THE RANGE Rover whisked them down Greengarden and onto the John S Mosby Highway, aka 50. Miles of drystone wall blurred past, interrupted here and there by wooden fencing stained black with creosote preservative, all enclosing rolling acres of bluegrass. The oak-shaded grounds of the Upperville Colt & Horse Show flowed by, offseason-serene. Tonio twisted in his seat to watch the show grounds pass, and Destin wondered what memories Tonio had of the famous shows held there. Destin had been absent from the show-jumping world in Tonio’s years as an up-and-coming rider. He regretted that now. They could at least have had that in common if nothing else.
A few miles down the road, the town of Upperville itself closed in around the highway. A tasteful brick Citgo heralded their arrival, followed by trim, comfortable old houses made of brick or white clapboard or the ubiquitous fieldstone, glowing gently above manicured stretches of turf. The Hunter’s Head Tavern flicked by, and an antique store, and that one abandoned house disappearing under a tangle of vines.
“And that’s Upperville,” Destin said as they passed the final outpost, a modern and unapologetically industrial stoneworks.
Upperville quickly disappeared in the rearview mirror, and again stretches of stone walls bordered the road, sometimes crumbling and overgrown with trees and creeper vines, sometimes cleared and tended. For a long way, a dense row of pines overshadowed the walls, sculpted in a subtle curve to allow power lines to pass in front of them. Here and there the curtain of trees parted, and in the gaps, the undulating, deep purple shapes of distant mountains loomed on the horizon.
The Ashby Inn greeted them as it must have greeted travelers a century ago, with warm light spilling from the lanterns flanking the door and the windows that pierced the white façade.
The hostess led Destin and Tonio to a table for two next to the fireplace. As they walked between the tables, people looked up and followed Tonio with their eyes, and a glow of pride kindled in Destin’s chest. Whatever his other shortcomings, Tonio was certainly eye-catching. Being with him felt a little like going out on the town with a celebrity, and fleetingly, Destin wished a bit of Tonio’s self-assurance and, well, cool would rub off on him.
Tonio seemed unfazed by both the menu offerings and the price, printed discreetly on the very bottom of the first page. “I think I’ll do two courses,” he murmured after a contemplative minute.
“I’m doing three. It’s only ten dollars more, and believe me, the food’s so fantastic, two courses isn’t enough.”
Tonio gave an unconvinced grunt, but when the waiter appeared, Tonio rapped out his order like he’d been eating there all his life: butternut squash and coconut soup, beef ribeye, and English burnt cream.
“And what wines would you like with your courses?” the waiter asked.
“That California cabernet with the ribeye, and the Freezeland White with dessert.”
The waiter turned to Destin. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll have the mushroom salad to start, the red drum with a sauvignon blanc, and olive oil cake with the Petite Fleur.” Destin closed his menu and handed it over, and Tonio did likewise. As soon as the waiter left, Destin leaned forward, frowning. “Are you all right having the wine?” he asked. “I’m not trying to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but I did hear about your suspension, and that you’re staying sober. Which is great. I just don’t want to do anything to, you know, jeopardize that.”
Tonio waved a graceful, dismissive hand. “It’s dinner wine. A little cabernet isn’t exactly falling off the wagon.”
Then what is? Destin sat back, still dubious. Tonio, apparently a little put out at being interrogated, turned the silverware over and read the maker’s marks. Destin fidgeted with his napkin. Neither of them spoke.
The waiter came back with a basket of fresh-baked bread and honey butter, and Destin filled the uncomfortable silence by buttering and crunching on the bread.
“Bread’s good,” Tonio said, coming out of his moody silence. “Bread’s fuckin’ fantastic.”
Destin heaved an inward sigh of relief. At least he and Tonio had that in common. However, the longer Destin sat across the table from Tonio, the more he realized he had no idea what to say to him. His dad would have told a few funny stories and maybe slipped in a couple of personal questions while everybody was still laughing, so deftly that Tonio wouldn’t have even known he was being pumped. Then when he had his hooks in, Dad would have pulled conversation out of Tonio like a magician pulling an endless, colorful string of handkerchiefs out of his breast pocket. But somehow the schmooze gene had bypassed Destin. He no more knew how to draw Tonio out than he knew how to produce that string of hankies. And Tonio wasn’t helping.
“So, uh,” Destin ventured, “how do you like the apartment? Everything all right up there?”
“All right? It’s crazy!” Tonio fixed Destin with a look Destin couldn’t quite interpret.
“Crazy how?” Destin asked. “Is the modem messed up again?” Please, God, don’t let it be the plumbing.
“Huh? No, nothing’s wrong. I just meant it’s pretty high-end for an apartment over a barn. I am not complaining, mind. I just thought it was kind of unusual.”
“Yes, well, Dad had it done over a few years ago for Inga. She was one of his trainers.”
“Inga!” Tonio fell back in his chair. “Blonde, Scandinavian, at least as tall as you?”
The reason I went to an out-of-state college? “Yes, that’s her.”
“Inga the Dominatrix?”
“The what?” Destin blinked. “No, Dad wasn’t into that kind of stuff.”
