Heights she would never experience again. At least, not with him. He was a liar. A manipulator. A user. He was not a man to trust. And yet, for all her father had sacrificed...how could she not sacrifice for him? He'd sounded so happy on the phone when he talked about her and Rip being together--and relieved she was coming home.
"I'll go home with you. I'll agree to an engagement while I convince my father to change his mind. But this will be an engagement in name only. We'll have separate lives. Separate bedrooms."
A muscle worked in his jaw. Slowly, he lifted his hand as if to touch her, then dropped it back to his side. Those eyes swirled with raw emotion, but it was the sadness that tore at her heart. How could he have possibly believed they would end in happily ever after?
In a split second, his demeanor changed. He straightened to his full, impressive height, shoulders back, his focus unwavering. "Then I'll just have to change your mind, won't I?" He swiveled on his heel and walked away. "Pack up. We leave tomorrow."
"I need more time."
"We've run out of time. And don't think of running away. If you do, I'll never stop looking for you, and that will only put more strain on your father. He needs me back at the winery, Caterina. He needs us both."
The quiet click of the door echoed in her ears. Mashing her fingers to her lips, she sank back down on the bed and did the only thing left to do.
She cried.
Chapter Nine
The car crept up the winding hill, past the wooden sign welcoming them to Winsor Winery. The silence between them grew so loud, Cat's ears began to throb, but she didn't care. She kept her gaze stubbornly trained out the window and refused to acknowledge his presence.
Yesterday had been full of chaos and tears. She'd visited La Dolce Famiglia to say goodbye to Mama Conte with promises to visit Michael once he settled in New York. Her beloved apartment was left bare, her belongings packed up in boxes and shipped off. She told no one about her impending marriage, still in a daze at the chain of events that had upended her safe little world.
The worst part?
Finding the carefully folded paper under her mattress from the spell she had cast. Her soul-mate couldn't be a liar and a deceiver, but unbelievably, she realized her list hadn't included honesty. How could she have forgotten to specify honesty?
Holding back a sigh, she watched as the endless trees dropped away to reveal the magnificence of the mountains in the distance. A mass of carved rock dominated the skyline, shimmering in the light with an arrogance and power that reminded Cat of a queen on her throne.
She caught her breath as Rip stopped at the top of the road and cut the engine. Her gaze swept the familiar surroundings and a shiver raced down her spine.
Home.
Endless acres of rolling land lay before her, spreading as far as her gaze could reach. Vines now dotted the landscape, which looked like an attempt to try growing some of their own grapes. They'd purchased extra land years ago, but every time she suggested harvesting their own grapes, she'd been voted down by her ex. Instead, Devon had been obsessed with having extra seating and set up a large eating area with picnic benches and a small garden. Personally, Cat thought it was a waste of important space, but she'd been outvoted. Seemed like Rip had finally convinced her father to try.
The graveled pathway led up to the stone mansion, and she blinked away the memory of her father standing on the porch, overlooking his land with prideful eyes. As a child, she would sit atop his shoulders as he toured his kingdom, instructing her on the proper way to blend the grapes. Her education had been strict and relentless. But her father had taught her the secret to success, which demanded more than a first-class education and textbook knowledge.
It required love for the land.
Respect for the grapes.
It demanded soul. Passion. Patience.
Heart.
Her father had trusted Rip with his cherished business. Did he believe Rip possessed such qualities? He must--or why would her father insist she marry him?
The confusing questions swirled in her mind, but she caught sight of her father--his tall frame and thinning white hair a familiar beacon. Dressed in his black business suit, spectacles perched on the end of his nose, he exhibited his usual polished demeanor, yet seemed much thinner. Her heart stopped and she was dragged back in time, staring at the man who had raised her, taught her, protected her, and loved her with his every breath.
