Vanessa, Charlotte, and I went over the lists in detail and split up the tasks. "Now who's going to help me make a butterscotch peanut butter cake? Shane requested it—it's his favorite," she said delightedly.
"Oh, I'll help," Vanessa said. "I need to learn the recipe so I can bake it for him myself sometimes."
Charlotte grabbed two aprons from the drawer, handing one to Vanessa and offering one to me. "Oh, next time, Charlotte," I said. "I need to go outside and make a list of items that have to be accomplished there." But really, I realized Charlotte and Vanessa deserved time together. I was only going to be here for a short time, while Vanessa was a true part of this family. At the thought, the sharp ache in my heart seemed almost excessive, but it was there nonetheless. Charlotte looked at me with sympathy, but nodded, almost sadly. I couldn't be angry with her. She knows I'm temporary. Vanessa would be here forever, whereas I would be leaving soon. It was more important that Charlotte help build a bridge between Shane, Vanessa, and Grayson than try to push Grayson and me together more permanently. It would be a wasted effort anyway. Perhaps she'd finally realized that.
Feeling alone and melancholy, I wandered outside to look at the façade of the house. I had a crew of gardeners scheduled to work the rest of the week. Getting the grounds looking decent was going to take quite a bit of work. The house was going to look so much better once the ivy was cut back. I jotted down the few things I thought could be accomplished to the outside of the house in time and then turned to walk behind it to make some notes about that area. I would love to open up the back patio and get the pool cleaned if possible. I imagined twinkle lights strung in the trees, casting a magical, fairy-tale glow . . .
For a moment I stood there, picturing the scene, my gaze rising to the rows of grapevines beyond. Why did I feel this desperate longing inside? I thought about what Grayson was doing right now, how much I was growing to love this vineyard and the people who lived and worked here. I thought about how I'd imagined Grayson and I were moving in the direction of . . . what, Kira? Love? Is that what I had secretly begun to hope for? An emotion not unlike dread clenched my gut and I walked a few steps so I could lean against a nearby elm tree, closing my eyes in misery. I had the terrible feeling that, somewhere along the way, I had fallen in love with my husband. There was no other explanation for the agony I was feeling at his sudden cold indifference, and the possibility that he was still in love with another woman.
Staring out at the afternoon sun glinting on the grapevines, I admitted, only to myself—only ever to myself—that maybe I had even fallen in love with Grayson Hawthorn the first moment I'd laid eyes on him. My knight in shining armor standing in front of that bank, the promise that he would save me, and I, him, flowing through my heart like a secret whisper.
Oh God, this was a disaster.
An epic disaster.
I wanted to run, to flee from these feelings, from these realizations. And I knew that was exactly what I would do just as soon as the party was over. I couldn't stay here knowing I could fall even more head over heels for my husband at any moment. He'd never love me back. Instead, the pain of his unrequited love would slowly drive me to desolation until I could no longer find any joy in life.
My desperate thoughts were cut off when I saw a lone figure walking around the perimeter of the hedge maze below me. I squinted, recognizing Shane. Hesitating only briefly, I put the list and pen in the back pocket of my jean shorts and walked down the hill to join him.
"Hey," I said softly. He spun around, obviously startled, letting out a quick breath.
"Hey, Kira." He smiled.
"Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you."
"No, no, just deep in thought, I guess." He sat down on a stone bench next to him and gestured for me to sit as well. I did, leaning my palms behind me.
Looking at the maze next to us, I said, "It's really incredible. You must have had fun in it as kids."
Shane let out a breath, running his hand through his hair like Grayson sometimes did. His expression was slightly pained. "God, no. My father would walk us to the middle once it'd turned dark and have us find our way out. He tortured us with this godforsaken thing."
I felt the blood drain from my face and I turned toward Shane. "Why?" I croaked.
He shrugged and shook his head, looking suddenly like a little boy. "Who knows why my father did what he did? He had ideas about how to make men out of us. That was one of them. Of course, Grayson got the brunt of it, being the oldest." He paused, looking down at his hands in his lap. "I could hear Grayson out here crying for our dad, trying to find his way out, night after night." Misery swept over his expression as if he were back there again, hearing his brother call out for help, being unable to do anything about it. I sat up, wrapping my arms around myself.
