Love You Always (Buttercup Hill #5)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

A rcher

The day couldn’t be nicer for wine tasting, and the property is humming with activity. Ringed by a stand of oak trees, one group of visitors tours the kitchen gardens and learns about the farm-to-table philosophy of our restaurants. The tour will end at Butter and Rosemary, our Michelin-starred restaurant, where guests can either take a cooking class with one of the chefs or sit down for a four-course tasting menu of seasonal dishes paired with wines. It’s one of the “experiences” Beatrix has been working on, and she has a two-month waiting list to get a spot.

In the other direction, guides set out with groups of guests on tours through the wine caves, where our in-house sommeliers will give presentations on our varietals and sell limited quantities of our special edition wines. Every wine-tasting slot throughout the day is filled, and a handful of guests have shown up on the off chance someone cancels. If they can’t get in for a tasting, they’ll tour the grounds and buy a bottle or two to have a picnic on their own.

“Wow, it’s bustling here,” Ella says as I walk her down a path lined with lavender and rosemary bushes next to the wine-tasting patio, where every table is filled. Our employees bustle through, setting out clean glasses and bringing the next in a procession of wines for tasting, starting with tender whites and ending with the bolder reds. Some of them eye me as I walk past.

“I think you make people nervous with the whole gruff and angry thing,” Ella observes.

“It’s not just me. They’re probably just nervous in front of a Corbett family member.”

“Really? Because I’ve walked through here with your sister, and no one scurries around in fear like they’re doing now.”

I look around us and see no scurrying. Everyone looks the way they always do when I’m around—serious about their jobs, as they should. Then again, I’ve never done anything to make them feel less nervous, so today I try to nod and smile.

“Now you just look constipated,” Ella says, her laugh ringing out like a bell across the patio. I notice I’m not the only one who heeds the call, as several guests look in our direction, and a few whisper to the people they’re with and try to gesture inconspicuously. A couple pull out their phones and snap quick shots. It’s then that I remember Ella Fieldstone is widely recognized, and I shouldn’t be parading her through the middle of the patio.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to attract unwanted attention for you,” I say, guiding her toward a separate patio off the back of the wine cave. As soon as we round the bend, the chatter of the crowd dies down, replaced by the chirp of birds and the quiet I crave.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. No glasses, remember?” She points to her unadorned eyes. I feel sad that she seems more resigned to this part of her fame than thrilled about it, and it makes me think back to that night at the party in LA with even more understanding about why she was surrounded by protectors. I doubt I’d even have approached her back then if I understood this aspect of her life better.

I walk us over to a smaller tasting room with a high counter and barstools on one side. I gesture for Ella to take a seat on one of them, and I go around to the other side of the bar to line up the varietals I want her to try.

“Tell me more,” I say, pulling a bottle of Pebble and Clay sauvignon blanc from the fridge and wiping down the condensation on the label. I had Ruby, Jax’s wife, give me the list of wines she recommended for the wedding. Ruby’s the best sommelier we have, and she talked my ear off last night about each of the wines. By the end of an hour, I had sixteen pages of notes and was in over my head, but I’m a determined son of a bitch, and I stayed up late studying everything Ruby told me.

“More of what?”

“What that’s like, the celebrity. It doesn’t bother you to have people point at you and sneak pictures for their social media accounts? That would drive me crazy.”

She laughs. “Now, why am I not surprised that Archer the Grouch doesn’t like people?”

“I don’t dislike all people,” I clarify. “Just most people.”

Ella shakes her head and points to the bottle. “That label’s pretty.” I take a look at the silver letters etched on a pale, cream-colored label with the Buttercup Hill flower underneath. It floats over a faint outline of the old brown barn. If you glance quickly, the barn doesn’t stand out, but the longer you stare, the more details emerge. It really is a work of art.

