“You know me well already.”

“Do you even own a pair of jeans?”

He hesitated.

“Seriously, Masini? No blue jeans? Everyone has a pair.”

Margaret gave him lip about his lacking wardrobe, made a quip or two about his ties, and simply took his mind off his problems for fifteen minutes.

“How is it I miss you already?” he asked when their conversation started to draw to a close.

“I’m a missable kind of girl.”

“Humble, too.”

“Bite your tongue, Masini. You of all people know it doesn’t pay to hide or pretend to be something you’re not.”

He rolled his eyes to the empty room. “Like the girlfriend of a famous movie star?”

“Ahh, ouch. Points for you. To be fair, that didn’t really pay off. Not in this case.”

“True. Without your ruse, however, I might not have ever met you.”

She sighed into the phone. “Coming from anyone else, that would sound like a line.”

He loosened his tie. “But coming from me?”

“You’re too controlled to deliver bullshit.”

“You’d call me on it if I did.”

“You know it.”

He liked their easy banter and lack of bullshit, as she so eloquently labeled it. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told her. “Sooner if need be.”

“Good plan.”

“Good night, cara.” He didn’t want to hang up, felt like a teenager with a crush.

“Good night, Val.”

He moved the phone away from his ear.

“Val?”

He jumped to put the phone back.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you, too.” Then she hung up.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

“It’s been three days . . . how long does it take to find one dress?”

“Alonzo,” Gabi said with a sigh.

“I miss you.”

“There are weeks that go by where I don’t see you.” Gabi snuggled into the guest bed, her cell phone tucked to her ear.

“We fought. I hate when we fight.”

How she needed to hear those words. “We spend too much time apart.”

“I agree. I need to change that.”

Some of the doubt a fight forced into one’s head dissipated.

“I know it’s not an excuse, but there have been a few miscalculations with the new vineyard that have made me less than agreeable with you. I want it perfect for us.”

“I’m not looking for perfection, Alonzo.”

“I told your brother to expect me to take you away when you return,” he said, changing the subject.

She bit her bottom lip . . . smiled. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a secret. I will tell you this. It’s just us. Only us.”

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine just the two of them. Seemed they’d only ever been together with others around them. There were times, intimate times, they managed to carve away from the island, or Alonzo’s life . . . but not many. “I’d like that.”

“So come home so I can take you away.”

“Alonzo . . .” Torn between her new friends and her future life . . . she looked at the ring on her left hand, remembered her promise to her fiancé. “I’ll arrange a flight. Meet me in Key West?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Text me the time, I’ll be there.”

More confident by the minute, she snuggled farther into bed. “Tell me about your day.”

“I’ve been arranging our trip. Making sure everything will go without interruption.”

“You’re teasing me. Are we going on the yacht?”

“For a time.”

“And then?”

Alonzo’s voice shifted away from the soft tones he’d been using. “It’s not a surprise if I tell you, now is it?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I suppose not.”

“Tomorrow, Gabi. I’ll see you tomorrow.” His tone was delicate again. Delicate with a trace of sugar. “By morning I will taste your skin.”

Michael drove up the coast, his Ferrari taking the curves like she owned them. Past Santa Barbara he headed east, found the 101, and continued north. Vineyards dotted the landscape of Napa and Sonoma Valleys, the green leaves and plump grapes nearly ripe for the perfect harvest. He loved the countryside, the silent insects buzzing around, the lazy way the sun moved over the land. The stark contrast to his daily life didn’t go unnoticed.

The walls of his estate in Beverly Hills had closed in on him since his return from the island. He’d managed two conversations with Ryder, both of them sweet and strained.

He was worried. They both were worried. Rick had yet to find anything and no new photos had managed to circulate.

Like a crackhead looking for his next hit, Michael couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop moving. Driving up the coast felt right. Like he was doing something.

It might not be the right thing, but it was something.

He wound his way up an oak-studded drive that opened to the Windon Estate. Natalie and Chuck Windon were some of the best people Michael knew in the wine business, not to mention they had a superior product that topped Michael’s table more times than not. Instead of pulling into the parking lot for the many wine tours that drove up for tasting, Michael pulled into the private drive of the proprietors.

He took the brown paper bag from the passenger seat and jogged up the steps.

Natalie stepped from inside the house, her smile greeting him. “Michael. Did we know you were coming?”