"After searching through Dad's files, Walter found a map of the maze—of course, I only learned this years later—and gave it to Grayson. Grayson must have been seven or eight. He told him, 'You study this. Go in during the day and learn every single turn, every nook and cranny, and when your father walks you inside, you'll be the one in control. Make sure your father doesn't find out, but know the maze like the back of your hand. Then there will be no fear.' Well, that's just what Gray did." He smiled, suddenly, the shadows fleeing from his handsome face, and I couldn't help smiling, too. Walter. God bless, Walter. "Later, when my dad brought me inside, Grayson snuck in from the back, found me, and led me out without our dad knowing. He'd stay hidden in the maze until we'd gone inside, and then he'd sneak inside, too. I never knew the fear he did because he rescued me. I only knew those brief moments before he came. And, God," his voice broke slightly, but he cleared his throat, "there's nothing on earth like the feel of someone who loves you grasping your hand in the dark when you're lost and afraid."
Bleak heartbreak overwhelmed me. That poor little boy. I didn't know what to say, was at a total loss of words, a lump the size of an orange blocking my throat. No wonder Grayson hated the maze—it had served as a massive torture chamber for him.
"My brother did that for me in a hundred different ways over the years—found me in the dark and grasped my hand."
"Then why?" I whispered, blinking back tears.
Shane turned his head to look at me. "Why Vanessa?" he asked.
I nodded, biting my lip. "Please tell me, Shane. I'm trying to understand. I'm just trying to understand and maybe if I do, in some way, I can help."
He sighed. "Because, all my life, I've loved her." He paused, smiling a small, sad smile. "We grew up together, you know, the three of us. Grayson never seemed to notice her the way I did." He squinted off into space for a moment, probably remembering specific events. "But then he asked her out first, and I thought maybe he'd just been hiding his feelings, and so I . . . stepped back, when I would have thrown my hat in the ring, so to speak. I would have bared my heart, had it been anyone else. But I couldn't. He had always gotten the short end of the stick and had sacrificed for me over and over again. How could I not do the same for him? And so . . . I loved her, but I let her go without ever saying a word."
I pressed my lips together, sadness moving through me as I stared out at the blue sky. "But then he went away . . ."
"Yes," he said softly. "You must think I'm such an awful person."
"No. I'm not your judge," I said softly.
Shane sighed, running his hand through his hair.
I didn't ask him any more. I knew he wanted to explain the rest to his brother, first. But I thought I had a little bit of a better understanding of the situation, from both perspectives. I only wondered how Vanessa felt about Grayson now. What a mess. A mess I needed to step back from and let them figure out, especially in light of my own realizations about where my heart lay. I had been right. There was no place for me in this. And maybe Grayson had been right, too. Perhaps none of it was really my business at all. Sitting there, I felt suddenly lonelier than I'd ever felt before.
"He told me about your mother—h
is stepmother—that she never accepted him," I said softly.
Shane blew out a breath. "No, she hated him. She hated what he represented. She considered her life perfect before Grayson's mother showed up on her doorstep. I hadn’t even been born at the time, but I heard her remind him enough over the years. And our father . . . he wasn't the most nurturing of fathers anyway, even to me, but he treated Grayson especially coldly as a way to send the message to my mother that he recognized his mistake. There was no atoning for it in her eyes, though. Not that that was the proper way to do it anyway." Shane suddenly turned his head toward me. "I'm surprised he told you anything about that, actually. I've never known him to talk about it, even to me."
I shrugged. "He said it so matter-of-factly, as if explaining the course of the weather."
Shane's smile was wry. "Trust me, Grayson doesn't express himself a whole lot, but he feels anything but matter-of-fact about his father and stepmother. I was there."
