“This is the highlight of our harvest crush,” Tristan said, his voice carrying across the gathered crowd. “This year, we wanted to honor the old method of how wine used to be made in small villages.”
Emilie’s eyes sparkled. “Which means these grapes must be crushed. With the feet.”
Tristan held up his arms and stomped the ground. “Who is brave enough to join us?”
Uneasy laughter rippled among the guests.
“We have togas inside,” Emilie continued, gesturing toward the chateau. “It’s good luck to crush the first grapes of the season.”
Ivy laughed. “This reminds me of an old ‘I Love Lucy’ episode where Lucy and Ethel stomped grapes.”
Several friends laughed and nodded while Emilie turned toward Ivy, her gaze landing on her and Bennett. “I think I know who our first volunteers should be.”
At once, Ivy realized what Shelly and Emilie had planned. She clasped Bennett’s hand for strength.
Emilie smiled. “Tradition usually calls for the youngest maidens, but we’ll make exceptions tonight. Who’ll be our first volunteers? How about the mayor?”
The crowd started chanting his name.
Raising his hand, Bennett shook his head. “I think there are more deserving people here. Mitch, how about you?”
But their friends kept up the chant.
Realizing the inevitable plan was afoot, Ivy tucked her arm through her husband’s. She wouldn’t let him do thisalone. “Come on, Mr. Mayor. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Bennett’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re serious.”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” she said.
She squeezed his arm, feeling a little giddy and reckless in a way she hadn’t in ages. Maybe it was the wine, or the end of the summer’s demands, or just the sheer absurdity of being invited to stomp grapes in a wooden vat under the stars.
“We’re sleeping here tonight anyway,” she said. “No driving, no responsibilities. Just us and a vat full of grapes.”
Shelly grabbed Ivy’s hand. “Come on, when was the last time we did anything outrageous?”
The crowd cheered. Emilie clapped her hands together, delighted. “Let’s go get ready.”
The four of them followed Emilie to the house. Inside a room off the kitchen, the air smelled of dried lavender that hung from the beams. Emilie gestured to a rack of white sheets fashioned into togas.
The linen was soft and worn thin in places, carrying the subtle scent of lavender. “Last year these were Halloween ghost costumes, and tonight they’re our togas. Ivy, here’s one for you.”
Emilie demonstrated the wrapping technique with practiced efficiency, pinning the sheet at one shoulder and gathering it at the waist with another strip of cloth.
Tristan had already changed. He was tall, and his toga ended just above his knees. “Be sure to put your swimsuits underneath.”
With relief, Ivy saw that Emilie had laid out their swimsuits for them. At least they’d have that.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Bennett said, chuckling.
Mitch elbowed him. “Think of the photos, dude.”
They changed in minutes with more laughter than skill. Bennett struggled with his toga until Ivy fixed it for him. The sheet was cool against her skin. Shelly emerged from the other room looking excited with her hair pinned up and her feet bare.
Shelly grinned. “Aren’t you glad you got that pedicure now?”
They filed back outside to whoops and applause. The torches burned brightly, throwing flickering shadows across the vat. They sat down on a wooden bench beside buckets of water.
“And now for the ceremonial foot washing,” Emilie said. She splashed water over everyone’s feet.
