“Something to do with the mothers?” Vin ventured.
“Yes,” Jewel agreed. “They were like sisters. Since they were kids. Tragedy can alter the course of your life, certainly. But they’re two very steady, strong-willed women who allowed their husbands to declare they could no longer be friends. That seems to go against the grain for them. Understandably, Gian could be furious with my father for circumventing him during a time when he was distracted, but what did that have to do with the wives? My mother doesn’t have much say in the family business—her choice. And she usually gets a far-off look in her eyes when Daddy goes on and on about one investment or another. Like she’s mentally contemplating her next charitable cause to conquer and finds that much more exciting.”
“Can’t say that my mother has ever taken much interest in distillery operations, either,” Rogen said. “They both prefer to leave business to the men.”
“So why do I feel as if we’re not seeing the big picture?” Jewel asked.
“Because we haven’t yet gone directly to the source?” Rogen speculated.
“The mothers,” Vin repeated.
“Yes.” Jewel lifted her glass in toast for the breakthrough. “The mothers.”
And a plan began to form in her head.…
* * *
The next afternoon, Jewel pulled into the parking lot of Bristol’s ten minutes ahead of her scheduled meet-up with Rogen and Vin.
She sat in her convertible and stared at the stylish brick building before her.
Why had she agreed to this particular restaurant?
There were dozens in River Cross. Many of them much more low-key.
The problem with this particular establishment was that it was one of the most popular eateries and bars in town. Jewel couldn’t make it through the lounge, the dining room, or the patio without running into a handful of people she knew.
And she was going to have lunch here with Rogen and Vin, amidst rumors the trio were scorching the sheets?
A few beads of perspiration popped along her hairline, and against the bare nape of her neck, since her blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail. She wore a daffodil-colored sheath and strappy sandals. Not exactly confining clothes. And it was a balmy spring day. Definitely not one that called for an extra layer of deodorant. Yet she was currently wishing she’d brought along the clear gel to freshen up.
Her throat felt dry and tight. Her palms were clammy. Her pulse beat a bit too fast.
Okay, so, facing the music was no easy feat. Knowing people would stare—and not for the usual reasons. She was accustomed to garnering attention, which mostly came from her family name and abundant stock portfolio. The envious gazes of women sometimes followed her. Flirtatious stares from men.
But this would be different.
She considered what one might speculate over when they heard the term ménage à trois.
Words such as taboo and insatiable and slut came to mind.
Whoa.
Where had that last one come from?
And oh, my God. Was that what people were saying about her?
Chances were very good few would even bat an eye at Rogen and Vin’s participation in a threesome. They were quite devilish by nature … and men. But hers?
Was there a double standard that would leave the connotation of loose and easy in her wake?
Jewel choked on a humorless laugh. Until that night of the gala, she hadn’t had sex in seven years! She’d rarely dated in the city. And, for God’s sake, the only two men she’d ever slept with were Rogen and Vin.
Come on, Jewel. She goaded herself.
Chin up. Shoulders squared.
Turn off the car and get out.