I nodded again, not knowing exactly what to say, knowing I shouldn't be delving more deeply into Grayson's hidden torment. It'd only make me love him more. Wasn't that just the way with women? And I was no exception. What was sexier on a man than great abs and a heart full of hidden torment? They should bottle it and sell it by the truckloads. Or perhaps write a book: "Abs and Hidden Torment: A Man's Guide to Bagging Babes." I would have laughed if I didn't feel so much like crying.
And it was clearer to me than ever that he'd never love me, even if he could move past his love for Vanessa. Blocks of ice surrounded his heart, and I'd be a fool if I imagined I'd ever be enough to melt them.
"Hey, don't look so sad. We do have a few good memories here, too. Our childhoods weren't all horror and trauma. We also used to steal cookies from Charlotte, and frequently annoy Walter by trying to get him to break into a smile now and again."
I laughed despite myself, creasing my brow at the same time. "Thank you for sharing what you did with me, Shane. It means a lot that you trust me enough to confide in me."
He studied me for just a second, his face breaking into a smile. Without thinking, I leaned forward and hugged him, picturing the small boy he once was, alone in the dark as his brave older brother took his hand. He laughed, hugging me back. When I pulled away, he started to say, "I'm mostly—" but was cut short.
"You already stole one woman from me. Figure you might as well steal another?"
We both stood up quickly as if we'd been caught doing something wrong. I stepped away from Shane. "Grayson, we were just—"
"Stay out of this, Kira," he said, his furious gaze focused on Shane.
"Jesus, Gray," Shane said incredulously. "We were just talking."
Grayson stepped forward to Shane, his jaw hard and tight. I sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing if I wanted to cry or start throwing things. "I'm well aware of how talking works," Grayson said, his voice raised, but his tone deadly cold, "and it doesn't involve arms and bodies. So tell me, is that it, Shane? One isn't enough? Looking to seduce Kira, too?"
"Seduce Kira? God, you really are an idiot when you're jealous. Do you think I would seduce your wife, you stupid fool?" he yelled.
Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Vanessa and Charlotte rushing toward us.
Grayson's jaw ticked at the word jealous, his eyes lowering to slits as he glared at his brother. "Jealous? You think I find you untrustworthy because I'm jealous? Not because you're a lying, betraying bastard? I'm not jealous." He moved a step closer. "Jesus. She's not even my real wife. We got married for money," he growled.
I sucked in a breath of air that felt like I was inhaling razor blades, my face flushing with heat. Silence suddenly rang out as three pairs of eyes focused on me. I looked around: Shane’s and Vanessa's expressions, shocked; Charlotte's expression, pained. Grayson was still glaring at Shane, but when he saw that they were all looking at me, he turned his gaze in my direction, his expression seeming to clear momentarily as he became aware of what he'd just said. "Kira—" he started to say, but I turned around and ran, away from the looks, away from the judgment, away from the shame and searing pain. Away.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Grayson
I was an idiot. A jealous idiot. Shane had been right. I'd walked up on him and Kira hugging and I'd lost my mind. I'd shut myself off completely since Shane and Vanessa had arrived, even ignoring Kira after I'd gone to her room and tried to claim her like a drunken fool. I could only blame myself if she went looking for comfort and companionship with Shane. Shane, who had always been the easygoing charmer. Shane, who had never disappointed anyone.
I don't want you. I don't want you at all.
No one wants you. No one ever has.
Of course she felt comfortable and safe with Shane—who didn't? Another spear of jealousy went shooting down my spine, and I gritted my teeth. I had never in my life fallen into a jealous rage over a woman, but the possessiveness I'd felt when I'd seen Kira and Shane embracing had thrown me over the edge. I'd watched them over the past week, seen the way they strolled around the property, talking, even laughing. Something that felt close to despair swelled in my chest. Jesus, I needed to get hold of myself. What was I jealous of anyway? She'd been willing to come to my bed—even if that was off the table now—what else did I want? Was I upset I'd sabotaged that for myself just like I seemed to sabotage everything good in my life? Or was it really just because Shane had stolen Vanessa from me? I hadn't let myself think too much about it since they'd been here—hadn't wanted to explore any of that. And so I'd simply shut down.
