She stepped out of the shower and used her towel to wipe the steam off the mirror. She glanced down at her phone. Still more than enough time, just like every other time she’d checked. A row of good-luck texts from everyone she knew. Gabrielle. Weston. Doug. Most of her friends from the winery. She let her eyes skim over them and looked back in the mirror.

For a moment, Tabitha berated herself. The most important event of her professional career and she’d allowed herself to be distracted by sex. Again. A good-looking man had derailed her at the event that might change her life. She could practically feel her mother’s disdain, a litany of admonishments she’d heard her entire life. “You’ll never have what it takes to make it in this business. You don’t have the commitment. You need to be laser-focused on your goals, not on your feelings.”

The opening notes of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” pounded through her brain, dun-dugga-dun dugga-dun dugga-dun. Starting fast and hard, without preamble, without warning, straight into the most intense part of the song that sounded both familiar and frightening at the same time. That was the only way she could explain how Giovanni made her feel.

So typical of me, Tabitha thought. After all these years of training, I choose this moment to go head over heels for someone who can possess me and wants to control me. Just like with Royal.

But she knew that wasn’t true. Not with Giovanni. Yes, she might be smitten with him, but comparing him to Royal was deeply unfair. Just listening to the way each of them talked about wine told her everything she needed to know.

She rubbed an unscented lotion over her body; absolutely nothing could interfere with her olfactory senses today. No matter what her mother said, Tabitha believed she’d been laser-focused on her career for a long time.

Maybe it was a good thing for her that Giovanni found her here. What might have happened if she hadn’t? She would have hidden in her hotel room. Obsessing. Studying her wine facts, testing and retesting herself. Checking her texts. Wondering what Royal was doing. Wondering whom he brought with him, whom he was sleeping with. Wondering if he would sabotage her.

Wondering if he was laughing at her.

But instead of obsessing about the Duke of Douchebags, she’d spent the last two nights thinking about how Giovanni’s delicious, hard body up against hers. She hadn’t glanced at her phone, thought about wine, worried about how she would perform against her ex-husband. She had only thought about Giovanni’s lips, and his warm, tawny skin, his strong hands, running her tongue along his carved jaw line. She glanced at herself in the mirror and saw a blush had crept across her face. She smirked at her reflection and yanked a towel from the wall rack. She hadn’t seen anything but flat darkness in her eyes for a long time. It was nice to see a sparkle there this morning.

She walked out to the hotel room naked, twisting her hair into a tight turban. Her body still thrummed with excited energy and Led Zeppelin, but now, instead of thinking it was fear, she wondered if it was excitement.

Only one winner of SommFest. Only one of them could win this international distinction that a somm had for the rest of his or her life. The tension level was phenomenal. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, hadn’t even been able to stomach any coffee this morning. She needed to get downstairs and start the show, because the anxiety was almost unbearable.

The elevator door opened, and Royal stood in front of her. His eyes were down, his hands clasped in front of him, his position almost prayerful. For an instant, just a brief, agonizing moment, she felt pulled toward him, toward the sexy cad she had fallen in love with. He looked almost vulnerable, but not quite vulnerable enough to seem weak. But the moment passed. Royal raised his head to meet her gaze, and his eyes were steeled and confident.

“Tabitha.”

She stepped in next to him without replying. The elevator doors closed and they stood facing the mirrored doors. Tabitha kept her eyes forward and did not let her gaze drift over to meet his eyes. Was he looking at her? She would not glance over to see, and kept her gaze locked on her reflection. Could he see Giovanni all over her skin? Giovanni was almost a physical presence here in the elevator with them. She pushed her shoulders back and squared her chin. Royal had undoubtedly expected to find her cowering in a corner, but instead, she was standing tall, Wonder Woman pose in this elevator, glittering with sexual energy and ready to roundhouse-kick anyone who got in her way.

Never, in this history of the world, had any elevator ever moved so slowly. Perhaps it wasn’t even moving. Maybe it had stopped, and they were suspended between floors, the air between them thick and pulsing. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she refused to steal a glance at Royal. His expression would not have changed, she knew. He remained cool in the direst of circumstances. It was his superpower.

Maybe he had also bedded a stranger last night. Knowing him, it could have been two or three strangers, and he was buzzing with the same sexual energy as her.

