A Vintage Murder by Michele Scott Page B

know that this is sudden and overwhelming and you’re thinking tabloids and unwanted press. Am I right?”
    “Kind of.”
    “I’m sure there will be some of that. But you can handle it. And, you know you’re boring anyway. If the National Enquirer finds a story on you, surely someone like a Lindsay Lohan will beat you to the punch.”
    “Thanks. I think.”
    “No, I don’t mean boring in a bad way. What I mean is, you’re normal. Tabloids want exploitation and there is nothing to exploit about you. So, you take this role. Take the money, for God’s sakes. Who knows, we may have a bunch of kids to put through college one day, and what if I start making crappy wine and the business turns to sour grapes? You’ll need to support us.” He laughed.
    Kids. He just said kids . A bunch of kids. Yes, she did want kids. Sure. Soon. She would need kids soon because the biological clock was ticking, but she’d never heard him mention children before. This was a good thing. A little sudden, but good.
    “Nikki? Are you listening?” She nodded. “Like Kane said, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Maybe it’ll be a hit like they’re saying it will be, or maybe not. Maybe you’ll find out that acting really is that thing you’ve been passionate about. That thing you gave up on, and then sometimes lie awake at night wondering about.” She squinted. How did he know she did that? “Oh I know.” He shook a finger at her as if reading her mind. “We all do it. We’ve all had hopes and dreams, goals we gave up on or couldn’t make happen for whatever reason, and after everything is said and done, there are times we wonder, ‘what if?’ What if I’d done it this way or that way? Or tried that or this, taken this guy’s advice or didn’t listen to that guy? What if?”
    Nikki called the waiter over and ordered a glass of Cabernet. Although the champagne was gone—most of it consumed by Kane and Nathan—she had the feeling that this conversation might go well with a glass of red. Derek followed suit and suggested they order dinner. They both ordered Australian rib-eye steaks.
    “Your ‘what if’ song and dance sounds to me somewhat melancholy. Is there a ‘what if’ in your past?” Nikki asked.
    He took both of her hands. “Almost.”
    “Almost?”
    “Yeah, you. I thought about it and thought about it, and I’ve played out, what if you didn’t choose me, or what if I hadn’t taken a chance and called you while sitting on the tarmac? Or what if I’d been a chicken shit and not told Renee the truth and she was the one here with me now?”
    Nikki didn’t like the sound of that at all . Renee Rothschild was the daughter of a big-time San Francisco publisher who had published a book about the winery that Derek had coauthored. Nikki had worked on the book herself. Upon meeting Derek Malveaux, Renee had gotten all hot and bothered over his green eyes and chiseled features, not to mention those abs that Nikki was aching to run her fingers over. “What if” was right! Nikki knew if she hadn’t heard that message from Derek before heading to the airport—if he hadn’t made the call at that very moment—she would be in Spain. God, Andrés! She had to face it. Face him. Nikki didn’t know how to answer Derek.
    “I’ll tell you what, I would be completely miserable because I know that I would have lost you, and Renee would be nothing but trouble. The only reason I showed any interest in her was because I thought I’d already lost you and I really didn’t think that I was the best man for you.”
    “Why?”
    “Come on, Nik. We both know that diving in, taking a chance—at least in relationships—hasn’t been my thing. It scares the hell out of me. You, me—us—scares the hell out of me.”
    “Then why? Why take the chance, make the move?”
    “It was that, or be miserable asking myself what if for the rest of my life. And, you and I both know that if you don’t do this movie, you’ll be doing the