Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Daisy
“They’re here,” I announce when the doorbell rings.
“Oh joy,” Beckett drawls. “Can’t wait to sit through another dull lunch with the Castellanos.”
“I’m sure I can make it more interesting.” I waggle my brows at him as we stride down the hallway. “Liven things up a little.”
“Just stick to business, Daisy.”
“I want to ensure that the vineyard ends up in good hands. And maybe today will be a good opportunity to start mending the rift?—”
“Daisy.” He gives me an exasperated look. “Just stay out of it. That feud has nothing to do with us.”
I’m not so sure that’s true.
The future of this vineyard matters to me. It matters a great deal, and now that we’re so close to the finish line, with only a little over a week to go, we’re still none the wiser as to why Robert set up his will the way he did.
But what if Pete was right and it has something to do with blocking the sale or mending the rift?
I almost feel like it’s my duty to get to the bottom of that feud.
So I swing the front door open and give the Castellanos a big smile and a warm welcome.
“Come in.” I usher them inside like I’m the lady of the manor and studiously ignore the warning glance Beckett sends my way.
Gabriella and I hug while the men exchange handshakes.
“I haven’t set foot in this house since I was a boy,” Michael says, his gaze sweeping over the corniced ceilings and the oak staircase.
I’m inordinately proud of the color palette throughout the house—midnight blue, olive green, burnt sienna, and ochre.
Moody and sensual by night. Saturated with sunlight during the day.
“I always thought it was the grandest house in all of California,” he says.
I smile. “So did I. I used to live here too,” I admit. “When I was young.”
Gabriella smiles. “We know you’re Robert’s stepdaughter.”
“You knew all along? That we’re not really a couple?” I blurt out.
“Aren’t you?” She squeezes my hand and gives me a knowing look as we follow Michael and Beckett on a house tour.
I laugh. “No. Not at all. The day we joined you for lunch, we barely tolerated each other.”
Gabriella slips her arm through mine. “Oh, honey, that’s how all the best love stories begin.”
I’m not so sure that going from enemies to fuck buddies with a looming expiration date for this little arrangement makes for an epic love story, but I don’t bother correcting her.
But my first impression of Gabriella still stands. She’s warm and kind and genuine and it’s plain to see that she and Michael adore each other.
Once again, I find myself thinking, I want that .
I want a deep, true love that stands the test of time. I want a real relationship. Not a fling. Not just sex with no strings attached. Even when I agreed to it and boldly claimed that there was no danger of falling in love with Beckett, I knew I was only lying to myself.
I’m already in deep.
It dawns on me that Finn wasn’t my first love. Beckett was. Long before I even knew what love was, I loved him with all my heart.
After a tour of the house and the facilities, we have lunch on the terrace of the winery overlooking the vineyard.
The weather is perfect, the sky blue and cloudless, the air warm and dry but not too hot.
Everyone is being polite, perfectly pleasant so of course, I take the plunge and steer the conversation into dangerous territory.
“There are a lot of rumors swirling around about your feud with Robert. And I guess I just wanted to make sure the vineyard ends up in good hands. Is there any truth to the story that you were involved in cutting the syrah grapevines to the root?”
Next to me, Beckett lets out a heavy sigh and sets down his fork, taking a fortifying sip of wine.
“Michael?” Gabriella raises her brows, prompting Michael. “Care to explain why you sabotaged Robert’s vineyard?”
He clears his throat and tugs at the collar of his navy polo shirt. I’m not sure how I never noticed the resemblance the first time we met but Beckett looks a lot like his uncle. Although Michael’s hair is sprinkled with silver, it’s the same almost-black shade. They both have blue eyes, although Beckett’s are lighter, and have strong Roman noses.
There’s no denying that they’re related.
“Can I blame it on being young and stupid?”
“You can try,” Gabriella says archly.
“I was twenty?—”
“And he smoked too much weed,” Gabriella says.
Michael nods. “I was high as a kite. Never smoked that stuff again, I can tell you that much. I was also jealous and angry. My father had died a few weeks before and I’d just found out that he left everything to Robert. He didn’t leave a single penny to my mother. So I came over here in the middle of the night and hacked away at those poor grapevines. The next morning, when I woke up and remembered what I did, I felt like shit.”
I look over at Beckett. He’s wearing a look of practiced boredom, but I wonder if any of this hits close to home for him.
Michael felt slighted by his father so he took out his revenge on Robert, and now Beckett is doing the same thing by selling this vineyard to the “enemy.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t feel guilty about doing that to Robert,” Michael says. “I just wish I would have chosen a different way to retaliate instead of taking out my anger on those grapevines.”
“You should have challenged him to a duel at sunrise,” Beckett drawls.
Michael snorts. “The coward never would have showed up. He got me back though. He didn’t just let it go.”
He leans back in his seat and squints into the distance. “I went off to make my fortune and vowed to come back richer, smarter, better than Robert. Better than our old man. And when I came back and bought a neighboring vineyard, that bastard drained the wine from the barrels. I returned the favor.”
He chuckles under his breath, and I get the feeling that he and Robert enjoyed messing with each other. It wouldn’t surprise me.
He gives me a smile. “And that was how the great feud started.”
“Sounds like a waste of time and energy to me.” I give Beckett a pointed look. He returns it with a lazy grin.
“That’s because you don’t have a vengeful bone in your body,” Beckett says, swirling the wine in his glass. “Shame, really. It makes for good sport.”
“It went on for years and years,” Gabriella says. “Every time I tried to play peacemaker, they thwarted my efforts. Grown men acting like schoolboys. It was embarrassing.”