Or possibly he had that dismissive look that he gave her when she had an idea or wanted to try something new. The Royal special—a combination of amusement and pity. She hated that look. It didn’t occur to her how much she hated it until right this minute. She’d had sex three nights since they were divorced and thought she was a Jedi. Royal would laugh at her arrogance. Well, goddammit, Royal, you weren’t there. You should have seen me. Some of those moves weren’t even legal. It turns out that the right partner can bend the laws of physics when it comes to Tabitha Lawson’s bed. Not that you’ll ever know, Earl of Chasingtail.

The door opened to the lobby, and he jerked his chin down in—what? A nod? A good-luck wish? A dismissal?

It could be anything. That was how Royal worked. He was in her head by not acknowledging her. He knew she’d obsess over that nod, knew that by not talking to her she’d design something in her head to drive her out of it, and out of the competition. The levels of his perfidy staggered her. She watched his back as he walked away from her, and only when the elevator doors started to close again did she rouse herself and step out. She didn’t go down the hall, though—she couldn’t force herself to follow him like a puppy. She let him walk away and then sank into a stuffed easy chair against the wall.

She breathed deeply. He wasn’t trying to get into her head. She was letting her fears take over. Be real, Tabitha. His Royal Highness, Sir Boobs on Toast, barely noticed you. Today or any other day.

It was, after all, just a competition. She’d been in so many of these over the years. Giovanni was over in the other ballroom for the winery competitions, and she was sorry she couldn’t go watch. She always enjoyed being a judge for wine competitions, she liked watching the winery owners’ faces when they were awarded a prestigious medal and could put those stickers on their bottles. Especially when the awards went to small family wineries—she loved the feeling that she had made a real difference in someone’s life. More and more the giant corporation wineries seemed to win things, but in blind tests, she found that the small wineries were what she gravitated toward.

She took a small sip of her water and crossed her hands on the linen tablecloth in front of her. As soon as her examiner arrived, she would be subjected to an oral exam that could cover any area of the wine world. This was her least favorite component of any competition. All of her years of study distilled into an hour-long test that could be about anything. The history of the Dalmatian Hinterland region of Croatia? What is the make-up of the Sardinian Mandrolisai? The composition of the soil of every AOC around the world. If this wine life didn’t work out for her, Tabitha was almost certain she could become a geologist.

Tomorrow would bring the service test, which, despite Weston’s concerns, Tabitha had no worries about. Tabitha never had any trouble in this phase of testing; if there was one thing she was good at, it was the ability to talk to customers. She could make them laugh, even when they did ridiculous things like demand a Barolo heated up and served in a teacup. In real life, this was where Tabitha Lawson could shine.

The final day was her tasting test. This part of every competition sent most sommeliers into meltdown. Such a weird thing, whenever she stopped to think about it. It was all so subjective. She was being judged on her ability to taste. Everyone’s taste was impeccable to them; every single person in the world thought they had excellent taste and judgment. She would sit across from a stone-faced, wool-suited examiner who would place six glasses of wine in front of her, and she had to name the grape, region, and year. Usually, after this test, the sommeliers often gathered somewhere—someone’s room, or most often the hotel bar—to compare results and decompress. No way was that second one an Australian Sauv. No way! Didn’t you taste peaches? It was practically a peach pie! That was French Chenin, man. I’m sure of it. What did his face look like when you called Sauv? Did he nod? I was so sure it was Chenin! They examined and re-examined their answers, though none of them would ever know for sure and no one could change anything at this point anyway. They didn’t get their individual results; they never learned which bottles had been used in the test. The system was madness. Tabitha would have thought it was funny if it wasn’t so terribly important to her career. Maybe that was why everyone tended to get liquored up after the final round—they needed to face the results with some lubrication in their systems, either to cushion the blow or to heighten the excitement of winning.

Before you start, I want you to know that I am already so proud of you.

Neither judges nor competitors were allowed to bring any personal effects into the competition room, which Gabrielle knew. But she also knew the exact time to send a final encouraging text so that it was the last thing Tabitha would see before she handed over her phone and entered the den of wolves. Tabitha smiled to herself when she thought about it now. Nothing could be changed now; she was here to do her work. The person who mattered the most to her had her back, and that was enough of an accolade for her.