I lean an elbow on the bar and gaze at the label in my hand. “Isn’t it? I remember my dad telling me how he came up with the idea for the logo and the barn behind it. He said it all starts with family. Hence, the barn. And from that, the fruit of the vine can grow. ”

Ella puts her chin on her hand and listens as I speak, her eyes flitting from the logo to my face. It’s intoxicating being this close to her in the intimate space, somehow even more so than when we were in the wine cave. Out here, dozens of people sit just a few yards away, but we’re alone here, almost like we’re insulated in a bubble, suspended in time.

“I like that,” she says quietly.

The sharp ring of Ella’s cell phone startles us both. She leans away from the bar top and searches her purse for her phone, and I go back to wiping down the bottle, which has a new layer of condensation on it. She checks the screen, where I can see Callum’s album cover mugshot smiling through fog. If the ringing phone didn’t jar me out of my fantasy—the one where Ella and I are meant for each other, and this is the moment she realizes it—the appearance of her fiancé’s face is the record scratch that sends me back to reality.

Ella sends the call to voicemail, which surprises me. “Feel free to get that. I can wait.”

“No, it’s fine.” Her brow creases, and she looks at the phone screen again. The call has already gone to voicemail, but she hesitates before putting it back into her purse. She opens her mouth, then shakes her head and looks down at the counter.

“Doesn’t seem fine.”

She inhales a slow breath and blows it out again, equally slowly. “It is.”

I wait, hoping she’ll say more, but she blinks a few times and forces a smile. “Where were we?” She reaches over and taps the bottle in my hand. “Tell me about this one.”

Carefully cutting the foil capsule from the top, I recite Ruby’s list of tasting notes and insert some of my knowledge from the growing side. “This one is unusual for the Rutherford area because it’s a sauvignon blanc grape that behaves like a cab. It’s slightly more finicky than the other whites we grow, and we think that’s because it was grafted onto old vines that probably have cabernet origins. The grapes are a bit more fragile than the other whites, so we only grow a limited amount, hence the private reserve. We only produce a few dozen bottles in the years when we produce at all. So this one that you’re about to taste is pretty special.”

“I feel like a wine snob considering something so valuable for my wedding day.”

“What better occasion?”

She flattens her lips into a forced smile and nods, but something’s off. “Guess you’re right. That’s the whole reason I’m here, after all.” And just like that, the whiff of real emotion is replaced by a movie-set version, where everything is suddenly kissed by a golden glow. Ella wraps her delicate fingers around the stem of a glass and tips it toward me. “Let’s open ‘em up.”

It’s not my place to ask about her relationship, especially as an owner of Buttercup Hill. My job is to play the professional, help my family hang onto a celebrity client, and make sure her wedding is every bit as worthy of the social register as possible. That’s how we’ll grow our business in the face of dwindling wine orders. That’s how I’ll ensure my family’s legacy. Not by intruding on the personal details of a client or her feelings about her fiancé.

I keep that in mind as I plunge the spiral screw into the cork, only letting my imagination veer slightly to where the cork is instead wedged in Callum’s carotid artery. Pulling out the cork with a clean pop, I lay it on the counter with the moist end facing Ella. “You should test to make sure it’s not dry. Means it’s been stored right.”

“Oh, I trust you know what you’re doing,” she says, tapping the wet end with her index finger. “Yep, it’s wet.”

I hold the bottle up to the light, so the sun’s rays are refracted by the pale yellow liquid, making rainbows dance on the countertop. “The color’s a little darker than a lot of sauv blancs because of the fruit. It’s a green grape with pink flesh. ”

I keep thinking back to the day when she was here with Callum and the way she almost flinched when he put his arm around her. The way he barely seemed interested in the wedding—to her . My hands ball into fists and I fight to unclench them.

I should find something to talk about, tell her more about the wine, teach her something. She always wants to learn. But we’ve spent time together over the past weeks, and I’m feeling honest with myself about how much I like her. And I want honesty from her.

