A Taste of Sake

Book 4: Napa Wine Heiresses

by Heather Heyford

Genres: Sagas; Sports Romance

Synopsis

As author Heather Heyford pours a final glass in her series following three Napa wine heiresses, a newcomer must work her way into a tightly-knit family whose bond has been fermenting for years…
 
Though they each have their own ambitions and are known to be competitive—even with each other—the St. Pierre sisters are fiercely loyal. Chardonnay and Merlot are thrilled about Sauvignon’s wedding day, and it’s slated to be the soirée of the decade among Napa’s most elite residents. Given the family’s notoriety, it almost stands to reason that their eccentric father, Xavier, would arrive by helicopter. But no one could have anticipated the wedding surprise he’d brought along with him…
 
The product of one of Xavier’s many affairs, Sake is introduced as the half-Japanese sister the St. Pierre girls never knew they had. She struggles to break into clique-ish Napa society—and getting in with her sisters is proving more difficult than nabbing a ’74 Cabernet. It seems only high-end realtor Bill Diamond can tell there’s more to Sake than meets the eye. Afraid of repeating her mother’s mistakes, Sake just hopes that getting drunk on love won’t leave her with a hangover of rejection…

Release date: October 27, 2015

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 226

Sample

You can’t hide money. Sake had heard that often enough. Now she saw the truth of it with her very own eyes. Her cheeks burned as the reverse also became crystal clear: poverty was just as obvious as wealth. Standing before those cohorts of her Napa family, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that everyone in the elaborate hats and tailored suits could see right through her too-tight, too-short dress, picked out in a rush that very morning—the dress she’d felt like a million bucks in five minutes ago, aka happier times. The same dress that would have blown away everyone down in the Mission District looked unspeakably vulgar here, at this vast, swanky country club called Napa. Sake felt like everyone could see right through it to Rico’s cheap apartment, could smell the stale cooking oil in the hall, hear the metallic ring of footsteps echoing through the grayish stair-well, feel the flimsy hand of the everyday thrift-shop clothes she kept in her old moving box in Rico’s bedroom.

The pack encircled Sake like a gang of high-class thugs, penning her in, the downed helicopter at her back preventing her escape. Peering down their noses at her with an air of expectation that paralyzed her.

All her life, Sake had dreamed of someday meeting her upper-crust half sisters, but not like this. Not as the center of attention. Agreeing to let her father bring her here had been a colossal mistake, and not just because he’d managed to crash the damn chopper.

She froze with the terrible burden of the stares of the whole of Napa Valley, willing—no, demanding—that she say something, do something. Speak, so we can hear your wrong-side-of-the-tracks inflection. Say something, anything, so that we can repeat it and post it and tweet it, to prove we were here. She could play those fools down in the Mission any day, but she couldn’t play these people. This was another world.

Shame mingled with stage fright as Sake realized she had nothing to give them, even if she wanted to, which she sure as hell didn’t, and she resented their judge-y looks, real or imagined. All she had to her name were her diamond earrings and a fierce sense of self-preservation, and she wasn’t giving that up for anyone or anything. Call it swagger—a dogged determination not to be torn down, drowned in the undertow of life. That animal instinct was what Sake ran on, what kept her going. It was the air in her lungs, the gas in her tank. Her very life depended on keeping it topped off. Here, before these people, she could feel it being siphoned out of her.

“How do you do.”

Sake’s shell-shocked gaze was torn from the sea of nameless faces toward a hand extended toward her. She followed the slender arm back to a soft-eyed, auburn-haired woman with a string of pearls around her neck. The bride. Her own sister, Sauvignon. She looked every bit as classy as her name: Elegant. Serene. Privileged.

Everything Sake wasn’t.

A bolt of bile Sake never felt coming jetted up her esophagus and spewed from her mouth, right onto the bride’s exquisite white gown.

“Ah!” Sauvignon gasped, looking down at her dress, disgust distorting her pretty features.

The crowd of onlookers gasped, hands flying to their mouths.

Sake’s head pounded, her knees went weak. So much for making a good first impression.