“I’m not saying he was. It’s just that Inga’s one of those crap trainers who think every problem has some fancy leather strap to solve it. Inga loves her leather straps. I noticed your tack room was full of horsey bondage gear. I guess that explains it.”
Destin didn’t exactly blush at the idea he was harboring bondage gear, but for a moment there, he had trouble looking Tonio in the eye. “I know. She was only there for a year, but the tack room looks like she was there for ten.”
“So she figured out pretty quick the piggy bank was getting empty and moved on?”
Destin pulled the corners of his mouth down and nodded.
“Yep, that’s our Inga.”
Destin sighed, but the arrival of their order kept him from having to explain, yet again, the depths of his father’s improvidence.
Tonio wasn’t kidding about being hungry. He ate quickly but neatly, so the soup almost magically vanished from his bowl even though he didn’t appear to be gobbling it. When he finished, he picked up the squash blossom that had garnished the soup, popped it into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it.
Destin’s astonishment must have shown on his face, because Tonio paused in the middle of wiping his mouth and gave Destin a quizzical look.
“What?” he asked.
“I didn’t know you could eat those. I thought they were just decoration.”
“Sure you can eat them. That’s why they’re called ‘edible flowers.’ You can eat orchids too.”
“Are they good?”
“Kind of sweet. Oh, look at this.” Tonio’s ribeye and Destin’s fish came swooping onto the table, and Tonio greeted his main course with his fork poised and his eyes agleam. The waiter poured the wine and departed. “So. Speaking of your dad’s fucked-up management skills,” Tonio said through a mouthful of steak.
Destin took a sip of wine. This wasn’t where he wanted the conversation to go, exactly, but it was better than silence.
Tonio swallowed his steak. “I was looking at your broodmares while I was out at the practice ring. Is that all you have, or is there another pasture somewhere?”
“No, that’s all I have.”
“But the broodmare barn has, what, twenty stalls?”
Destin drank more wine. “Yes. Why?”
Tonio drained half his glass of cabernet. “Why all the empty stalls?”
“I told you. Because Dad sold the broodmares to pay farm debts and buy the damned Maserati,” Destin flared.
Tonio sat back and held up one hand. “That’s not what I’m asking. Where are your boarders?”
“Boarders! Bellmeade is a breeding farm, not a boarding stable.”
“Yeah, whatever. What I’m saying is until you get more broodmares, you could be making money off those empty stalls. It’s fucking Bellmeade. First-class everything, and you’re not doing shit to capitalize on your opportunities to make up financial ground.” Tonio tossed back the rest of his wine, caught the waiter’s eye, and tapped the rim of the empty glass.
The waiter nodded, hurried off, and returned with the bottle.
Destin glanced around. A couple of the nearest fellow diners quickly returned their attention to their dinners, and Destin’s ears began to burn. “Listen,” he hissed, taking care to keep his voice down. “We do not need to be having this conversation here. I’ll worry about the farm. You worry about Sam. All right?”
“No, not all right.” Destin stuffed another piece of steak in his mouth and chewed it angrily. “Booting your manager was the stupidest thing your father ever did. No, I take that back.” Tonio gulped down his mangled steak and chased it with wine. “Running off the farm’s sponsors was the stupidest thing he ever did. You wanna know when Bellmeade started sucking money like a race car sucks gas? It’s when Ariat stopped giving your dad its money. And CoolTech, and Morgan Stanley.”
“You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I’m so eager to get Sam into the show ring? Sponsors want something for their money, in case you haven’t noticed. Like Grand Prix wins. Like Olympic medals. Yes, I could take boarders. Yes, there’s good money in boarding. But boarding, and limping along with a handful of aging broodmares, isn’t enough to keep Bellmeade’s head above water. I need quality foals to sell. I need sponsor money. I need Sam in the show ring.”
Tonio snorted. “So now if Bellmeade fails, it’s all on me. No pressure. You’re still crazy to sit on your hands the way you’re doing, though. You better start bailing if you don’t wanna drown. Boarding might not keep you up forever, but you’ll fucking sink slower, ya know?”
“Shhh!” Destin made a quelling gesture at Tonio.
Tonio’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you hush me.”
“People are staring.”
“People always stare. Fuck ’em.”
Destin pushed his half-finished fish away. “I’m not picking a fight with you. Just cool it, okay?”
Tonio emptied his wineglass and fell on his ribeye with fresh ferocity. At least this kept his mouth occupied, and Destin sipped the rest of his wine in peace, letting the warmth of the alcohol smooth his irritation.
When dessert came, Destin was half tempted to send the wine back, both his and Tonio’s. Tonio didn’t seem to actually be drunk, but his cheeks looked a little flushed and his eyes had taken on a troubling, belligerent glitter.
“You know, maybe we’ve had enough wine,” Destin said, intercepting the bottle before the waiter could pour. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. Let’s just eat and leave.”
“I’m fine.” Tonio gave a casual wave that nearly knocked his wineglass over. He caught it and gave an apologetic giggle.
“No, you’re not fine. You really need to stop drinking.”
Tonio shrugged, that dramatically careless shrug so calculated to offend. “I’m over twenty-one, so fuck it.”