“I’m sorry,” I say, putting my glass down. “I’m just not seeing it. I know it’s none of my business, but I don’t give a shit. If I don’t ask about it, I’ll regret it.” I grind my teeth and suck in a breath as though I can retract the words.

“What?” She looks up from studying the labels, and her eyes bore into me like lasers.

“You…Callum. As a couple. I don’t see it.” And there goes my chance.

She goes absolutely still and looks up from the bottles. “Archer…”

I wait for the rest. Her defense of how much she loves him. Her explanation of all I can’t possibly know about the depth of their love. But she doesn’t finish her sentence. She shakes her head and looks at the ground.

I start pacing in a circle, needing to move my body to give the pent-up energy and irritation someplace to go because I feel like hitting a punching bag, and last I checked, we don’t have one in the tasting room. At the high table where the wine bottles are lined up, Ella sits motionless like a statue. Her inertia acts like a vacuum, forcing me to stop moving.

I stand across the room from her, intensely aware of each one of my senses. Eyes flooding with the sheer beauty of this woman who has no idea she’s been the subject of every goddamn dream I’ve had for two months. Ears aware of the hollow silence in the room, that pregnant beat before she crushes my dreams forever by telling me to go to hell.

I can almost taste what I know would be berry-flavored kisses leading to my tongue roaming across every inch of her skin, each bit tasting more like honey than the one before it. My skin feels hot, prickling like I’m about to break a sweat, even though it’s ice cold in the tasting room.

“He’s not good enough for you. I know I barely know him, but I know that down to my bones. When I saw you together, I didn’t see anything remotely close to what I’d feel if I were your fiancé.” I can’t help the possessive growl that overtakes the last few words.

Her jaw goes slack, and her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

I opened this Pandora’s box, and it comes with fear. I’m intensely aware of this moment and what I say next marking a line between where we are and what we could be. Except that maybe we can’t be anything. I just need to know.

“If you were mine, I’d feel…like I’d won. Like I’d never have to ask the universe for anything again.”

She swallows hard, but this time she doesn’t look down. The pink in her cheeks duels the piercing blue of her eyes.

“Archer, you have to understand that it’s complicated.” Her voice is quiet, but at least she’s still here. I half expected her to walk away or slug me.

“That’s what people say when it’s really uncomplicated and they just don’t want to accept it.” I take a step closer to her, hemming her in between my knees and leaning close because this is important. “Do you love him?”

Blinking, she seems to be considering what she wants to say. I wait, hoping my patience will pay off.

Finally, she bites her lip and utters the only word that makes a damn difference to me. “No.”

The breath enters my lungs in a jagged rush of vital need, as though it’s the first time I’ve had enough oxygen in weeks. She holds up a hand.

“This stays between us.” She hesitates again then lets out a sharp exhale. “It’s not a real engagement. I mean it is, in that we’re getting married, but it’s for the sake of our careers…and other things. We both need damage control. Him for his record label and his tour, and I need to prove to an adoption court that I’m responsible and able to be a good parent. I know it’s not what you’d expect. I mean, most people marry for love. And there’s affection there, it’s just… Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Of all the explanations for how her love for Callum is complicated, a marriage of convenience for the sake of adoption was not on my radar. It makes me glad, on one hand, that she’s not wildly in love because somehow my befuddled brain thinks it gives me a chance with her. But then I allow what she’s just told me to sink in. Adoption court ?

“You’re adopting a baby with him?”

She nods slowly. “I’ve always wanted to be a mom. I want it more than anything, but there were so many things written about me, so many things people believe about me being unstable. There was a whole thing with some of my exes saying I was unstable…”

“Assholes. You’ve been dating the wrong guys, darlin’.”

Her eyes soften. “Yes. Anyway, I’m in the process with a lawyer of trying to adopt, and the engagement to Callum quieted all the outside noise. Things are moving ahead, and I need Callum to play his part. I need to play mine.”