The girl’s eyes rolled back in her head and her legs buckled. Bill caught her under her arms just in time, her head lolling back onto his chest.

“I’m taking her to Queen of the Valley,” he announced.

“She is fine,” said her father. One of his eyes was beginning to swell up.

“She needs to be seen, and so do you. C’mon. I’ll take you both.”

“And leave the wedding of my oldest daughter?”

Behind them, a voice said, “Wait for the ambulance.”

Why wait, when his car was right here? Besides, his heart ached for the young woman. Already traumatized by the wreck, she must be humiliated beyond words at having blown her cookies right in front of everybody. Who wouldn’t be? He took off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders, wrapped a supportive arm around her waist, and pushed their way through the ogling crowd toward the winery parking lot.

“You’re going to be fine,” he told her.

“Taylor . . .” she murmured, looking back. “My dog . . .”

“He’s right behind us, see? We’ll get you taken care of.”

“She,” Sake corrected him. “She’s a girl.”

With her terrier on her lap, they drove off the property as a fire truck, siren wailing, drove onto it. Bill reached behind him for the box of tissues he kept in the back seat to catch the drips from his clients’ to-go cups of coffee. He took pride in keeping his vehicle spotless.

Sake pulled out a tissue and wiped her face. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“Hey, no problem. Aren’t you going to put on your seat belt?”

She tucked the used tissue into the change compartment in his car door and drew the belt across her body. “There. Happy?”

Bill nodded curtly. He was kind of a stickler for doing things right. In his business, it served him well.

With dismay, she studied the severed wire of her earbuds, then shoved the useless contraption into her bag.

“Got any tunes in this hooptie?”

“’Scuse me?”

“The radio?”

He selected the right screen. “Pick whatever you like.”

She scrolled through, stopping at a pop song.

“Take me to the nearest bus station.”

He gave her a perplexed look. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back where I belong. I took off work for the wedding, but I got a three a.m. shift to get back to Monday morning. Besides, I got pay waiting for me. Yesterday was payday, and I missed it.”

Bill snorted. “I’m not taking you to the bus station.” Clearly, the girl was in shock.

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

“Like heck you’re not. Dude, you were just in a plane crash.”

“Did you just call me dude? Is that still a thing up here?”

“It is for me.” Secretly, a little needle of concern poked him. When had “dude” gone out of style? That’s what came of all work and no play. One day you woke up and you were twenty-nine years old and teenagers were making fun of the way you talked.

“Whatever, you’re not taking me to no hospital.”

They came upon a blue sign that said QUEEN OF THE VALLEY with an arrow pointing left. Bill turned.

She gripped the edge of her seat. “I can’t.”

“What, are you afraid of hospitals or something?”

“I got no insurance. And I’m not leaving Taylor.”

Bill sniffed. “You were just in a plane crash, for Crissakes! You need medical attention. You can worry about the insurance later. And sorry if it’s too personal, but aren’t you a daughter of Xavier St. Pierre? Queen of the Valley has a whole wing named after him. The dog can stay in my car. It’s cooling off outside, I’ll keep the windows cracked. Besides, I saw you holding your head like it hurt.”

“My head is fine. I just didn’t want to go to that—thing.”

Bill frowned. “That thing is your sister’s wedding.”

“You’re a genius,” she said flatly, turning her head away from him toward the passenger-side window and the undulating landscape.

Obviously she had suffered some sort of brain damage. Who in their right mind would turn down such a fabulous invitation? Even without the crash, everyone would be talking about it tomorrow. It would be plastered all over the media.

“You don’t get along with your sisters?”

“I don’t even know my sisters.”

What to say to that? Bill had heard Xavier presenting Sake to his three daughters by Lily D’Amboise, but the significance of it had been lost in the pressing need to get Sake medical help.

“Do you?” asked Sake, less snarky now. She still pretended to scrutinize the scenery while stroking her panting dog.

“Know them? Yeah. Kind of. Well enough to get invited to the wedding.”

“Tell me what you know.”

Behind the wheel, Bill cocked his head and whistled. Where to start? “There’s so much to tell. How ’bout you make it easier by telling me what you know, first?”