“I can only imagine,” I mutter.
Beckett laughs, completely at ease now that we’re discussing one of his favorite topics.
But I still have more questions, so I ask Michael the most pressing one. “So did you and Robert ever bury the hatchet?”
He nods slowly. “He showed up at my door…must have been right after Christmas…with a bottle of wine and two cigars. Said that ‘life is short, we’re not getting any younger, and this feud has gone on for too long.’ We drank the bottle of wine, smoked the cigars and then he left. A few weeks later he was gone.”
Michael twirls the stem of his wine glass between his fingers, his expression thoughtful. “I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we’d made our peace sooner and had more time.”
I give Beckett another pointed look which he studiously ignores.
He looks bored now, like the thrill is gone after finding out that Michael and Robert made their peace.
“Chances are he would have only disappointed you,” Beckett says. “My father was only good in small doses.”
“Maybe,” Michael says. “When we were kids, we were close. But after the old man kicked me and my mom out, I told my mother that I would make them pay for the way they treated us. After he died and left us with nothing…well, I went after Robert. I set out to take everything from him just like it had been taken from me. Unfortunately, I took it too far. We both did. I regret that now.”
He looks at Beckett. “I’m just sorry you and your mother got caught in the crossfire. But I’m happy you’re willing to let bygones be bygones. I just never thought…” He shakes his head and sighs. “Water under the bridge.”
Beckett’s eyes narrow and he sits up straighter, suddenly on the alert. “What are you talking about?”
“The role I played in getting him involved with Astrid—” He cuts himself off, his eyes on me. “I’m sorry. I forgot she’s your mother.”
I shrug one shoulder, trying to be nonchalant even as my stomach twists into knots of dread. Why do all roads have to lead to my mother? “It’s okay. We’re not close.”
He nods. “Guess you wouldn’t be here if you were.”
“What did you have to do with Astrid?” Beckett says sharply.
Michael hesitates. “Go on, Michael,” Gabriella prompts. “Tell them what you did.”
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m the one who hired her.”
“You hired her,” Beckett says, enunciating every word. “To do what, exactly? Seduce my father?”
“No…not exactly.” He winces. “Mind you, I’m not proud of this. My father had promised some artwork to my mother. But of course, the old man’s word wasn’t worth a damn and he never put it in the will. So I hired Astrid to steal it for me.”
I twist the napkin between my fingers, my eyes on my lap. I can’t even look at Beckett. “And did she?” I ask quietly. “Did she steal the artwork?”
Michael shakes his head. “No. She told me the deal was off.”
Next to me, Beckett starts laughing. It’s not a merry sound.
“Gotta hand it to Astrid. Instead of stealing a piece of art, she stole a husband and ended up with a hell of a lot more than one piece of art,” Beckett says. “Welp. Hate to cut the party short, but I’ve heard enough.” He slams both palms on the table, making the glasses and dishes rattle, and stands.
“Michael. Gabriella. Thanks for joining us. It’s been very enlightening. Now take a good look around. Beautiful, isn’t it?” He sweeps his arm across the view. “Tuck it away in your little memory bank because this is the last time you’ll ever set foot on this vineyard.”
Michael opens his mouth to speak but takes in the set of Beckett’s jaw and the hardness of his expression and thinks better of it.
He nods like he knows he went too far and there’s no way Beckett will ever sell him this vineyard now.
Beckett wouldn’t have cared if Michael torched the entire vineyard but hiring Astrid is the one act of revenge he won’t tolerate.
Even in her absence, my mother still manages to infiltrate our lives and inform our decisions.
I want to say something, to try and make things better, but I can’t get the words out and even if I could, what would I say?
In Beckett’s eyes, Astrid is responsible for ruining his mother’s life. And who could blame him for thinking that way?
“This lunch is over,” he says, his voice low and steely. “Now get the hell off my land.”
Before they go, Gabriella grabs my hand and gives it a little squeeze. “You’re not your mother.”
I force a smile and stand on the terrace watching them leave. Maybe that’s true but why do I still feel like I’m being forced to pay for her sins?
Today was yet another reminder of how tangled up my life is with Beckett’s.
My mother meddled in our lives. His father meddled. Even Michael Castellano had a finger in the pie.
And for what? The almighty dollar? Pride? Just to fuck with us?
“You’ve really done it this time, princess.”
I turn to him. He sounds more weary than angry.
A part of me wishes I’d kept my big mouth shut and stuck to business like he’d asked. If I hadn’t pushed Michael Castellano for answers, we might never have known that he was the one who hired Astrid.
But another part of me is glad that we got it all out in the open. There have been too many secrets over the years. Too many convoluted revenge plots and family feuds and twisted games.
“So it seems.”
With a sigh, he catches my hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
I’m surprised he’d want to be anywhere near me, but as we walk through the vineyard, I have to keep reminding myself that I am not my mother.
After fifteen minutes of walking in silence, we stop at the bottom of the terraced old vine zinfandel slope and he releases my hand and starts climbing.
I don’t know why he chose this spot today, but Pete told me it was the place where Robert came to die. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it feels symbolic.
What if my reason for being here is to help Beckett to forgive? His father. Himself .
“Coming?” Beckett calls over his shoulder.
I debate for all of two seconds before climbing the hill in a dress I bought because it matched his eyes.
I was never supposed to care about him. I was never supposed to catch feelings, but I fell for him all the same.
The heart doesn’t understand logic. It wants what it wants.
And I want him. All of him. His flaws, his weaknesses, his vulnerabilities, his love .
As my mother always used to say, “You’re such a silly little fool, Daisy.”