Cinderella on His Doorstep / Accidentally Expecting!. Rebecca Winters
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test. No one would believe what a baby he was, which reminded her she’d better check the medicine cabinet and make sure he had enough blood thinner medication to be gone two months. After they left France, they’d finish up the filming in Germany where Dana had already checked out the locations ahead of time.
With a sigh she got up from the bed needing to do a dozen things, but a strong compulsion led her to the den first. Ever since she’d heard that the Fleury family had once produced wine, she wanted to learn what she could about it. The wine she’d had with Alex had left the taste of nectarines on her lips. As she’d told him that night, it could become addicting.
She typed in Anjou wine, France. Dozens of Web sites popped up. She clicked on the first one.
The Anjou is one of the subregions of the Loire Valley producing a variety of dry to sweet dessert wines. The two main regions for Chenin Blanc are found in Touraine and along the Layon river where the soil is rich in limestone and tuffeau. Long after you’ve tasted this wine, it will give up a stone-fruit flavor on the palate. The Dutch merchants in the sixteen hundreds traded for this wine.
That far back?
Fascinated by the information, Dana researched a little more.
Coteaux du Layon near the river is an area in Anjou where the vines are protected by the hills. It’s best known for its sweet wines, some of the recipes going back fifteen centuries. By the late seventeen hundreds, several wine producers became dominant in the region including the Domaine du Rochefort, Domaine du Château Belles Fleurs and Domaine Percher.
There it was, part of Alex’s family history. Dana’s father would find the information riveting, as well, but for the meantime she’d keep it to herself. The owner was a private person. It would be best if she waited until he brought it up in the conversation, if he ever did.
A few minutes later she’d gone back to her room to do her packing. She had it down to a science, fitting everything into one suitcase. As she was about to leave and do some errands, her father came home and poked his head in the door. “There you are.”
She looked up at him. “Hi.”
“You just got back. How come you’re packing again so soon?”
Dana had anticipated his question. “I’m going to fly to Paris with the camera guys in the morning.”
“Why?”
“Because Saskia will be a lot happier if she has you to herself when you fly out the day after tomorrow.”
“Saskia doesn’t run my life,” he declared.
No one ran his life. Dana certainly didn’t figure in it except to fetch for him, but the actress didn’t like her. “I know that, but it doesn’t hurt to keep the troops happy, does it?” She flashed him a smile, hoping to ease the tension, maybe provoke a smile, but all she provoked was a frown.
“You really think you found the right place?” he asked morosely.
The film was on his mind, nothing or no one else. Until he saw the estate, he’d be impossible to live with. Good luck to Saskia. “If I haven’t, Paul will switch us back to Plan B outside Paris without problem.”
After staring into space for another minute he said, “Have you seen my reading glasses?”
“They’re on the kitchen counter, next to the script. Have you eaten?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I’ll fix you some eggs and toast.”
“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, before leaving her alone.
He only said that if he needed something from her. Because he was a narcissist, it was all she would get. She knew that, yet because their natures were exact opposites, a part of her would always want more. Still, when she thought of Alex’s mother being cut off by her father, Dana realized her relationship with her father hadn’t degenerated to that extent. Not yet…
Alex was in his bedroom when the phone rang again. He’d just hung up from talking with another Realtor who hadn’t heard the estate wasn’t for sale and never had been. They never stopped hounding him. With each call he’d hoped it might be Dana.
“Monsieur Martin ici.”
“Bonjour, Alex.”
His lips twitched. Her accent needed help, but with a grown-up rosebud mouth like hers, no Frenchman would care. “Bonjour, Dana. How are things in Hollywood?”
“I wouldn’t know. How are things in that jungle of yours?”
Laughter burst out of him. “Prickly.”
“My condolences.”
“Where are you exactly?”
“In front of the château.”
He felt a burst of adrenaline kick in.
“I was hoping you would let me in, but considering your plight, I’ll be happy to come back after you and your machete have emerged.”
The chuckles kept on coming. “I’m closer than you think. Don’t go away.” He hung up and strode swiftly through the foyer.
As soon as he opened the front door of the chateau, she got out of the car. Today she was dressed in jeans and a white short-sleeved top. If the pale blue vest she wore over it was meant to hide the lovely mold of her body, it failed.
Though she gave the appearance of being calm and collected, he noticed a pulse throbbing too fast at her throat. He knew in his gut she was glad to see him.
“When did you fly into Paris?”
“At six-thirty this morning with the camera guys. When their rooms are ready, they’ll crash until tomorrow, then probably show up around eight in the morning to start checking things out.”
“What about your father?”
“Everyone else will arrive at different times tomorrow.”
“I see. He didn’t mind you coming on ahead?”
“Most of the time we do our own thing.” She gave him a direct glance as if daring him to contradict her.
Alex had asked enough questions for now. It was almost noon. “Let’s get you inside. In case you’d like to freshen up, there’s a bathroom on the second floor at the head of the stairs.”
“Thank you.”
Dana followed him up the steps into the foyer dominated by the central stonework staircase. With no furniture, paintings, tapestries or rugs visible, the château was a mere skeleton, but she seemed mesmerized.
Taking advantage of her silence he said, “The place was denuded years ago. Everything is stored on the third level where the servants used to live.”
He watched her eyes travel from the walls’ decorative Italianate paneling to the inlaid wood floors. “There’s a chandelier packed away that should hang over the staircase. Without it the château is dark at night. I told Paul that if night interiors are called for, he’ll need to plan for extra lighting. Your father—”
“My father’s very superstitious,” she broke in on a different tack. “He gets that from his Swedish ancestry. When he stands where I’m standing, he’ll be frightened at first.”
“Frightened?”
“Yes.” She turned to him. “It’s always frightening for a figment of your imagination to come to life, don’t you think? At first he won’t know if it’s a good or bad omen.”
When her father saw the château, he would be speechless. His excitement wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer, but she’d see his eyes flicker and feel his positive energy radiate. For a while it would insulate him from his usual irritations. Even Saskia wouldn’t grate on his nerves