Chapter 39
Thirty-nine
Alaric
My grandmother called this morning and asked me to join her for dinner this evening.
After our difficult encounter earlier this week, I expected silence.
Instead, she’s kept talking to me. That alone feels like a win.
Maybe tonight I can convince her to take my name out of the will and put Sera and Josie where they belong.
All I know is it can’t be my cousins who inherit the vineyard—and it shouldn’t be me.
I pull into her driveway, expecting a quiet Friday night, maybe a chance to make some real progress. But once I stop the car, I just stare. Every light in the house is on. There are too many cars packed into the driveway—all of my cousins are here. She didn’t tell me anyone else was coming.
A quiet dinner was never the plan.
I grip the steering wheel. It feels stupid to hesitate, but something in my body recognizes the setup before my brain admits it.
There’s a familiar tightening under my ribs, the same place that always braces before one of her storms. I should turn around now and walk away.
I can’t keep doing this with her. But practically speaking, my absence only gives Dylan and Scott an advantage.
I can’t let Sera and Josie down. So I get out of my car, trying to ignore the fact that once again, this is what I always do.
I walk up the steps, my neck tight. I push open the door, and Evie is already at the head of the table, several of my cousins seated around her. She has her wool suit coat on and a scarf wrapped around her neck. She doesn’t stand or greet me. She just watches me walk in.
“Did you get lost?” she asks, her voice smooth, the practiced version she uses when she wants the insult to sound playful.
“I’m on time,” I tell her.
“Then you’re late,” she mutters, perfectly pitched so it carries across the room.
I step closer and take in the scope of things. Sera’s place. Josie’s. Dylan’s. Matthew’s. Mine. All set and waiting. At least I wasn’t last.
She didn’t mention any of this when she called earlier to remind me about the evening.
She tracks my gaze and offers a small, tight smile that isn’t warm in any way. It feels like a warning. “Sit,” she says. “We’re just waiting on your sisters and the rest of your cousins.”
I move to the chair she always keeps open for me at her left, close enough for her to tug me in when she needs me.
But not close enough to make it look like I have any actual power at this table.
I lower myself into the seat and feel the familiar pinch in my throat.
Sitting here feels like I’m making a choice I swore I wouldn’t keep making. But I can’t abandon my sisters.
I try to relax my shoulders, but the effort falls short. I rest my hands on the table and try to pretend I don’t feel the shift in the air. Something is coming. I can sense it.
And Evie looks ready.
The front door opens again, and Sera steps inside. She moves, as if she’s late even though she isn’t. “Hi,” she says, a little breathless.
“You’re finally here,” Evie notes, and Sera’s posture shrinks by an inch.
Sera’s cheeks go pink before she even takes off her coat. She’s hoping tonight will go better than the last few weeks have.
It won’t.
Sera slips into the chair beside Evie, the one closest to her right hand. Her shoulders lift and settle, and she smooths her napkin with nervous fingers. She keeps touching the edge of her phone and then pulling her hand back like she’s scolding herself for needing the comfort.
Another minute passes before the door opens again and Josie appears. Her smile is warmer, softer, almost hopeful. It fades the moment Evie’s eyes land on her.
“You look tired,” Evie says.
Josie shrugs. “Long day.”
“Then try doing it better,” Evie says lightly.
Breathe in. Count to four. Breathe out. Count to four.
Josie crosses the room and sits next to me. She folds her napkin once and sets her hands in her lap.
She glances at me, worry or warning in her eyes. But I can’t do anything with it. Not now. Not with Evie coiled the way she is.
Dylan finally strolls in. He has a loose, easy swagger that makes him seem amused by everything. “Evening,” he says with a grin.
“You’re late,” Evie snaps.
He drops his phone onto the table and flicks it into a spin. Evie watches it whirl. Her jaw tightens. Dylan sees it but pretends he doesn’t. He thrives on the reaction.
“Traffic,” he lies.
“There’s no traffic in Paradise,” Josie says under her breath.
“That’s what made it so surprising,” Dylan shoots back.
