He scoffed and stood up. “At least your story is consistent.”
“What the hell does that mean?” The anger was quick to spark, and she welcomed its warmth. Anything to counteract the wall of frost Evan had built around him. “You’ve known me for six months. Of course I’m consistent. I’ve been consistent from the moment I met you. You know that. We talk every day.”
“But not about everything. Not about the things you leave out.”
A hot flush settled in her cheeks. “What things do I leave out?”
He shook his head, closing his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. And it was the disappointment written deep in his expression that hurt the most in a night of very sharp and deep hurts.
She swallowed. What had changed? What brought this on? Maybe...maybe he had his own revelation during the past week. Maybe he decided he, too, was tired of the pretending. True, he didn’t seem upset when she saw him earlier, but that was hours ago when they were surrounded by the world’s VIPs. Maybe, with the stress and anticipation of the party now over, he’d had time to think. Reconsider.
And she was disappointed in herself, too. She’d chosen to hide instead of stepping into the light, afraid to tell him how she felt because he might reject her. Afraid to trust him, allowing the way other people treated her to color her perception of him.
She took a deep breath. It was now or never. “You asked me why I’m here tonight. I came to tell you I can’t keep pretending there’s nothing between us but sexual attraction, and someday it will go away and we’ll be fine with that. I want a real relationship. One we don’t have to hide.”
She stepped closer to him, so close she could lift her hand and caress his cheek. “I love you, Evan Fletcher.” She smiled. “I literally fell for you from the moment I tripped over your legs in the kitchen.”
They stood in the circle of the lamplight, its glow surrounding them. His gaze, which had traveled over every inch of the library except the spot where she stood, now flew to meet hers. In it she read all she could have ever hoped for, and more.
He loved her, too. His caring was as deep as the ocean and as expansive as the sky. The emotion was real and rich and rooted in his soul.
She reached for him, her hands yearning to caress, her mouth eager for his.
He stepped out of her grasp. The icy shell that had cracked open enough for her to glimpse the truth of his heart re-formed, thicker and more opaque than before.
Her hands fell away. Somehow, she kept breathing despite the hurt slamming down on her hopes and severing them like a guillotine blade.
“I want to believe you.” His words barely penetrated past the metallic ringing in her ears. “Because I fell for you. Hard. I even had these dreams—” He stopped. “It doesn’t matter.” He turned back to the desk and stooped to pick up a crumbled letter and a small book from underneath the desk, handing them to her. “I’m guessing this is what you are truly after.”
Somehow, she made herself take the things from him. Somehow, her eyes managed to focus on the top item. The missing ledger, with her name embossed in gold on the cover.
“Where did you find this? I’ve looked all over.” Her voice was raspy from holding back tears. “But what’s this letter?” Linus’s signature, bold and black, was unmistakable. The date was just before he died. She unfolded the papers and started to read as he spoke.
“I asked you to hold the congratulations earlier because, as you see for yourself, they properly belong to you.” He mimed raising a glass in celebration, his gaze flat. “Cheers. You’re the proud owner of St. Isadore.”
Ten
Once, when he was a small child and still believed in things like the Tooth Fairy and families that stayed together forever, Evan had walked in on his parents arguing in the kitchen. He was too young to understand the topic, but the memory was seared into his brain. Years later, he understood they’d been discussing money. Or rather, their lack of it. But at the time, all he knew was that his father—his tall, strong, superhero father—was crying.
The sight had shaken the bedrock foundations of Evan’s young world. He cried, but his father? Adults didn’t shed tears. And when his mother caught sight of him, standing shell-shocked on the threshold, she’d been so flustered she shut the door in his face. She opened it again almost immediately, but Evan had gotten the message.
Never let others see your emotions. Remain cool.
When feelings take control, calamity follows.
He’d clung to that lesson when he viewed the wreckage of his parents’ car. He’d remained stoic at their funeral. His control had remained solid, even when Nico was hospitalized during high school with a fever of unknown origin, even when girlfriends left him.
Tonight threatened to destroy his perfect record.
He wasn’t upset the ownership of St. Isadore might be in question. The physical discovery of the will was upsetting only because it meant Marguerite had been cheated out of Linus’s bequest. A large bequest, one that would have made her life financially secure.
But he was furious—the rage lighting up his insides like an out-of-control forest fire—she’d never told him about her arrangement with Linus. Never mentioned to him she was related to the winery’s founding family. He would have ensured she received her fair share. He would have made it right.
Finding the handwritten will as he was contemplating not only the future of St. Isadore but his own possible future with Marguerite was a coincidence, nothing more. But if he did give credence to the idea the universe was sentient and could speak to him, tonight would be a sign—and the sign would say he was right.
Relationships, family: they were not meant for him. His feelings drew him off course, distracted him from his goals. If he hadn’t been concerned about Marguerite and her future should he sell St. Isadore, he wouldn’t have been up late in the library. The paperweight would still be on the desk, not under it. He wouldn’t have made his discovery. The deal with Angus Horne would be underway. Nico, his grandparents, Marguerite—he would finally have enough resources to assure everyone’s financial future.
