Free Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) by Marina Adair

into a catastrophic calamity of errors. Starting with a shipping error of the worst kind and ending with Trey stuck in the minivan for a grand total of twenty-two hours—since its retractable seats made it the only available car in the family that could handle the fifteen cases that needed to be rush-delivered to Santa Barbara. Something his brothers found freaking hilarious.
    He didn’t know how it happened, but it seemed as though every time he came home, he was thrust into a shitstorm of problems he was expected to fix. None of them his.
    Blaming his mood on exhaustion, Trey fished out his key and opened the door. All he wanted was to eat lunch, take a hot shower, and go to bed.
    Strike that.
    All he wanted was to eat lunch, take a hot shower, and go to bed—with Sara. But since Sara wasn’t interested in playing hooky today—or ever again, thanks to Tammy—and his suite was filled with DeLucas, Trey didn’t think he’d even get to eat his lunch.
    “Nice coat,” Marc said, taking in the pink handprints. “Do you have a matching clutch?”
    “I was going to ask to borrow yours.” Trey dropped his to-go bag on the entry table and shut the door with his foot. “Glad to see that this hotel respects their guests’ privacy and security.”
    “You should complain,” Marc said, resting his feet casually on the coffee table.
    “Yeah, but I hear that the owner is a total prick.”
    Trey purposefully remained standing, hoping that they’d all take the hint and get out. Not that there was any place to sit. Even if he wanted to pull up a cushion and share some small talk—which he most definitely did not—Marc, and all six foot three of him, pretty much consumed the entire couch, and Nate made himself at home in the overstuffed chair.
    Gabe stood silently at the window, practicing his disappointed glare at the approaching storm outside. The air was so thick with tension, and the space so overflowing with DeLuca attitude, the room felt more like a casket than a luxury three-bedroom suite.
    “Abby wants to make an offer on the land,” Gabe said. “I’m still looking into things on this end, but I came across a snafu that it seems only you can fix.”
    He wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was or how he could fix it, but since Gabe’s tone gave him the feeling that this wouldn’t be a kid-brother-saves-the-day kind of talk, Trey decided to take that seat.
    With a sigh, Gabe turned around and— Jesus —Baby Sofie was strapped to his front in some kind of parachute harness for babies. Face red, lips pursed, she took one look at Trey and started flailing all four limbs. “Da-da-da-da-DA!”
    “With how fast the owners want to sell, and how difficult it is for a US company to acquire Italian land, I wanted to make sure we were all buttoned up on this end, just in case,” Gabe said over Baby Sofie’s jabbering. “So I called Drew. He suggested that you buy the land. Imagine that?”
    Trey felt his stomach bottom out. Followed by his chest, then his heart. “I was going to tell you.”
    Two years ago, Trey started looking into gaining Italian residency through their grandfather’s lineage. He’d called Drew, their lawyer and expert in all things corporate and foreign policy, to help him with the process. What started out as a temporary answer to an insane travel schedule quickly became a solution that would save his sanity.
    “Really? When?” Gabe’s tone all business. “Would that have been before or after you shipped your stuff overseas and sent out housewarming invitations?”
    Trey was delirious. He had to be. Because it took everything he had not to laugh. Or point out that gently bouncing up and down in tandem with a diaper monster while snarling words like housewarming and invitations was not intimidating. Then again, Trey had big, sparkly, pink hands on his chest.
    “I don’t get to hang out at home and watch the business grow,” Trey pointed out. “Last year I spent more time in an