Scott follows with quiet steps, the exact opposite of his cousin. He keeps his head down and takes the seat next to Josie.
“Hi, Ric,” he murmurs.
“Hey,” I say. “Rough day?”
He gives a small shrug. “Just the usual.”
Scott folds his arms, scanning the table with a half-smile that dares someone to challenge him. He hasn’t said a word yet, but he’s already set the hostile-takeover tone. With the room now full around us, the tension thickens. Evie has shaped this entire evening into some kind of test.
The servers move into the room with the first course, setting plates in front of each of us. But no one reaches for their fork. No one speaks.
Not until she gives the signal.
Evie lifts her chin and surveys the table. She looks satisfied in a way that makes my skin feel too tight. This is exactly what she wanted, the entire room watching, waiting, trying to anticipate her next move.
I let my gaze drift over the table. The pressure builds, like the air before a thunderclap. Evie sits straighter, fingers tapping on the stem of her wine glass. No words. Just a small click of her nails against the crystal.
She has our attention. And every part of me wants to be anywhere else. Most of us are just poking at the food, but Dylan and Matthew dive right in to clean their plates.
After a few minutes, Evie lifts her glass and holds it there like she’s calling a meeting to order.
“Updates,” she says.
Sera jumps first. She always does. Her voice wavers as she explains something about the community board and the letters they’ve started sending. She tries to talk strategy and upcoming deadlines.
“I thought maybe if we scheduled—” Sera says.
Evie cuts her off.
“You’re letting them set the pace. You sound unsure.”
Sera blinks. “I’m not unsure. I just—”
“You’re apologizing,” Evie says. “You don’t even hear yourself anymore.”
Breathe in. Count to four. Breathe out. Count to four.
Sera swallows and tries again. She barely gets three words out before Evie slices her open a second time.
“That’s enough. If you can’t speak with conviction, then don’t speak at all.”
Sera’s shoulders cave in. She nods. It’s habit at this point, not agreement.
Josie steps up next. Her voice is steadier. She talks about the community backlash and the conversations happening online after Evie’s recent questioning by the police. She’s trying to sound informed and calm.
“I’ve been tracking the messaging,” Josie says. “There’s a pattern forming, and we might need to—”
“You’re spinning too many possibilities,” Evie interrupts. “Stop trying to predict every angle and act.”
Josie stiffens, lifts her chin, but swallows whatever she wanted to say.
Dylan watches them, his face a mask. He taps his fork against his plate, a sharp metallic sound.
“Well, at least you’re thinking,” he mutters toward Josie. “More than I can say for Sera.”
Sera flinches. “Can you not tonight?” she whispers.
“Why?” Dylan whispers back. “We’re all here for the roast.”
“Enough,” Josie warns.
Dylan smirks.
Evie sets her fork down.
“Dylan,” she says. “Tell me why I should keep you involved at all.”
His grin fades. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He tries to brush it off. “Because I’m delightful?”
Evie doesn’t move. She watches like she’s waiting for him to understand something about himself he never will.
He straightens. “I’ve got meetings lined up tomorrow. I’ll bring you something concrete.”
Evie doesn’t blink. “You’d better.”
Silence settles over the table. No one moves more than necessary. Even breathing feels risky. The servers sense it too, gliding along the walls without a clink or scrape.
The next round of plates appears. When a salad is set in front of Sera, and only Sera, something in me ignites.
Evie only does this when she’s decided Sera needs “managing.” It’s the same move she used when Sera was a teenager, already cracking under her expectations.
A flash of Sera crying in my passenger seat jolts through me.
She gives me a tiny shake of her head—don’t.
But I can’t just sit here. “How are the vines looking, Sera?” I ask.
“They’re starting to push,” she murmurs. “But it’s early. One frost and we’ll be chasing damage for months.” Her fork trembles. She pretends it doesn’t. I play along.
No one is really eating. Forks lift only to move the food around, plates staying fuller than they should. Sera pushes a cherry tomato to the side. Josie saws bread. Dylan pauses mid-bite, as if he’s waiting for a blast.