He wouldn’t have this burning hole in the middle of his chest, a sucking wound that made it difficult to breathe.
Why hadn’t she told him? What else was she keeping from him?
Marguerite looked up, her eyes wide and wild. The paper shook in her hands. “I...I don’t...what is this?”
“You tell me.” His voice was steady, thanks to long practice controlling his emotions. “If I had to guess, it’s a holographic will written by the prior owner of St. Isadore. Leaving the entire estate to you.”
“I have no idea what holographic means.”
“Handwritten will. Valid in California, if that’s his signature.”
“Um...” She stared at the paper. “It looks like Linus’s handwriting. But... I don’t...where did this come from?”
“Does it matter? The real question is if you knew it existed.” He was surprised at how calm he sounded.
“No! I had no—” She stopped. Swallowed. Put the will down on the desk and smoothed it with her hands. Turned to face him. “You know I worked for Linus.”
“Linus Delacroix Chappell,” he supplied, emphasizing the second name.
Her gaze flashed. “Yes, we were distantly related. We’re both descended from the original founder of St. Isadore.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Why did I need to tell you?” Her hands balled on her hips. Gentle curves he loved to hold—
No. No emotions.
“It wasn’t a secret.” She marched over to the life-size portrait that had concealed the secret door and pointed to a nameplate integrated into the ornate, gilded frame. “Linus’s full name is right here. Has been since before you moved in.”
So, he’d missed it. Apparently he missed a lot of things. So much for his vaunted pow
ers of perception. “Fine. Go on. You worked for Linus.”
“We had a deal. I would be his assistant and in my off time, learn as much as I could about winemaking and the wine business. But instead of earning a full salary, I took fifteen percent, with the rest going toward purchasing the original Delacroix vineyard.” She nodded at the ledger. “That’s Linus’s record. You’ll see I paid off the vineyard shortly before his death. You said yourself I was underpaid and that’s the reason why.”
He narrowed his gaze. “I bought St. Isadore from two brothers. Your name wasn’t on the deed.”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I know. Linus was going to have the paperwork drawn up but then he died without a will, which meant everything went to his closest living relatives after probate finished. And without the ledger, his great-nephews weren’t about to listen to me. They told me to leave and locked me out of the carriage house apartment. When I tried to get their attention so I could plead my case, they had me arrested for disturbing the peace.” Her lips formed a trembling smile. “At least they later dropped the charges.”
“The night we met. Why were you here?”
“We’ve been over this! I only wanted what was mine.”
Right. What was rightfully hers. Which meant she would do what she needed to obtain it. Like breaking in. Or...
Or telling him she loved him.
His heart squeezed, a hard pressure that took his breath away.
He picked up the will. “Including this.”
Her eyes went wide. “I didn’t know.”
He stared her down.
“I didn’t!” she protested. “I mean, yes, I knew the ledger existed.” She ran her right hand over the paper. “I had no idea he left me St. Isadore.”
The last words were whispered, nearly inaudible. Her wistful expression caused something deep inside Evan’s chest to twinge. He ignored it.
He’d give her one last chance to come clean. “So you didn’t ask for a job at St. Isadore so you could search for this will.”
“Of course not—” Her mouth closed. “Yes. I did search for the ledger. And yes, being able to search for the ledger did enter my mind when I asked for the job. But I didn’t know about the will.”
Her words were a meteor, creating a crater on impact. He couldn’t hold her gaze.
“I wanted the ledger because damn it, I worked for the vineyard. I earned it. And it hurt to think that Linus had no intention of upholding his end of the bargain. But after—after the morning in the carriage house courtyard...” Her voice cracked, just a little. “After that, I thought I could, perhaps, build something new. We could build something together.”
She huffed and picked up the will. “We’re going to keep going in circles. You think this is what I want? The estate has been probated and sold. Legally, I bet this is meaningless. It doesn’t matter. Not to us.”
And that was where she was wrong. Because he knew his value, and it was ensuring the people in his life were well provided for. She didn’t love him. Because she didn’t tell him she had been cheated out of the vineyard. “No. It matters to me. You didn’t trust me to make this right.”
She took a step back. Her chest rose and fell several times. Then she reached around the desk, opened the drawer nearest to her, and took out a black permanent marker. She scribbled on the will, folded it up, and held it in her right hand before turning to face him.
Her gaze burned bright. “Yes. I didn’t tell you. But not because I didn’t trust you. Instead, I didn’t trust myself. Linus and Casper made me doubt my abilities, and I was afraid if I told you Linus reneged on his promise, you would doubt if I was capable, too.”
Something inside him started to unbend. “I would never—”
“I know. But tonight? This discussion isn’t about me.” She shook her head, sending black tendrils falling down her cheeks. “It isn’t even about who owns St. Isadore. This is about you. And your fear.”
“My what?” Now he was back to fury. It did taste better than bitterness. Barely.