She threw open the door, hurrying up the path until she stood in front of him. Mixed emotions raced through her, but his joyous smile and open arms broke through her resentment, pushing her forward. The security of his embrace along with the scent of Old Spice washed over her with a wave of comfort. Tears burned her eyes as she clung tight. She spoke against his chest. "I missed you, Papa."
"I missed you more," he said gruffly. "I'm so glad you're home."
Footsteps over gravel rose to her ears. She sensed a presence behind her, along with a brooding type of energy, but she didn't turn around. The trip here had been positively painful with strained silence neither of them seemed able to break.
"Rip, thank you for bringing her home."
Cat raised her head and snorted. "Really, Papa? Are you seriously thanking Rip right now?"
Her father shot her an apologetic glance and patted her shoulder. "I know I have much to explain, my sweet girl. But I'm happy to see the two people I love together."
Rip cleared his throat. "I'm going to walk the grounds and get caught up."
Edward nodded. "That deal you worked out with Silver Vineyards paid off. Our orders of Chardonnay are up by eighty-one cases from last year. Sal is in the tasting barn with the new event schedule, and the deliveries are confirmed for this Friday. My daughter and I will be inside for a while having an overdue heart to heart."
She refused to glance at Rip but felt his gaze boring into her back. "Very good."
More gravel crunched and she relaxed as Rip walked off alone. Her father patted her shoulder. "Come in, love, I have some coffee on."
They walked through the bright blue door and she took in the surroundings with a smile. Beautiful plank wood floors were covered with colorful braided rugs, and a huge brick fireplace was the centerpiece of the main room. Beamed ceilings, antique built-ins, and leather furniture completed the homey, yet rich look, softened by various knick-knacks and childhood pictures from her school days. Cedar barrels held various wine bottles along the walls, and the scent of wood smoke hung in the air.
A staircase led to an upper floor with an open balcony. She glanced up, wondering what Rip's room looked like, then followed her father into the kitchen. She slid onto the stool, leaning her elbows on the Tuscan swirled granite, and stared at him. "I'm angry, Papa."
"I can only imagine." He filled two mugs with coffee, added a splash of milk, and brought them to the counter. "I'd like you to hear me out."
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
"I'm not sick." His pale blue eyes filled with apology. "I'm just tired. The doctor recommended a warmer climate and easier lifestyle. It's time I retire."
"Fine, then retire. I'll run the winery."
His sigh was filled with regret. "You're the rightful heir but you've been away almost two years. Rip has been able to expand our client base, arrange new contracts with vineyards, and build back our profit margin. His relationships are key, and if he walks away, we risk losing all those new contacts. Rip saved the winery. He's become more than a partner to me--he's like family. He deserves to own a piece of this winery just as much as you do."
She shifted in her seat. Frustration rushed through her. Coming home and seeing the land she loved had reminded her how much the family winery truly meant to her. She would not walk away again. And yet, staying meant she'd have to marry Rip, unless she could come up with another option.
If only her thoughts weren't complicated by the strong, conflicting emotions Rip had brought to the surface during their sensual, loving night together. She'd
actually started to consider a future with him. But the ache of betrayal still burned inside of her chest.
How could she marry a man who lied so easily--one she could never trust?
"Then sign over a share to Rip and leave me with the controlling majority. There's no need for marriage."
Edward tapped his finger against the rim of the mug. Her heart tugged. He did look tired. His elegant face was more deeply lined, and those bright eyes had dulled. He'd definitely lost too much weight. His body seemed frailer. He'd always been a robust, dynamic man who claimed a room once he walked in. He must be extremely weary to finally agree to leave the business he loved. "Winsor Winery was built on family who ran the business together--a true partnership beyond paper. As much as I love Rip, I've been entrusted by the generations before me to keep the Winsor control to one hundred percent. Marriage is the only way to guarantee you both share the winery."