Evie alone eats with appetite, her gaze drifting from face to face, using silence the way some people use knives. A conversation tries to start, then dies.
Twice someone lifts a fork, and Evie asks a question sharp enough to stop them mid-motion—first Sera, then Josie. Each lowers their hand, flustered, and Evie watches the misstep like it’s a confirmation.
Eventually, the servers return to clear plates, though most of the food remains untouched. Dylan shifts closer. He waits until Evie looks away before leaning in my direction.
“I’ve got a coffee date tomorrow,” he murmurs.
I keep my eyes on the tablecloth. “Why are you telling me this?”
“With your friend Liz.”
My breath stutters. The word lands like a punch in the direct and humiliating way only family can manage. Dylan sees it. He was waiting for it. His smile bends, slow and satisfied, right at the edge of my vision where I can’t ignore it.
“She’s out on the Unsingle,” he adds. “Thought you’d want to know.”
I don’t look at him. I don’t give him a single inch. But I’m sure my reaction is obvious because it feels like someone hooked a finger into something tender inside me and twisted.
Dylan leans back with a lazy ease that makes my teeth grind. He stretches his arm along the back of his chair like he’s settling into a private victory. Whatever happens with Evie, he got exactly what he came for.
Evie’s gaze snaps to me. She likely senses the tension. “Alaric,” she says. “You’re quiet.”
It’s not concern. It’s suspicion.
“I’m listening,” I say.
“That’s a first,” she scoffs.
A spike of heat hits the back of my neck, but I force my expression still. She studies me for a moment, then turns her attention back to her wine.
I’m angry with myself for falling for it.
I came here expecting dinner with my grandmother, believing we could have a real discussion, not another performance.
I know how she operates, yet some part of me thought this time would be different, that maybe she realized something earlier this week.
But once again, I’m disappointed—with her and with myself for expecting more.
But that’s not what’s sitting heaviest with me now.
Liz is dating. She’s moving on with a life that doesn’t include me, and I’ve missed my chance to be part of it. That’s the thing I don’t know how to absorb.
The evening ends the way it always does, once Evie gets her grandchildren to fall in line behind her, she flicks her hand in a dismissive wave, and that’s the signal. Chairs scrape back. Napkins fall. No one lingers.
Sera gathers her things with shaky hands and slips out fast, like staying another second might invite round two.
Josie moves more slowly. She looks at Evie, then me, then the table—her face blank in that protective way she uses when she’s hurt and doesn’t want it showing. Matthew waits until she steps aside, then bolts the moment there’s a clear path.
“Goodnight,” he murmurs as he passes.
“’Night, Matt.”
Dylan leaves last, tossing me a look that’s somewhere between smug and curious. “You okay there, Ric?” he whispers.
I look right past him, and eventually, he wanders out, hands in his pockets, humming like the whole evening has been entertainment.
I stay seated after the room empties. It’s quiet now but not peaceful. The tension clings to the walls. I try a slow breath. It doesn’t help.
Liz is out there living again—dating, moving forward, stepping into something new. I should be happy for her. I want to be. Instead, I’m sitting in a house where I’m treated like a piece on Evie’s game board.
I push back from the table and stand. The staff move in to clear what’s left, and I make a point to thank them. It’s the only polite thing happening in this house tonight.
As I move toward the hall, Evie watches me from her chair. “You seem off,” she says.
“I’m fine,” I answer.
“You’re lying.”
I don’t respond. I don’t give her anything to pry open.
“Goodnight,” I tell her as I go.
The air outside is a shock to the lungs after the heaviness inside. I breathe it in until my shoulders drop.
I can’t keep repeating the same patterns and expect the ache in my chest to resolve on its own. Evie will always be Evie. That will never change. I know this, so if someone is going to be different, it has to be me.
And on that note, my brain shifts gears. Liz is moving on. If I don’t meet that challenge head-on, I will lose her for good.
As they always have, both of these problems have the same solution—start making the choices that are right for me and going after the life I want.