Page 37 of The Wedding Crush
“Well, is your mom here?”
Somehow, I feel like I need to hear this. I’ve been so busy shielding him, filling his life with so much joy, I don’t think I realized he may feel Justin’s void as much as I do.
Emotion clogs in my throat.
He’s not too young to understand.
“She’s taking pictures. We’re on a field trip. You can come, too, but you have to ask my Auntie Mo,” Ace says, sweetly.
A small, sad laugh tugs at my heartstrings.
“Oh, well thank you for inviting me. Should we go look for your mom and auntie?”
I pull in a deep breath, prepared to make my way back to the steps to wait for them, but it seems Ace is in no rush to find me yet. Not until he asks his burning question, first.
“What’s your favorite car?” he asks.
As I pry the tiny branches apart, taking in Stefano’s long limbs and rigid posture in a cobalt suit, I expect him to give Ace some perfunctory answer and quickly hunt me down.
But Stefano’s dark eyes dart to the sky then to Ace’s tiny Lightning McQueen corvette in his hand.
To my utter shock, he smiles warmly, and it’s like he’s pulled an Uno Reverse card on me.
“Phew, that’s a serious question.” He scrubs a hand over his beard scruff, comically feigning deep concentration, though I sense this isn’t, in fact, a hard one. He squints at Ace. “Do you know what a Ferrari 250 GTO is?”
Warmth floods through me, watching him smile and humor my baby with a thoughtful answer.
“Is it a Corvette? My favorite car is a red Corvette just like Lightning McQueen,” Ace supplies.
No shocker there.
Which only makes me feel slightly better about all the money I’ve spent on a car bed, themed sheets, and toys.
Morgan slaps a hand over her mouth, and I’ve got to bite my tongue not to laugh. Even though our drive home will center on talking to strangers again, I can’t discount how adorable this conversation is.
Stefano chuckles.
“Well, I can see how you might be confused. They both come in cherry red, like your friend, here. The Ferrari is an Italian race car, though. Luxurious, elegant, perfect for a gentleman who appreciates and dreams of owning a handsome vehicle.”
My shoulders shake with stifled laughter, though, to Morgan, I still ask the question, niggling at me.
“What’s Stefano doing here?” I whisper.
We crouch down, inching closer to spy on them behind a bush, while she quickly brings me up to speed on his hours-long visit to the vineyard. He’s been down by the guest cabins, inspecting the progression of the project to ensure they’ll be ready by September.
I don’t know why this surprises me.
By all accounts, he’s a skilled businessman. A reliable, structured, overly cautious overachiever who rarely steps out of his comfort zone. Everything about him exudes type A, straight and narrow living.
His presence on the property today makes complete sense. He’s concerned about the vineyard’s lodging partners, and what the eventual photos in brochures will do for the bottom line.
Why wouldn’t he take his assigned lodging project and immediately go to task?
Also, why is it shocking that he hasn’t given me pushback about planning a wedding he doesn’t agree with?
“He’s ninety-five and he has stickers,” Ace adds, snapping me out my thoughts. Apparently, much to Stefano’s amusement.
As I pry the tiny branches apart, taking in Stefano’s long limbs and rigid posture in a cobalt suit—on another sweltering hot summer day. He’s smiling and talking to my baby with animated hands. I’m dumbfounded by his duplicity.
