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“I have,” he said casually. “I lived in Fresno.”
“Really? When?”
“A long time ago.” Something in his tone said he didn’t care for the place.
“My father used to take me to the underground gardens there. Did you ever visit them?”
“No. My family wasn’t into any sort of culture.”
“That’s too bad. My father could tell you stories for days about the man who built the gardens. He was from Sicily, I believe.”
“You remember that?”
“I remember all the stories my father told me. He made most of them up. Fairy tales about a Princess Sorrel.”
That elicited a smile from Eric. “It has a ring to it. Tell me about her.”
I looked up at the stars and thought back to my days of walking in the vineyard with my father, hand in hand. “Princess Sorrel was strong and beautiful, of course, because all princesses are. And she went on adventures. She did her best to always help people, even if she was scared or it put her in danger.” I didn’t mention the crazy book she possessed that ruled her life.
“Did this princess have a prince?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “He was handsome and brave. He did all he could to protect Sorrel, and she him.” I gazed out over the water. If only that part of my father’s stories would come true.
Eric’s fingertips grazed my own. “Are you okay?”
Even the slightest touch from him sent sparks through me. “Yes. I just miss my father. He was the best man I’ve ever known. His death was a tragic shock.” I made sure to hit that point home.
Eric placed his hand on top of mine. “Sorrel, I spoke to the coroner in Tulare.”
I yanked my hand away, but he was too quick and captured it in his own. “Why would you do that?”
“Please hear me out. The coroner was baffled by your father’s death. Can you think of any reason why that would be?”
“Of course. My father was a young, healthy man.”
“It was more than that. He couldn’t find any conclusive evidence as to why he passed away so suddenly.”
“Maybe because the coroner was a bumbling idiot. I remember meeting him, and he seemed incompetent. Did you check his background?”
Eric tugged on the collar of his tee. “No. But you were a child—how would you know if he was incompetent?”
“My mother thought he was an idiot. And I would have to agree.”
Eric released my hand. “Your father was an elusive man.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean the only records I can find about him are his passport and a death certificate.”
“So? What more do you need?” More like, why did he need them at all?
“Where did he go to school? Where did he work?”
“His family moved to France when he was young, but when he met my mother, they moved back to the States. And I told you we owned a vineyard.”
“Hmm.”
I could see him making mental notes. “Any other questions?” I asked, annoyed.
“What about your mother’s death? Very suspicious as well.”
I rubbed my face in my hands. “I’m sorry my parents didn’t die in a more palatable manner for you.”
“Sorrel,” he spoked in hushed tones, “I don’t mean to upset you. Your life is shrouded in mystery. You obviously have wealth, yet there’s no paper trail. And until the last few years, there’s no record of you anywhere other than your birth certificate and a driver’s license. In this day and age, that’s quite the feat.”
“What’s so wrong with wanting to live a life unfettered by the demands of ‘normal’ society? My parents gave me a beautiful upbringing. I was able to travel the world and study cultures by experiencing them. I was able to learn from the brightest minds through reading books. I know I didn’t have the usual childhood, but that doesn’t make it wrong. In fact, most people would say it was a gift.” Or in my case a curse. I folded my arms in a huff.
A stupid grin washed over Eric’s face.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“You’re fiery. I didn’t expect that.”
“You seem to bring out the worst in me.” It was true. I was never like this. I barely ever raised my voice unless it was to tell Josie to quit stealing the cupcakes. Even then, it was more in jest.
He finished off his glass of wine. “I seem to have a knack for bringing out the worst in people.”
“Perhaps if you didn’t interrogate them or bring up their most painful memories, that wouldn’t happen.”
“Sometimes, I don’t have a choice,” he sighed.
“What about now? Have I changed your mind?”
The corners of his mouth twitched in a wicked manner. “I think we’re going to have to spend some more time together for me to be sure.”
It suddenly felt like noon on a summer afternoon rather than a cool late-spring night. “My head is telling me to say no and that I should loathe you, but . . . I don’t. Why is that?” I found myself being more honest with him than I intended.