Every last shred of admiration Destin had harbored for Tonio evaporated.
I am not putting up with this. Contract or no contract, he’s leaving tomorrow.
And then what? Who’s going to ride Sam?
Destin tightened his lips and glared across the table.
Not Tonio Benedetto.
Tonio didn’t seem to notice Destin’s disapproval. He had his nose buried in his glass of Freezeland White. Destin dug into his olive oil cake without even tasting it, every cell in his body humming with outrage. The fact that this was his fault, that he had blithely ordered wine in front of a recovering alcoholic, only drove the spike of self-recrimination deeper. That all the upsetting things Tonio had said were perfectly true just made it worse. When the waiter brought the bill, he flipped his Sapphire card on top of both tabs without a word.
“Hey!” Tonio lurched to his feet, scraping the chair back, and waved for the waiter to return. He did, and Tonio fumbled his wallet out from inside his leather jacket.
“No, sit down,” Destin said. “Dinner’s on me.”
“Hell no. I can pay.” Tonio’s voice echoed around the room, drawing another round of stares. These were anything but admiring.
“Just take my card,” Destin muttered to the waiter. The waiter nodded and walked away.
Tonio, who had finally managed to extract a credit card, looked around, confused, and then dropped back into his seat.
“Come on,” Destin said. “Dinner’s over.”
“Where’s—?” Tonio tapped his card on the tabletop and looked around.
“Too late, I already paid.”
The waiter brought the receipt back. Destin signed, adding a huge guilt tip on top of the total. It didn’t erase the embarrassment of eating with a loud drunk, but at least it was something.
Tonio managed to get all the way out of the dining room and down the front steps without looking more than a tiny bit tipsy. Only the exaggerated precision of his movements gave him away.
“Hey. You know what I didn’t tell you?” Tonio said as they crossed the parking lot.
Destin’s heart lurched. “No. What?”
Tonio turned around and walked backward, facing Destin. “You’ve got really gorgeous blue eyes.”
“Uh, thanks.” Destin put a hand on Tonio’s shoulder and steered him away from the shrubbery before he could back into it.
“You should wear blue. Gray doesn’t do crap for you.” Tonio stopped walking, so abruptly that Destin nearly crashed into him. Instead of drawing away, Tonio leaned forward, and before Destin could react he planted a quick, warm, boozy kiss on Destin’s mouth.
Heat, equal parts embarrassment and desire, enveloped Destin’s body. He stepped back, blinking, words tumbling through his head in a useless jumble.
Do I really turn him on?
Impossible. No way was he Tonio’s type. Flattering as the idea was, it had to be the wine talking. Even so, the ghost of that kiss burned on Destin’s lips.
“You know, that Land Rover is a pretty slick car,” Tonio said.
“Uh, yes, it is.” Destin pressed the fob, confused but relieved by the sudden change of topic. The Rover beeped and flashed.
Tonio held out his hand, palm up. “Here, lemme drive it home.”
Destin’s jaw dropped. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.”
“Aw, c’mon. Let’s have some fun with it.” Laughing, Tonio made a surprisingly quick grab for the fob. Destin jerked his hand away before Tonio got it, but if Tonio hadn’t been slowed by alcohol, Destin suspected he would have succeeded.
“No!” Destin snapped. He didn’t mean to speak so sharply, but Tonio was starting to scare him.
Tonio’s laughter vanished in an eyeblink. “Oh right, you’re fucking George Washington’s next-door neighbor,” he sneered, his voice suddenly icy. “I’m not good enough to drive your limo. Fuck it. I’ll walk home.”
“No, you won’t!” Destin shot back, trying hard not to yell. “It’s a long way, it’s dark, and it’s not safe. Get in the car. Please.” He reached for Tonio’s elbow, but Tonio whipped his arm out of Destin’s grip and stumbled toward the road.
“Tonio, get in the damn car.”
Tonio paused just long enough to flip Destin the bird, then continued down the driveway.
“If you get out on that highway, I’m calling the police!” Destin shouted at Tonio’s retreating back.
Tonio stopped. Destin could hear him talking to himself, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what Tonio was saying. Then Tonio about-faced and came back. Without a word, he jerked the passenger-side door open and flung himself onto the seat.
Destin, slightly shaky with relief, got behind the wheel and started the engine. “Better buckle up,” he said, pointing at the warning light.
Tonio crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window.
“Fine. Whatever.” Destin put the Rover in gear and rolled onto the highway.
Distance quickly extinguished the scattered lights of Paris, and the darkness of open country overtook them, pierced here and there by the pinprick gleams of light in the windows of distant houses. The stone fences, so picturesque in the daylight, crowded close against the road shoulders, darker shadows against the darkness. Traffic flicked by, sparse but steady. Tonio, drunk and dressed in black, had almost no chance of making it home along this highway alive.
Destin shot a glance at his passenger. Tonio still had his arms crossed, and his face, highlighted by the sickly glow of the instrument lights, looked angry and haggard. Destin tightened his grip on the steering wheel and thought of the contract he’d printed out yesterday.
It hadn’t been filed yet. That meant he wouldn’t have to feel like a criminal when he burned it first thing in the morning.