Chapter 9

Sylvain

I 'd fussed around all evening, considering what to wear the following day. I'd jokingly called it a date and hadn't missed the hesitation in Vince's voice.

It wasn't a date, just me making up for the shitty thing that had happened to him. However, I couldn't deny I was interested in him.

Some might say he was not handsome, that he was too fat, but not me. I'd always looked deeper. The more I talked to him, the more I was attracted to his vulnerability and unassuming manner.

Judging by his behaviour, he'd likely never received a compliment or encouragement, and his friend, Theo, had probably a lot to do with that.

Even I'd experienced rejection, a bitter pill to swallow at the best of times, but it was all about how you recovered from that. And from the brief conversation I'd had with Vince, I wasn't sure he had.

Today, I intended to learn more about him and show him that we French were not that bad, that those bastards who'd mugged him were the exception.

On work days, I'd usually drive around in my electric car, but today, I was taking Vince out in my father's old car: a Mercedes 280SL Pagoda. Not quite vintage, but Papa had bought it new in 1970. After he passed away, he'd left it to me on the understanding I kept it in good order and running. Keeping my promise, I stored the car under a cover. Not a blemish or patch of rust had found its way on the paintwork. Occasionally, I'd take it out, breezing down the coast road with the top down. There was nothing like the wind whistling in my hair, the sun warming my arms.

I filled up with fuel and set off for the resort, where Vince was already waiting for me. I pulled up into the car park and hopped out.

"Your carriage awaits, sir." I bowed and swung my arm wide.

"I mean…wow. That car is amazing." He walked around it, running his hand along its smooth curves. "Is this yours?"

I nodded. "It was my papa's. He had it from new."

"It still looks new, but it can't be. They don't make cars like this anymore."

"They definitely don't. I thought you'd like it, but I forgot to ask if you have a hat. The sun can be unrelenting this time of year, and with no roof…"

"I have a baseball cap." He opened his bag and took out the cap. It would do. "I have sunscreen too and water. Did I need to bring food?"

"All taken care of. We'll head out to the vineyard I told you about. My friend will feed us, and you can taste a few of the wines."

Under the flush on his cheeks, he paled a little. Why was that? Oh, but of course. He worried about money. From our conversation the previous day, I understood things were tight.

"I have little money with me."

"And you won't need it. We'll treat it as a work expense. He supplies the restaurant with wine, so as I run the place, I'm sure I can swing it."

His hunched shoulders dropped, and he smiled.

I opened the passenger door and, with a flourish, gestured for him to sit. "Please."

He slid into the seat and brushed his hands over the smooth black leather.

"Seat belt," I said, and he fumbled with the strap, which had got a little twisted. I reached across his body, pulled it tight, and fastened it.

His subtle, minty breath warmed my face. He smelt good too, a light citrusy fragrance that tickled my senses.

He held his breath, his gorgeous brown eyes wide. I'd not had a chance to take a good look at him close up, too preoccupied with dressing his wound the last time.

How had I missed the thick lashes that framed his eyes, the smattering of freckles across his nose, the pillowy lips begging to be nibbled on?

I found him utterly enchanting.

"Are you ready?" I put on my belt and started the car, the engine softly purring. Old cars had something about them, in a class of their own.

Vince seemed to think so too if his bright smile was anything to go by.

I pulled out of the car park and through the green gates. The route I planned would skirt the coastal road to the vineyard outside of Fréjus, about forty-five kilometres away. The top was down, but as the sun got higher, I'd likely put the roof up. Neither of us wanted to get sunburnt.

The crunch of the wheels on the road and the whistling of the wind left no room for talking, but Vince seemed happy to take in the surroundings. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, and despite his cap, pink tinged his nose.

Halfway into the journey, I pulled over at a roadside stall selling fruit and refreshments.

"Time to stretch our legs. Come on."

I jumped out of the car and opened his car door. "Après vous, monsieur."

He stretched his arms above his head, revealing a patch of white skin on his softly rounded belly.

"You might need a little cream on your nose. Here, let me."

I grabbed a tube from the glove box and rubbed a small blob of cream onto his nose and across his cheeks.

"There, that should do it." Was his blush just from the heat of the day?

"W-w-would you like some fruit?" He gulped and gestured to the fruit stall. I'd noticed he stuttered more when he was nervous, but hopefully, he'd soon feel comfortable enough around me not to do that.

"Sure, the melon looks good." I turned to the vendor. "Deux tranches de melon, s'il vous pla?t."

I got out my wallet, but Vince swatted my hand away. "My treat, please."

He counted out the money, holding on to his wallet tightly. Unsurprising after his last encounter.

We sat at a small table beneath a parasol, and Vince gave one of the enormous slices to me.

"I never realised how beautiful it was here. And hot." He fanned himself with his cap. "How do you even get any work done?"

"Oh, it can get incredibly hot, especially a little higher up, but we'll be staying on the coast, there's often a breeze. Don't be fooled, though. The sun is just as strong. We'll be there in another half an hour or so. Just in time for lunch."

Melon juice ran down his chin. I tracked its path with my eyes, although I was tempted to lick it with my tongue. How would he taste?

Years before, I might have done that. I'd been bold in my flirtations, but now, not so much. Besides, Vince seemed reserved unless he'd had a drink. I smiled, remembering his words, how he'd looked at me like he wanted to lick me all over. It'd been a while since that had happened.