Her father faced her with a pleading gaze. "Cat, I've thought about this for a long time. Rip is a good man. He's nothing like Devon, who I'll never forgive for hurting you, and breaking my trust. Rip has something that I don't see much of anymore-- integrity, and the need to make his mark the old-fashioned way. Reminds me of one of those old John Wayne movies, where the cowboys were rough around the edges but had some damn honor. The two of you are well suited."
She studied her father, so wise, so loving, such a good judge of character. What did he see in Rip that she could not?
Rip had made her feel things she'd never believed possible. He'd sworn to her his feelings were pure. With time, could she learn to trust him again? Forgive? Rebuild their connection so she could sift through what was real and what was fake?
Confusion swamped her. "I want to help you, Papa. I just don't know if this is the right decision. I'm not ready to marry someone I can't trust with my heart."
He reached over and grasped her hands. "Then spend more time together. Get to know each other better and try working as a team. I'll stay on a bit longer to help."
Her mind churned. Finally, she tilted her chin up and gazed at her father with determination. "One month. At the end of that time, if I prove I can run the winery on my own without Rip, and still don't want to marry him, you give me full ownership."
A frown creased his brow. He stared at her for a long while before slowly nodding. "I never want to see you unhappy, Cat. If you truly don't feel you can love Rip, and can run the winery alone, at a profit, I agree. But I want you to try to keep your heart open. You deserve a man who is worthy of you. Give Rip a chance to show you who he really is. Can you do that for me?"
She swallowed back the lump in her throat, refusing to feel guilty about denying Rip the ownership he so badly wanted. But she needed time to decide and see if she could truly run the winery on her own. To remember what had first drawn her to him. To figure out what, if anything, was real between them.
"Yes, Papa. I promise."
Cat followed the twisting path down the hill. The sun sank low on the horizon, throwing the valley into a streaming silhouette of fiery colors. She leaned against the trunk of a large weeping willow tree and let the peace of the Hudson Valley wash over her, soothing her nerves. Her gaze swept over the grounds. Twisted vines newly budded with grapes thrust skyward against the backdrop of the Shawangunk Mountains. Rich brown soil melded into a soft carpet of green that spread out in endless acres. The outbuildings and main barn housed the heart of the operation--the blending cellars and the tasting room where she'd spent most of her formative years.
The air charged, and a quiet presence pressed down upon her. She closed her eyes halfway, trying to ignore the prickle of energy that sprang loose in her body at his nearness. The delicious scent of soap and musk drifted to her nostrils. He stopped beside her, hands in his pockets, staring out at the valley. "How did the talk with your father go?"
"Fine. We agreed to delay the wedding for a month."
His shoulders stiffened but he didn't glance at her. "Giving you time to change your mind?"
"Giving us both time to figure out if this is what we want."
"I don't need any time. I already know what I want."
Anger slapped at her. She forced the words from between gritted teeth. "Winsor Winery."
"And you. Always you."
A shiver bumped down her spine. "My father's going to stay a while. There's a lot I need to learn. I think it's important to see if we have a chance at a real partnership."
"And a real marriage."
The words dragged like velvet against her ears. She remembered her promise to her father, and nodded. "Yes."
He turned to face her. The sun glinted in the coal black of his hair, throwing his profile in sharp silhouette. She studied the angular, proud lines of his face, the slash of his nose, the heaviness of his brows. His entire aura pulsed with masculine power and intensity. "You'll agree to a truce? Allow me to show you what we can be to each other, beyond the winery?"
Her heart squeezed at the possibility of them having a fresh start. "I can't promise anything. What you did in Italy will be hard for me to forgive. But, for my father, I'm willing to give you a second chance."
His smile startled her as much as the words he spoke in a gentle tone. "Then I'll prove to you what we have is real."
Her heart stuttered. He was an intoxicating puzzle of tenderness and savagery, always throwing her off balance. But she'd promised one month and she intended to keep her word. "We need to go slow."
"Of course. Can I take you on a tour? Show you all the changes we've implemented?"
"Yes, I'd like that."