“Oh.” I wish I had a better, more eloquent response. I have so many questions, all mixed with confusion and relief that I was correct about what I saw. Even if it doesn’t change anything. “Okay, then. When did you decide you wanted to adopt?”

She looks down. “When I found out my chances of conceiving naturally are very low. I’ve had a lot of tests. It’s basically about the shape of my uterus, if that’s not TMI. And there are so many babies who are given up. I could do something really good for one sweet, innocent little human. I want that.”

“No, it’s…” My mouth feels dry. “That’s great that you figured out a way to make it work. With Callum.” I can’t tell her that I wish it was me in Callum’s place. I can’t say anything about how my thoughts have been consumed with her when I can’t give what he’s offering.

“Not everybody marries for love. It’s not conventional, but nothing about my life is conventional. I do know what I want, though, and I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize it.”

“A baby,” I confirm. It’s something I can’t give her. I don’t want kids. Simple fact.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.” She clears her throat and points at me. “And how about you? Great love? Wife? Girlfriend?”

“Nope. Negative.”

“Come on, Grumpy Grape. You’re a catch. You could have any woman in nine counties. Why not?”

The compliment sends a river of heat down my spine, but as much as I want to pull her close and crush my mouth to hers, I know it would only make me a selfish asshole after what she’s just said, even if she does feel an attraction to me.

“Not for me. I’m the opposite of you. I don’t want kids, and I don’t have much need for a relationship. Work is all I need to fulfill my every need,” I deadpan.

“Yeah, I can see that.” She laughs. “All you need is work. Isn’t that what the Beatles said?”

“Exactly. So you get it.”

“Honestly, not really. Why are you so opposed to a family or kids?”

Exhaling, I push a hand through my hair. “How much time do you have?” I try to punctuate the question with a laugh, but it comes out more like a wheeze. “I didn’t have great role models for that, and I don’t want to make some kid miserable when I can’t offer the right stuff to be a parent. That’s the short answer. ”

She gives me a sad smile that says we’ll agree to disagree about the kinds of futures we envision. “Not my place to say, but I bet you have the right stuff in you somewhere.”

Her assessment of me makes me sad because of how wrong she is, just as it warms me from the inside that she sees something better in me than I’ve got.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “I guess it would be easier to take if I knew it was true love. If I thought he was so head over fucking heels in love with you that he’s waiting for you to come home so he gives you everything you deserve. Knowing it’s not real makes it harder not to kiss you. But not impossible.”

Her eyes close and she gives me a small smile. “Thank you for hearing me and respecting that Callum and I are engaged and we’re getting married and that my plans mean something to me.” Our eyes lock and I see the anguish. The acceptance of lost opportunities.

I nod. “I get it. I understand.” The worst part is that I really do understand. I don’t want her to sacrifice the security of knowing she’ll be able to adopt a child.

I feel something pull at me inside my chest, an ache that comes from inertia. I wish I could be the guy she needs in her life—the husband—who will show the twisted, mistaken world that Ella Fieldstone can offer a child the stability it needs, but I can’t do it. Not that she’s asking in any shape or form.

“I should go. That town car driver’s been waiting around all afternoon.” She stands and tests her balance. After a small wobble, she takes a step away from me and smiles. “Thank you for the tour.”

“Best part of my day.” It’s no exaggeration. I shouldn’t be playing hooky from work responsibilities, but it feels damn good for a change.

Her eyes widen and the corners of her mouth pull into the hint of a smile. “Mine too,” she admits quietly, sneaking a look to the side as though someone might have heard. But we’re alone .

My eyes rake over her, noting the uncertainty in her eyes that slowly settles into purpose as she meets my gaze with confidence. Like a fire ignites behind them. Her cheeks flush. Her lips look ripe and full.

It would be so easy to close the gap between us. So easy to take what I’ve started to believe is rightfully mine even though I have no goddamn reason to think it.

But she doesn’t allow it. Instead, she turns and walks away.