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“He certainly has the imperious demeanor of a future monarch.” Grinning, Christian threw his napkin onto the table and stood.
“Don’t you mean tyrant?”
“He must get his bossy nature from his mother.” Christian’s arm snaked around her waist before she reached the French doors. “I find that an unexpected turn on.”
He spun her into his arms and captured her lips in a sizzling kiss. Noelle sagged against him, admiring his knack for turning a lighthearted jab into a sincere compliment. Even knowing they could be caught at any second, Noelle darted out her tongue to taste the smooth chocolate and heady wine lingering on Christian’s lips. His fingers tightened almost painfully against her ribs before he pushed her to arm’s length.
“You are bad for my willpower,” he told her, his voice a husky rasp. “First this morning and now...”
“Mama, are you coming?” Marc’s plaintive wail came from across the yard.
Noelle gathered a shaky breath. “If we hold up the grape stomp much longer, my son will never forgive me.”
Hand in hand they walked around the corner of the building where the bulk of the wine process happened and came upon a gathering of children and workers. Although the official start to the harvest was a week away, enough grapes had been gathered to fill three half wine barrels for the children to stomp.
In addition to Marc, Louis’s youngest son and the vineyard manager’s daughter were barefoot and ready to begin. The half casks had been set on a platform. Below each stomping container sat collecting jars for the juice. The children would pulverize the grapes with their feet, and the first one to produce the required amount of liquid would win. Seeing her son’s grim determination, she knew Marc would give it his all.
“He has my competitive spirit,” Christian murmured near her ear a second before Louis’s wife signaled the start of the contest.
Noelle relaxed against the arm Christian slipped around her waist, enjoying his solidness against her back. “Yes. Some days that gets to be a problem.”
Despite her words, she rooted for her son. Not that Marc needed the encouragement. Displaying the abundant energy that exhausted both Noelle and her mother on a daily basis, he ran in place, his concentration riveted on the grapes beneath his feet. Watching him, Noelle realized that while he was her baby and she wanted to protect him from harm, Marc was more resilient than she gave him credit for. He wouldn’t suffer beneath the extreme media attention on the horizon. Nor would he be pushed into uncomfortable circumstances by Christian’s family. There was too much of his father in him for him to take on the weight of rule until he was damn good and ready. And she hoped he had enough of her common sense to know when that moment was.
Beside her, Christian cheered as Marc was the first to accumulate the requisite amount of juice. After planting a firm, enthusiastic kiss on her cheek, Christian strode to the platform and swung his triumphant son out of the half cask. Noelle winced as vivid purple juice dripped from her son’s feet and stained Christian’s khaki pants. Heedless of the damage to his clothes, Christian set Marc on his hip and each threw a celebratory fist in the air.
Noelle felt the tiniest prick of sadness. Where once she’d been everything to Marc, she recognized that his father would soon be occupying more and more of his attention. Noelle couldn’t help the panic that welled up. She’d built such a comfortable, safe life for herself and Marc, but so many changes were looming on the horizon.
Louis’s wife came to her side. “Try lemon juice to get the grape stains off his feet.”
“That works?”
The woman grinned. “It will help.”
While Noelle chatted with Louis’s wife, Christian cleaned off Marc’s feet and wrangled him back into his socks and shoes. Hand in hand they then walked in her direction.
“Did you see how good I stomped, Mama?” Marc ran in place, demonstrating his winning technique. He gripped a bottle of sparkling grape juice, his prize for winning.
“I did.” She noticed Marc hadn’t released Christian’s hand. Her chest tightened, but she offered her son a proud smile. “You are the best grape stomper in all Sherdana.”
“He certainly is,” Christian said, his gaze fond as it rested on Marc. “Are you ready to head back to the castle?”
“I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. And someone needs a bath.” She gazed pointedly at her son’s feet.
“No, Mama. I want to show everyone at school that I stomped grapes.”