She defiantly lifted her chin and stared him down. “You’re afraid to let people get close to you. You push away Nico. Now you’re making up a reason to push me away. For heaven’s sake, Evan, you don’t have a single family memento on display in your home in San Francisco.”
“My house? What does that—?” The loud pounding of his pulse in his ears made it difficult to think.
“You don’t want people to see you. The real you. And you think Nico and I don’t need you because you gave us buildings and businesses to run, perhaps because buildings and businesses are the only things you will allow yourself.” She held out the will. He automatically reached out to take it, but she didn’t relinquish her grip. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have worked for you. I definitely would not be here telling you I love you. Because when you tell people you love them, you’re entrusting them with your heart. And hearts are fragile.” She caught her lower lip with her teeth. “Maybe that’s why you refuse to trust yours.”
Her hand dropped, and the will was in his sole possession. She continued to hold his gaze. “If you ever decide you deserve to be loved, for you and not for your possessions, come find me. If it’s not too late.”
Her words landed with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, fragmenting his worldview into thousands of sharp pieces. The shards pinned him into place, so he was unable to think or react or respond. He merely clutched the piece of paper, a reminder that the will was tangible. The will, he could deal with. He unfolded it and began to read.
In big black letters printed over Linus’s handwriting, she’d scrawled, “I, Marguerite Delacroix, renounce any claim to St. Isadore and declare Evan Fletcher to be the sole owner. P.S. If you sell, please protect the staff. P.P.S. This is my resignation letter. I quit. For good.”
No. This wasn’t what he wanted. The winery was hers. “Marguerite, this isn’t—”
But when he looked up, the library was empty. The portrait was back in its place, the secret passage hidden as if she had never been there.
* * *
Whoever was knocking on Marguerite’s door wouldn’t quit. Marguerite moaned and put her pillow over her ears, but it didn’t stop the noise. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t gotten any sleep after arriving back at her apartment following her confrontation with Evan. She wasn’t going to get sleep now that the sun was well into the sky. A glance at her text messages—Evan’s name wholly absent from the notifications—told her who was on her doorstep. She threw on the first clothes she found and made her way downstairs to the front entrance.
“I have caffeine. And cupcakes. I have decided doughnuts do not have enough frosting.” Aracely held up a large container stamped with the logo of a local coffee shop in one, a pink bakery box in the other. “May I come in?”
Marguerite motioned for her friend to enter and then to follow her up to the kitchen. “Are you sure you brought enough?”
Aracely checked the container. “It says this contains twelve cups of coffee, so I will run out to get more in an hour or so.”
Marguerite chuckled, then instantly wished she hadn’t. “Ow.”
“Hungover?”
“Only from lack of sleep.” And crying until her tear ducts were empty. “But that’s enough to cause a headache.” She opened a cabinet and selected two of the largest mugs she owned. “Fill them up. Then you can help me pack.”
Aracely poured the coffee and handed Marguerite a full mug. “Pack? What are you talking about? I am here to celebrate last night. The party was perfect, if I do say so myself.”
“It was.” Marguerite took a much-needed sip. “Ah. This is spectacular. Thank you.”
Aracely took the mug away from her. “No more until you tell me what is going on.”
“I... I realized I’ve made a muddle of my entire life. Hey, do you need a traveling part
ner when you return to Chile? I’ve always wanted to learn how to make pisco. What better place to do so?”
Aracely handed her back her coffee and joined her to sit at the kitchen table. “Here. I was wrong to take this away. You are not yet coherent.”
Marguerite sighed. “After the party, I told Evan I loved him.”
Aracely put down her mug. “Oh.”
There was a wealth of understanding in Aracely’s breathed syllable. “The outcome was even worse than you’re imagining,” Marguerite admitted.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be. Eventually.”
“But why pack? He did not fire you. That would be appalling, even for—”
“I quit. Forever. I can’t stay at St. Isadore.” Marguerite looked around her apartment. The last time she moved out, she’d been given less than twelve hours to take away her possessions. Evan wouldn’t call the sheriff on her like Linus’s great-nephews had, but she also didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary. One more crack would shatter her heart into so many pieces, she doubted if she could ever make it whole.
Aracely regarded her. “What about the Delacroix vineyard? Your goals?”
Marguerite pressed her eyes shut. “When you don’t sleep, you have a lot of time for thinking.” Yes, terroir mattered, as she’d told Evan the first night they met. But the true alchemy of wine came in the blending and in the fermentation, in combining disparate elements such as yeast and juice and adding the passage of time. “In the end, St. Isadore is just a place. I can take my skills with me anywhere.” She opened her eyes and peered at Aracely. “Like, say, go to Chile with you?”
“You can travel wherever you want, whenever you want. Whether I’m going to Chile is up for discussion.” Aracely waved her hand. “But today we are packing. Where shall we start?”
“First, I’m starting with this red velvet cupcake. And then after...” Marguerite sighed again. “I guess the bedroom—”
A knock at the door downstairs caused Marguerite’s and Aracely’s heads to swivel as one in the direction of the sound.
Who's the Boss Now? Page 14
