“Are you hoping I’ll ask fewer questions if I’m surrounded by machinery?”

“I expect the opposite.”

He waits while I decide. Benitez remains near the workshop, close enough to follow when we leave. Andrei notices my glance. “He’ll keep his distance.”

I nod and fall into step beside him as we follow the gravel path between vines heavy with fruit. Workers clip clusters farther down the slope, placing them in shallow bins rather than dropping them into the deeper containers on the tractor.

“Why not pick everything at once?” I ask.

“Different blocks mature at different times. Leo tested this section before dawn, and we’ll taste it again before deciding whether to harvest the remaining rows.” Andrei reaches beneath a leaf and turns a cluster to show me the fruit. “A number can tell us how much sugar is in the grape. It can’t tell us whether the flavor is ready.”

“You taste them yourself?” I ask, surprised.

“Every morning during harvest.”

I picture him standing here before the estate wakes, making a decision that hundreds of employees will carry out. He plucks a grape, examines it, and offers it to me.

“You’re letting me vote?”

“I’m asking what you taste.”

I bite into it. Sweetness comes first, followed by a dry pull at the sides of my mouth that I can’t pinpoint. I consider the flavor before looking at him. “Blackberry. Maybe cherry. And the part that makes my tongue feel as though it needs a drink.”

“Tannin,” Andrei supplies.

“I was going to say that.”

“Of course.” He holds the cluster within my reach.

When I take another grape, his fingers brush mine. The contact lasts less than a breath, but I feel it after he lets go of the vine.

The production building is louder than the stable. Tractors bring in bins through wide doors, and workers in protective clothing guide the fruit toward a sorting line. The air smells of grapes and damp concrete. A forklift sounds its warning signal, and Andrei places a hand at my back to guide me to the marked pedestrian path.

I take in the workers and machinery around us. “I saw part of this from the pavilion Saturday night. I thought the event space was the center of everything.”