Tough again all of a sudden, Sake tsked and rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’ll play. Chardonnay’s the middle one, the one with blond hair. She started some orphanage or something—”

“Foundation for immigrant kids. Not an orphanage,” he corrected her.

“Foundation, orphanage, who cares? Anyway. She’s held up like some holier-than-thou Girl Scout philanthropist. Which, how hard can it be when all you have to do with your life is spend your old man’s money?”

“She has a policy against using her papa’s money.”

Sake flashed him a look of genuine surprise.

Bill should know. He’d recently said yes to Char’s request that he sit on the board of directors for Chardonnay’s Children. He had always been a sucker for the underdog.

“But go on.”

Again, Sake recovered her bravado. “Then Merlot’s the youngest one who’s got herself a line of jewelry you can only get at Harrington’s.”

“Right.”

This girl had a chip like a railroad tie on her shoulder.

“And then there’s the lovely bride . . . the hot-shot lawyer.” Sake picked a crumpled rose petal off her dress and tossed it on the floor of his car.

In spite of himself, the movement of Sake’s hand drew Bill’s eyes to her endless expanse of leg. Her black dress rode up so high you could see the little hollow between her thighs where they tapered inward toward her crotch. Bill shifted slightly in his seat.

“Probably going to file against me for damages for that designer gown soon as she gets back from the honeymoon.”

“Now you know that’s not going to happen.”

“I only hope she can scrounge up something else to change into for the reception.”

Bill let that slide.

“What about him?”

“Papa?”

“Your father.”

“Comes in and out of my life like I’m some kinda train station.”

“Sorry.” That must hurt. Bill’s dad was as reliable as clockwork.

“Your turn.”

“Ahem. Okay. Xavier St. Pierre. Let’s see. Born here in Napa, educated in the best schools in Paris, which explains the accent. Parlayed his family wine business into one of the most successful labels in the world. Married a movie star—” Whoops. Bill checked Sake’s face for signs of having offended her, but her expression was blank. Oh well. Facts were facts. “Had the three daughters with her. Wife died, girls were sent to boarding schools, then college. Never married again.”

Not to say he’d been lonely all these years.

“That much I coulda found on Wikipedia,” quipped Sake drily.

Something big was eating Sake, that’s for sure. Something deep. She was as defensive as a car alarm with an electrical short, going off at the slightest provocation, and fascinating as hell, materializing out of thin air, with those kanji tattoos running in vertical tracks down her arms. He wondered what they signified.

In contrast, Bill Diamond was just your average, run-of-the-mill guy, nothing special. He was the opposite of fascinating. He knew it; everyone did. But then, you didn’t want to entrust your commercial property, likely your most valuable possession, with fascinating. You wanted safe. You wanted steady. You wanted trustworthy.

Sake closed her eyes and sank back into her hospital pillow, trying not to obsess about Taylor. She’d sent Bill Diamond on his way back to the wedding with a Styrofoam cup of water and the baggie holding a weekend’s worth of dog chow from her backpack, after making him swear to take good care of her dog.

She tried to force her tense muscles, always ready for fight or flight, to relax. Being coddled—first by Bill Diamond, who had taken the initiative to drive her here and even filled out the admissions paperwork for her, then by the matronly nurse who had fluffed her pillow and asked her if she wanted something for the bump the doctor had found on her head where she’d hit the windscreen in the hard landing—confused her. Sake wasn’t used to being pampered.

Just as the sky outside her hospital room window faded to black and the pill Florence Nightingale had given her was taking effect, she heard an ominously cheerful clamor out in the hallway. Her eyes flew open to the rustle of golden-yellow skirts swooshing through the door.

“Sake?” The bride had changed into a knee-length party dress, only slightly less fancy than her wedding gown.

As Sauvignon and her sisters glided forward, surrounding the bed, Sake braced her hands at her sides and backed deeper into her pillow.

“Are you okay?” asked Merlot from where she stood at Sake’s feet, stacks of bracelets jingling on her arms.

“We came to check on you,” said the blonde at Sake’s left.

