Alain meant everything to her.
CHAPTER ONE
August 31
ADRENALINE GUSHED THROUGH Nathalie as she sped toward the Fontesquieu vineyards of Vence—queen of the cities of the French Riviera, in her opinion. They stretched eye to eye above the blue Mediterranean, row after row of immaculately tended terroirs with their healthy grape vines dotting the undulating green hills and summits.
The August afternoon sun had ripened the luscious grapes, filling the air with a sweet, fruity smell as she neared the Fontesquieu estate with its enormous seventeenth-century chateau, rumored to contain twenty-two bedrooms. It reminded her of the book My Mother’s Castle, made famous by the French author and filmmaker Marcel Pagnol. He’d been born in Provence too and had written some of her favorite books about his childhood memories.
But the Pagnol family’s quaint little vacation home in Provence couldn’t compare to the one she could see out the window of her trusty old Peugeot. The magnificent chateau had always been closed to the public, but the estate drew artists and tourists from all over the world.
Nathalie couldn’t imagine the wealth of a family like the Fontesquieux. She’d been born in Provence and had passed by the vineyard many times, but she’d never enjoyed its scenery more than this afternoon.
With pounding heart, she followed the signs posted to find the tent set up for people seeking temporary work grape picking. After planning this since her talk with Claire a month ago, the day had come for her to get a job that would last only the three weeks of the grape harvest. In that amount of time, she hoped to find the man who had fathered her nephew, Alain, if he was still there. But as Claire had said, it would take a miracle.
When she reached the nearby mobile home park she’d visited earlier in the week, she parked and walked down the road toward a line of people waiting outside the tent in the distance.
Before entering, a man—probably early twenties—with dark blond hair handed everyone an application to fill out. He also gave them a list of items they would need if they were eventually hired. She put that list in her purse and sat down at a small table to fill out the form before getting in line. He eyed her with obvious male interest before it was her turn to enter the tent.
The line moved slowly until there was only one person in front of her being interviewed. That’s when she saw the man vetting everyone and stifled a gasp. She wished she had a better description of Alain’s father. All she had to go on was that he was a Provencal, which meant dark haired and dark eyed. The man sitting there certainly filled that description, but it could be a coincidence. Was it possible she’d found him?
The breathtaking, late-twenties-looking male could easily be the heartthrob Antoinette had fallen for! Her darling stepsister’s now sixteen-month-old child possessed this man’s square chin and black hair. He had the same type of build and olive skin.
Thousands of Frenchmen claimed those same qualifications, but this one’s piercing black eyes had a distinct look that reminded her so much of her little nephew, Nathalie was astonished. To think, it might be Alain’s father sitting there not ten feet away interviewing would-be grape pickers. By applying for this job, she could have found him!
According to one of the people in line, hundreds of workers had already been hired during the week. Today represented the last group seeking temporary employment.
“Prochain?” he said in a deep voice that reached her insides.
Nathalie’s heartbeat sped up as she realized she was next in line and needed to follow through. She moved forward to sit opposite him on a chair beneath the tent. The heat of the sun had made the interior uncomfortably warm.
Though he was seated, she could tell he was a tall man, lean in that appealing masculine way. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves pushed to the elbows and as he took the application from her, she noticed a small, pale, café-au-lait birthmark on his underarm beneath the elbow. She had to stifle another gasp because the back of Alain’s right calf had the same birthmark.
Maybe it was a coincidence. Millions of people had them, but this was just one more bit of evidence to convince her he could be Alain’s father.
Nathalie noticed that he wore a watch and no rings, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married. His nails were immaculate. When he looked up, their eyes met and her breath caught.
Heat crept into her cheeks as she got lost in his intense gaze. They were both taking measure of each other while she waited for him to say something. He couldn’t have recognized her as Antoinette’s stepsister. Nathalie was a blonde. Her stepsister had been a brunette. They came from different sets of parents with different last names.
His virile male beauty stunned her. Her stepsister, who’d been two years older than Nathalie, would have taken one look at him and that would have been it! How well Nathalie understood the instant attraction. She couldn’t look away.
He continued to study her features. “Mademoiselle Fournier? I see here you’ve had no experience as a vendangeuse.”
“That’s right. I didn’t know that was a prerequisite.”
“It’s not, but it’s hard labor, seasonal, and the pay isn’t that great. Why would a pharmacist from La Gaude apply to do entry-level work like this?” La Gaude, France, was a town a fifteen-minute drive from Vence along the Côte d’Azur, the playground of the world’s rich and famous.
She felt those black all-seeing eyes travel over her with a thoroughness that caused her to tremble, and she looked down. He was so gorgeous she was in danger of forgetting why she’d come. For her little nephew’s sake, it was vital Nathalie pull this off. She needed to think fast.
“I’ve lived in Provence all my life and thought that for once I’d use my vacation time to find out what it’s like to work in a vineyard as world renowned as this one.”
On their website she’d seen one photo of the Duc Armand de Fontesquieu, the gray-haired, eighty-year-old patriarch and CEO. She’d seen no other pictures and realized they had to be a very private family.
Though many vineyards used machinery, some vintners—like the vastly wealthy Fontesquieu family with their many terroirs—also hired pickers called coupeurs, plus collectors and sorters for the grape harvest vendange. It lasted for the first three weeks of September. She’d done her homework.
After a slight pause, he spoke. “You do realize that we have no accommodations for you here.”
She raised her eyes to him again. With that comment, she sensed he didn’t believe her reason for wanting the temporary work.