Tearing my eyes from the dribble of juice, I turned my gaze to the sea. The sun hit it just right; the rays reflected like diamonds on the crystal blue water.

"So beautiful." Soft words, barely audible.

"It really is." I wouldn't mind staying a bit longer, but sitting here wouldn't get us to the vineyard in time for lunch. "Are you ready?"

We stood, discarded our rubbish, and got back in the car.

"Do you need the roof?" Hopefully not, but his well-being came first.

"No. God, no. I want to experience everything." He rubbed more cream into his arms and face, placed his cap on his head and his sunglasses on his nose. "I'm ready for anything."

I pulled back into the traffic and put my foot down, the roar of the engine not disappointing me.

Vince threw his arms in the air. "Woohoo."

I laughed out loud and shouted too. Vince was fun.

For the rest of the journey, the smile never left his face.

"That was amazing. I've never done anything like that."

His boyish exuberance was a joy to see.

"I'm happy you're happy." Such a simple pleasure, but his smile spread from ear to ear.

"Sylvain, how lovely to see you again." The owner, Raphael, strode towards us, his hand outstretched. We hugged, and he kissed each cheek.

"Raphael, this is a friend of mine, Vince. He's here on holiday for a few days. I thought I'd show him around."

Raphael raised his eyebrows, but he pulled a surprised Vince towards him and greeted him the same way he had me. The shock on Vince's face was priceless, and I chuckled. He would get used to it.

We French were expressive.

"Any friend of Sylvain's is a friend of mine. I hope you like wine." Raphael linked arms with him and led him towards the stone building that overlooked the vineyard.

I'd been here many times, and the scale of the place never failed to impress me. Row upon row of vines, some bearing grapes, others not yet ready.

They made reds, whites, and rosés, all of them delicious, which was why we sold them in our restaurants at reasonable prices. They appealed to most of our guests. Hopefully, Vince would like them as much.

I trailed after them. Raphael's hand hovered at Vince's waist. Hmm, I'd have to watch him. He was a player. I knew from experience. We'd hooked up occasionally, and while he was a good friend, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.

He told Vince about the processes, promising to give him a taste later in the day. I just hoped he meant the wine.

"How about you show him the cellar?" I not so subtly wiggled my way between them and put my arms around both their shoulders.

Nope, not jealous. Not in the slightest.

"Great idea. Then we can have lunch."

I released them both. Raphael continued to tell Vince about the soil, information I'd heard a million times. I tuned Raphael out, but Vince listened intently.

He nodded and asked questions. He seemed generally interested in the minerality of the soil and the different kinds of grapes that contributed to the various vintages.

While Raphael droned on, I kept a close eye on his hands and where he put them. Vince would never survive an encounter with Raphael. He was a lion when it came to seduction.

"Sylvain?" Raphael's voice brought me back to the conversation.

"Pardon? What did you say?"

"Are you staying overnight? I assume you'd want to taste the wines too. You usually do, and I can have a room made ready for you both."

"Ah." Merde. We hadn't discussed that. The plan was to travel along the coast a little more, do some more sightseeing, and then return to the resort.

I glanced at Vince. What did he think of Raphael's suggestion? His eyes were wide, and he was biting his lip, the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Although I doubted he knew it, being as na?ve as he was.

"Erm, Sylvain?" He gulped.

No, staying here wouldn't be fair to him.

"Tasting wines will be Vince's job today. We have plans for tomorrow, and anyway, we haven't brought anything with us, just the clothes we're wearing."

"You always like to sleep naked, Sylvain." Vince's mouth fell open, and he refused to look at me. Damn Raphael.

"Well, it's been a while, my friend. Things have changed. Not only that, but Vince is only around for a few more days, and we want to do as much as we can. We'll have lunch, then get on the road."

I always liked Raphael, but I controlled the tone of my voice, not wishing to give away how much he'd disappointed me today.

"Of course. My apologies." He nodded towards Vince. "I meant no offence."

"None taken. I'd be interested in tasting some of your wine, though. I don't know an awful lot about it."

Glaring at Raphael as he led Vince away, I followed them into the vault, or the wine-tasting room.

A table covered with a crisp, white tablecloth was set up in the middle. Rows of wine bottles and glasses accompanied plates of cured ham and cheese.

"I-I-I've never done this. Do I have to do anything special?" Vince rubbed his hands down his shorts.

"Professionals have their way, but you do what you feel comfortable with. Raphael is the expert, and I've done this a few times. Follow my lead."

Vince and I sat while Raphael poured a small amount of white wine into three glasses.

"Watch." I took my glass and held it up to the light streaming through the window. "We're looking for clarity and colour and bubbles. What do you see?"

He mimicked me and raised his glass. "It's clear and pale. No bubbles."

"Bien. Now we swirl it gently and sniff." I put it to my nose and inhaled the aromas of ripe fruit, almonds, and honey. Would Vince pick up the different smells?

He closed his eyes, dark lashes sweeping his cheeks. The more I was around him, the more I became attracted to him. He might not be your usual handsome, but he had a way about him I found intriguing. I stared unabashed but glanced away the moment he opened his eyes.

Had he seen me staring?

He hadn't, but Raphael had. He winked, a small smile on his face, then shrugged.

I took a sip of the wine and breathed in a little, oxygenating the wine. Very aromatic and generous in taste. One of Raphael's best wines.

I spat the wine in the waiting spit bucket.

"You don't have to spit. You can swallow if you'd prefer."