Page 96 of Sinful Temptations

Our wine journey started with Bollicine Di Nika—a delicate pinot noir bubbles that was apparently made with grapes slowly dried under the Tuscan sun. Mario made it sound so romantic as he poured a generous quantity into our sampling glasses.

Roman clinked his glass to mine, and when he smiled, it made everything about my return to Volpaia truly special.

The first sip had my taste buds tingling. It was cold and crisp and delicious. When Roman tasted the wine, his eyes lit up. When his tongue slipped out and cruised along his bottom lip, my girly bits fluttered at the glorious spectacle.

Fucking hell, Daisy.

We are just fucking friends. No, not fucking friends. Just friends.

I would’ve banged my fist to my forehead if I’d thought it would help. Roman, however, was not helping. He smelled good. He looked good. Every fucking thing about him was good.

Thank God Mario distracted me from Mr. Perfect with my second tasting. Another bubbles—the Volpaia Spumante Brut Champagne this time. Mario explained that this sample was from the 2009 harvest. He pointed out the enormous window that framed the incredible vista beyond the glass.

Rows and rows of grapevines stretched all the way to the stone wall that surrounded the village. Beyond that, the rolling hills were kissed by fluffy white clouds. It was a setting that could have graced any postcard.

I turned back to the tasting and Lydia and Roman lookingat each other. She had that doe-eyed expression that confirmed she liked what she was looking at. Roman did too.

They were totally checking each other out.

My heart deflated like an undercooked soufflé.

I wanted to slap myself. I was supposed to be happy for him—encouraging him, encouraging her. Hell, I should have been inventing every possible scenario to make sure the two of them hooked up.

I am seriously the worst wing-woman ever.

Mario presented another bottle—a white this time—and as he poured a sample of Prelius Vermentino into our glasses, he spoke about the wine’s tasting notes: hints of floral, peaches, pineapple, blah . . . blah . . . blah.

His words faded into oblivion as I watched the interaction between Lydia and Roman. They spoke in Italian so I couldn’t keep up with their conversation, but their body language said enough. These two were into each other.

It was the first time I’d seen Roman so engrossed. Other than with me, of course. His smile was radiating, and she was constantly touching his arm like she needed his attention. She already had that. She was hard to ignore.

Lydia was twenty-four, had beautiful dark flowing hair, glowing olive skin, and perfect teeth that would have Colgate executives coming in their pants. Her laugh was sweet, her accent sexy, and she had plump D-sized boobs and an hourglass figure. She may well have been a figurehead for Gorgeous Women Unite.

I skulled my wine and pushed my glass forward, eager for more.

Mario poured the first of the red wine varieties. Citto, the 2018 vintage, was all cherries and berries and tasted great. I gulped it back and laughed along with Lydia and Roman, pretending I understood what the two of them were chuckling about.

Another wine and another chuckle and it suddenly hit me. Roman should not be drinking. What was he thinking?

I gulped back the next drop, a tasty Chianti Classico, and it was gooood. I’ll have to tell Roman to stop. I’ll do it in a minute, after Mario finishes explaining this wine, and everyone starts talking again.

I studied Roman. He swirled the wine around the glass, held it to his nose, and inhaled deeply, then admired the sample in the light. According to Mario, the more the wine clung to the glass, the more sugar it contained.Good to know.

Roman looked like an experienced wine connoisseur. Knowing Roman, he probably was. When he tasted the sample, he only had the smallest of sips before he tipped the wine into the provided spittoon.

Bugger. I should be doing that.

The thought didn’t register with my hands though. Or my tongue. When Mario poured another generous sample into my glass, I sipped at it like it was an antidote for my fixation with Roman.

With each new tasting, the noisy September group escalated to another level. When Serena, Mario’s cousin, and her daughter, Athena, came into the room carrying large timber boards, the din grew louder again.

The grazing platters were topped with local cheeses, cured meats, fruit, honey, nuts, crackers, grapes, olives, and olive oil all grown right here in Volpaia. Delicious aromas from the crusty loaves of bread that followed confirmed they’d come straight from the oven.

As we worked our way through the feast, Mario continued to work his way through the full range of red wines, ensuring we all had a generous taste of every single one. I dipped a thick cube of bread into the olive oil and popped the still-steaming slice into my mouth.

Oh, my god . . .It was delicious. When Roman raised hisbrows at me, I realized I must’ve moaned. Unfazed, I reached for another piece and waved it at him. “This is so good. You should try some.”

“I did, and yes, it is.”

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