Page 45 of Love You Truly

“Let’s open with a 1986 bottle of Lafite Rothschild.” A hum reverberates through the room. This is a crowd who knows that vintage will go for well over two thousand dollars.

Dash looks at me, and I shake my head. “Too rich for my blood.” He pulls my stool a little closer to his. To anyone bothering to look, we seem like a couple. Whispering to each other, little touches, leaning in. But most eyes are focused on the auctioneer who closes bidding on the Lafite Rothschild at twenty-seven hundred dollars.

Applause fills the room, and the bidder, Calliope Bruner, nods and smiles. Everyone knows who she is because her winery is in the middle of Silverado Trail, and she’s a fixture at these events. But she plays her cards close to the vest, only associating with the small group at her table, and most of them don’t live around here. I don’t know anyone in this town who’s actually friends with her. Kind of reminds me of me.

She sits with a group of women who surround her protectively. They remind me of the Pink Ladies from the musical Grease—one brunette, a blonde, and a redhead, all dressed similarly. The only thing missing is their pink satin jackets. I find myself wistfully thinking about how it would feel to have a crew of women like those, all of which seem ready to go to the mat against anyone who looks at their friend the wrong way.

My attention shifts back to the auction when the first bottle on my short list comes up for bidding. It’s a 2010 Château Latour from France, and I was lucky enough to taste it once. I raise my paddle high, staring straight at the auctioneer. He notes my bid and asks for the next incremental raise. “I have three hundred; can I get four?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see other paddles go up. “Five?” I boldly raise my paddle again, calculating how high I’m willing to bid for a single bottle of wine, but this is about more than something to drink.

I can feel the eyes of nearly everyone in the room land on me, and if anyone didn’t notice that I’m with Dashiell Corbett, they’re noticing now. So I give them a little something to look at, turning to Dash and smiling adoringly. He drapes an arm over my shoulders and leans in to kiss my cheek.

It’s subtle, but it’s enough to register on the radar of anyone paying the slightest bit of attention. We look like we’re being discreet, yet we’re so besotted with each other that we don’t notice anyone else in the room.

I’ve never experienced that in a relationship before, but it feels nice to pretend. I can almost convince myself that I have those budding feelings for Dash. He’s a convincing actor, and it hits me once again why women fall for him so easily. Then I remind myself that he loves and leaves them on the same night and feel glad that we’re only pretending.

“Did you know the most expensive bottle of wine ever bought at auction went for over half a million?”

“Dollars?” I gasp. “No, I did not know that. Who’d spend that?”

He chuckles at how aghast I am. “Collectors. If more than one person wants something, someone’s guaranteed to pay more than they should.”

“I won’t be doing that tonight.” I raise my paddle again when the auctioneer asks for eight hundred dollars, but this is my ceiling. If anyone outbids me now, they can have it.

“We have nine hundred. Next bid, one thousand dollars.” I exhale a small sigh of relief at not having to pay eight hundred dollars just for the sake of optics. Then I look around to see who else is still bidding.

I’m surprised to see that Trevor Stagwood is one of the bidders, and he’s looking straight at me as though he’s just proven his fortitude. He’s asked me out a few times, and I’ve avoided committing to an actual date. I wonder now if this is his way of getting noticed.

I nod in Trevor’s direction and turn my attention to another guy with his paddle raised. I don’t recognize him, which is unusual for one of these events. Maybe he’s new to the area or the friend of a friend.

“You know that guy?” I ask Dash, who has to swivel on his stool to see the man. Dash bristles and turns back toward me, whispering, “I do know him. Long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The guy makes the winning bid at sixteen hundred dollars, and now I want to know whatever Dash can tell me about him. It’s not just that we have the same taste in wine—lots of people like Château Latour—but I’m good with faces, and it surprises me that I don’t recognize his.

Dash turns on his stool and leans in close. “That’s Graham Garcia. My half brother.” He lets the words land with the weight of a lead balloon, anticipating my goggle-eyed reaction.

“You have a half brother?” I’ve known the Corbett family for years, and this is the first time I’ve heard of a bonus sibling. Now I want to skip out of this room and hear everything.

Dash nods. “Only found out about him a few months back. It’s…a whole thing.” He looks back in the direction of where Graham sits amid a buzz of congratulations from the people around him, but then the auctioneer snags his attention when he starts up bidding on the spa weekend.

“Hang on. I want this.” He readies his paddle, gripping the handle in his large hand.

“You do?” I’m puzzled because Dash doesn’t strike me as a spa weekend kind of guy. Plus, if he and I are going to sell this relationship charade, he can’t be whisking other women off for stolen weekends. I’m about to remind him of this when the bidding opens, and he raises his paddle in the air.

From then, it’s a madhouse. Husbands egged on by wives, couples having anxious conversations about how high to bid. All of them desperate to secure the luxurious accommodations at a winery retreat with a two-year waiting list.

“I have four thousand. Do I have forty-two hundred?” A dozen paddles rise in the air. The auctioneer is ramping up the bidding at a breakneck pace, talking a mile a minute and reaching ten thousand dollars in under forty seconds. My head spins at the number of paddles rising and lowering.

The chatter in the room is also increasing as everyone gets excited about the funds raised and the audacity of how much people are willing to spend.

“Come on, it’s for public theater. And that means shows like Frozen, Wicked, all the great productions your kids will beg you to see. Come on, do I have eleven thousand? It’s for the kids.” The auctioneer is good at his job, smiling as he increases the raise to five hundred at a time.

Through it all, Dash keeps raising his paddle. I look at him pointedly, trying to remind him that he can’t reasonably use this fancy weekend anytime soon. Maybe he’s already planning ahead for after our eventual divorce. It would make sense, I guess, since the waiting list is so long. So I sip my wine and let him do his thing.

He flashes a smile and rubs my bare shoulder. The heat of his fingers floods down my arm, and I lean closer to him, wanting more contact.

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