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He angles his body toward mine, blocking out more of the crowded pavilion behind him. “You don’t like not knowing what someone is thinking.”
“Most people don’t.”
“Most people don’t ask as many questions as you do.”
“Questions are how I make sense of the world.” I lift one shoulder, trying to appear less affected by his nearness than I am. “There are worse habits.”
“I’m sure there are.” His eyes drop to the silver heart between my fingers. “You touch your locket whenever I ask you a question.”
I release the locket before I can stop myself, proving his point more effectively than any answer could.
“I’m not nervous,” I say.
“I didn’t say you were.” He takes the glass from my hand and places it on the edge of the table beside us.
The slight curve of his mouth tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing, and the warmth spreading beneath my skin tells me it’s working.
“You ask questions when you want to understand someone,” Andrei continues, lowering his voice as he turns back to me. “You ask even more when you don’t want them to understand you.”
My mouth goes dry. “You’ve known me for less than an hour.”
A loose strand of hair slips across my cheek. Andrei raises one hand and catches it between his fingers, giving me enough time to move away before he tucks it behind my ear. The rough pad of his thumb brushes the sensitive skin below it, and every thought in my head scatters.
“It has been an informative hour,” he murmurs.
His hand falls to his side, but the warmth of his touch remains. I stare at him, trying to remember what we were discussing and why standing this close to him seemed like a reasonable idea.
Andrei waits, watching me recover with an expression that suggests he knows precisely how much that small touch affected me.
I draw in a careful breath and force myself to hold his eyes. “What do you think I don’t want you to understand?”
He leans closer, leaving the answer between us for one unbearable moment. “Why you’re here.”
Before I can decide what to say, Tessa steps toward the front of the pavilion and announces that the reserve presentation is about to begin. Conversations fade as the guests turn toward her, but Andrei keeps his eyes on me. He steps aside as a server approaches behind me. His palm comes to the small of my back, guiding me around the tray with a touch that burns through the fabric of my dress. I look up, and the slight narrowing of his eyes suggests he felt the same jolt or enjoyed my reaction.
He bends until his mouth is near my ear. “We’ll finish this conversation soon, krasavitsa,” he whispers, his voice disappearing beneath the first notes of the quartet.
I’m not sure whether it’s a promise or a threat, and the shiver running through me offers no clarification.
He moves toward the presentation table, leaving me beside Birdie with my pulse beating too fast and my suspicion tangled with an attraction I didn’t authorize. Birdie turns her whole body toward me, but I lift one finger before she can speak.
“Not one word.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Her green eyes travel toward Andrei as he addresses the room. “I was going to ask whether the back of your dress is on fire.”
The tasting proceeds through a flight of wines poured beside small courses from the vineyard kitchen. Andrei speaks about the harvest with the ease of a man who knows every inch of the vineyard, describing rain, soil, and patience as if the vines are relatives whose habits he understands intimately. He gives Reid credit for an expansion into Oregon, thanks Leo and the crews for the morning harvest, and pauses when Sofia corrects the pronunciation of a Russian family name from her seat.
He doesn’t behave like a man concealing a missing banker. Unfortunately, guilty men probably don’t label themselves for convenience.
7
CASSIE
I use each break between courses to speak with employees, but the first server gives me a courteous smile and says she isn’t permitted to discuss the guest list. A woman from wine-club services recognizes Connor’s name but claims she only knows him as a representative of Evergreen National Bank. When I ask whether he has visited the estate, she sends me to Tessa without revealing a thing, which makes me suspect she has spent years steering curious guests away from private matters.
The third employee, an older man collecting empty glasses, looks at Connor’s photograph for less than a second before returning his focus to the tray in his hands.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” he says.