And then even worse, in some idiotic effort to prove I wasn't jealous—and perhaps to hurt Kira, too, I acknowledged that much—I'd exposed the truth of our marriage in a cruel, heartless way. The deep hurt and humiliation I'd seen in her eyes had sent guilt crashing over me. Another man in her life using her as the scapegoat. Fuck. And then she'd run. Now I was looking for her to try to make it right after I'd left Shane, Vanessa, and Charlotte gaping after me. What a fucking mess this was. What a fucking mess I was. I felt like everything I'd been holding back all week was swirling inside me, coming to a boiling head.
What in the actual hell had happened to me?
I'd met Kira Dallaire, that's what had happened to me.
I spotted her out in the south field, looking as if she was . . . collecting apricots off the ground. Was she holding them in the bottom of her shirt? For a second, I just stood and watched her as she hopped among the fruit, bending and collecting, bringing a piece of fruit to her nose now and again. What was the little witch up to anyway? Something pulled tight inside me—why did my aggravating wife have to fascinate me even as my guts were churning inside my body? I approached her slowly and by the time I got to the edge of where hundreds of overly ripe apricots littered the ground, she had ten or fifteen pieces of fruit weighing down her blousy shirt.
"Kira," I said as calmly as I could, "what are you doing?"
"Collecting fruit for Charlotte's jam—the jam you love so much, the jam that makes you happy. I've been meaning to do it all week, but what with organizing your office and planning a party so it might be easier for you to rejoin Napa society, entertaining your family, and trying to figure out how to sideswipe certain questions from Shane and Vanessa—which, come to think of it, I'd like to thank you for just blurting out the truth because that's one stressor off my plate. I can't tell you how relieved I am not to have to lie anymore—"
"Kira," I said, moving closer. "I'm sorry. That was poorly done on my part."
"Plus," she went on as if she hadn't heard me, "it's such a waste of food. There are people who don't have enough to eat—right here in Napa even. And here's all this fruit just littering the ground. It's unconscionable, really."
"Kira," I repeated, moving closer still.
She whirled toward me, her hair hanging long and wavy down her back, wisps and curls framing her face. Her eyes were bright green and stormy, putting me in mind of a tropical tempest about to hit ground. Her cheeks were flushed, a
nd I could see she was so filled with anger—and some emotion I had no idea how to name—she was having trouble catching her breath. The barest glimpse of her flat stomach was visible where her shirt had been drawn up in a makeshift basket, heavy with fruit. My breath caught as I took her in. She was the most beautifully wild thing I had ever seen and the primal part of me suddenly had the urge to tame her immediately, right this very second.
I knew I should be groveling and—God, I knew she deserved as much—but after a week of keeping Kira at arm's length, and seeing her now standing in front of me, all fire and life, I lost control in the way only she could cause me to do.
I strode toward her as her eyes widened, and she dropped the fruit collected in her shirt, soft apricots making wet plopping sounds as they splattered on the ground at her feet. She belonged to me. The jealousy I'd felt when I'd seen her in Shane's arms flared again as I pulled her to my body. Looking at her now, and realizing how desperately I wanted her—how these past days had been like living without light—I felt jealous and vulnerable all over again. I desperately wanted her to soothe the wild agony raging inside, to reassure the wounded part of my heart that she thought there was something worthy about me, that she wanted me, too. But I had no idea how to put those feelings into words, didn't know how to ask, especially when I had so much to apologize for. And so I claimed her the only way I knew how. I grabbed her roughly and pressed my lips to hers.
I had only planned to kiss her once and then let her go, but the taste of her sent a flame licking from low in my belly. I grasped for her, unable to tear my mouth from hers. She fought me for a few brief moments, both of our arms scrabbling around each other as I sought to pull her close, and she fought to pull away. But then she let out a small sob and wrapped her arms around my neck, kissing me back with passionate fervor. I licked at her tongue, the taste of her soothing the ache inside, bringing me simultaneously a loss of control, and the first small taste of peace I'd had for what felt like so very long. Maybe for a lifetime.