Another man’s wench … Ropati shifted his glasses up, studying her a touch too intently.

Too young to be his daughter; too old for a granddaughter. His shoulders settled in relief.

“The law here may say the man owns the woman, but I hear there’s a ring involved in that exchange.”

Whether it was from trust or sheer unwillingness to haul all this wine back, Ropati sorted the money with nary a glance for counterfeits. She didn’t even glance. Did she even like wine?

Neither did he.

He slid another classy bottle toward her with the next question, not bothering to hide his grin.

“Very … sssssPacific. Samoa.”

When she asked if he was married, he glanced down to her hand. Spied no wedding ring. Ropati slid another wine her way.

“I am not,” he answered, “and I hear that can be quite ideal – especially for independent young women.”

He didn’t want a girl young enough to be his daughter to think he was only talking to her out of some misguided notions of courtship, after all.