Chardonnay was even more terrifyingly beautiful in person than in her pictures. But then, so was the view of the Pacific down the Peninsula, but once it lured you in, its cold water stung you like a Taser. And what about Rico, with his Roman nose, his rakish gait, his natural-born trout pout? Rico, who’d got off scot-free while he watched Sake get cuffed and stuffed into the back seat of the cruiser fewer than thirty-six hours ago? He was beautiful, too.

“I’m fine.”

Chardonnay lowered herself gracefully onto the foot of the mattress, and Sake flinched involuntarily, at the same time unable to tear her eyes off her golden-haired sister.

Sauvignon sat down on the other side. “Are you sure? What did the doctors say?”

Cornered by her achingly cool sisters, Sake’s heart picked up speed. “I said I’m fine,” she repeated, pulling the institutional blanket up to her chin.

Her sisters exchanged innocent-looking expressions, but they didn’t fool her.

“You came, you saw. How many times can I say it?”

Now all three frowned down at her. As if they truly didn’t get why she should reject them, after they’d so soundly rejected her all these years.

Sauvignon stood then. “It’s okay. You’ve had quite a shock. You’re tired.”

Blondie followed her lead. “We’ll let you rest now. We just wanted to see for ourselves that you were all right, let you know we were thinking about you.”

With a flutter of dainty waves from manicured fingertips they bid her good night, and then they were gone, three gilded birds flitting away to their opulent nest.

When she heard the doors slide closed down the hall and she knew it was safe, Sake got up and padded to the bathroom mirror.

Talk about stuffing a ten-pound day into a five-pound bag. The faded hospital gown did nothing for her sallow skin tone. Her under-eyes were smeared with mascara, her hair hung in a tangle over her shoulders. If anyone back at the wedding reception started throwing shade—and they would—the truth was that St. Pierre’s Japanese-American bastard was nothing like his other angelic offspring. She was a freakin’ train wreck.

Papa—weird calling a man she barely knew anymore by that endearment, but the name had stuck from back in her childhood, when she’d seen him fairly regularly—discovered just how low Sake had sunk the day before the wedding, when he’d been contacted by his lawyer. He was just waiting until after the festivities were over to decide what should be done with her.

Sunday morning, Bill Diamond thought he heard a whine. He opened one eye to see a long pink tongue hanging out of a shaggy white face. He thought of his fawn-colored pug, his constant companion back when he was a kid. Mollie was her name. Good old Mol—

Taylor barked.

“You need to go out, girl?”

Bill stretched, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and found a length of twine to tie onto Taylor’s collar. He shuddered at the fur that would fly if he had to tell the most tempestuous daughter of Xavier St. Pierre that he’d lost her dog. But more than dreading Sake’s ire, he had a sneaking suspicion that Taylor was Sake’s most prized possession. He didn’t want to be responsible for piling another disappointment on top of what he suspected was already a sky-high mound.

While he and Taylor circled the block, his phone rang.

Without preamble, Sake said, “I’m free to go.”

“You’ve been discharged? That’s great. Er, are you calling because you need a ride, or do you want me to deliver Taylor to you at your father’s house later today?”

“She’s okay?” Sake’s anxiety was palpable through the phone.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” he assured her, bending down to pat Taylor. “We’re going for a walk as we speak, aren’t we, girl?”

Taylor wriggled her butt and arched toward Bill, licking her chops.

“Then, yeah, you can come get me?”

“We’ll see you in three shakes.”

“What’s up with your mistress?” Bill asked Taylor after he hung up. He ruffled the dog’s fur, enduring her wet kisses.

The wiry face looked up at him and barked again.

Taylor pawed frantically at Bill’s car window when she caught sight of Sake walking across the macadam of the hospital lot toward her.

“Here I am,” cooed Sake, jogging the last few yards to the car. The dog flew into her arms as soon as she opened the door. “Here’s Mama.”

Bill watched Sake bury her face in Taylor’s fur as he got in. “She’s been fed, watered, and walked.”

Sake didn’t bother to thank him.

“Does your family know you’re on your way?”

Sake tucked Taylor into the crook of her arm. “I’m not going to their place. I’m going back to the city.”

“San Francisco?”

“Word.. . .