He reached out his hand and waited. She stared at those strong fingers, open and waiting, then slowly placed her hand in his. Her belly dropped at that first gesture of trust, but he didn't push for more, just led her down the path toward the tasting barn. "Your father said you were able to recognize a fine vintage at age twelve. You have a gift."
A small smile touched her lips. "The Winsor blood powers my taste buds. I grew up racing barefoot across these fields and studied winemaking when other children were learning their ABCs. It's part of my history."
"A history you ran from. Do you regret being pulled away from Italy and the new career you wanted to launch?"
"I regret the circumstances," she said honestly. "But being home feels right."
He squeezed her hand. "I'm glad. Let me show you the main tasting room first. We decided to expand." She walked into the familiar barn and blinked in surprise. It was gorgeous. He'd torn down the back wall and built an impressive bar of rich cedar, with elegant red stools and a large eating area made out of barrels and hand carved wooden tables with benches. One corner held a souvenir shop filled with glasses, shirts, bottle stoppers, and an array of interesting goods. The space was easily double the size, with an organized flow that would lead guests to either individual or large group tastings. "We launched a menu of wine and cheese pairings, and sell picnic baskets for lunches. Our event schedule offers a band for entertainment and themed weekends that have been hugely popular."
"This is amazing," she murmured. One entire wall was stocked with endless bottles of wine in an elegant art display. "What are your average numbers for a spring weekend?"
"Over two thousand."
Her mouth fell open. They'd courted only a quarter of that number before she left. "Fascinating. We always relied on old-fashioned word of mouth and our stellar reputation, but I knew we lacked a strong marketing effort."
He nodded. "Unfortunately, the competition with other vineyards on the wine trail, Angry Orchard, and breweries cut into our traffic. I initiated a brand new marketing plan for weekend tastings and began booking tour buses for groups."
"What outlets did you use?" she asked curiously, running a hand over the smooth cedar bar top.
"Groupon has been quite successful. We booked a local band who's been looking for exposure and has gotten popular. We built up our showing at all local events--the county fairs have been hugely profitable."
She moved to the open door, staring at the plot of land filled with twisted vines, set deep in the valley away from the barns. "And the vineyard? How is that working out? I've always thought it would be a good idea to try and harvest our own grapes for a small vintage," she murmured. "My ex told me it was silly."
He gave her a fierce frown. "We established your ex was an asshole. Your father told me about it and I thought it was a brilliant idea. We didn't need the garden or eating area placed there, so we shifted everything around. We're hoping to have our first successful harvest next spring. We also introduced a brand-new Riesling that I think will give Brotherhood Winery some competition." His voice lifted with an enthusiasm that intrigued her.
She cocked her head. "They've served their Riesling at the White House. It's one of the best."
"Ours is better."
The pride etched in his voice hit her full force. She stared at him, taking in the glow in his obsidian eyes and the satisfaction in the set of his face. The evident passion he held for Winsor Winery touched her deep inside, uncurling a slow flood of heat through her bloodstream.
He seemed to love the land as much as she and her father did. As if there was a connection that burned bright--a respect for the grapes and the process her father had consistently repeated as the foundation of true success. It went deeper than the simple call for profit. Wine demanded dedication. Precision. Fervor.
Emotion.
The realization slammed through her and stole her breath.
"Do you want to taste it?"
She jerked, her gaze focusing on those carved lips. Her belly did a slow tumble. "Taste it?"
A gleam of amusement danced in his dark eyes. "The Riesling."
"Oh! Yes, I'd love to taste it. Later." She ducked her head to hide her heated cheeks, but caught his low chuckle. Damn. She needed to re-focus. "Have you done any other renovations?"
"We're in the process of building another structure to host larger gatherings and parties. I think we're missing a lot of income from events, but it's been slow getting that segment of the business started. I've been slammed with work and the wine always comes first."
The Marriage Arrangement Page 10
