Chapter 32
Thirty-two
Kingston
The train ride in from Bordeaux was long, and the sun set hours ago.
But we’ve arrived at the George V. The hotel is all marble floors and gilded mirrors, the kind of place I’d usually breeze through on the way to a meeting.
Tonight, it feels different. Our suite is quiet, the city outside muffled behind thick curtains and double-paned glass.
A vase of peonies sits on the table, pale pink petals already loosening.
The whole room smells faintly floral and expensive, like luxury pretending to be effortless.
For once, I let myself breathe. Elise and I have been in Bordeaux too long, always under someone’s eye, always pressed between work and other tension. Paris is a bubble, and I want to hold it in my hands before it bursts.
The bathroom door clicks open, and she pads out barefoot. Damp hair hangs in loose waves around her shoulders. She’s wearing one of my shirts, sleeves rolled twice at the wrists, hem brushing the tops of her thighs. She stops when she sees me watching.
“You’re staring,” she says, arching a brow.
I don’t look away. “You make it impossible not to.”
Her lips twitch. She crosses the room and curls into the armchair opposite me, tugging her feet under her. I catch myself memorizing the way she twists her hair into a loose knot, then lets it fall again. It’s nearly impossible to fathom, how much space she’s carved out inside me.
A knock at the door interrupts the thought—room service. Two glasses of burgundy, still breathing in the decanter. I tip the server and set the glasses on the table between us.
Once I pour, Elise lifts hers and holds it toward me. “To Paris,” she says.
Our glasses meet with a soft chime. The wine tastes like dark fruit and velvet, but what lingers is the shine in her eyes. She drifts toward the balcony, sliding the glass door open. City noise rushes in—traffic, laughter, the faint wail of a siren blocks away.
She points, grinning like a kid. “There it is.”
The Eiffel Tower blazes against the night, each light a gleaming pinpoint. She leans on the railing, bare legs catching the glow.
I step behind her, close enough to feel the warmth from her skin. Paris has never meant anything to me beyond negotiations and handshakes, but tonight, it feels like the center of the world. Or maybe she does.
She glances back. “I can’t believe we’re going home so soon.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. Time feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, every hour with her borrowed, every breath in this city one step closer to reality. Back home, there will be the vineyard, the family, the sabotage, the endless demands. Here, there’s only us.
“Do you think it’ll feel strange being back?” she asks.
“Strange without this, yes.” I force my tone light, though my chest tightens.
She studies me for a beat, as if she hears everything I didn’t say. Then she turns back to the city, letting the silence stretch.
I can’t stand it. I pull her gently inside, away from the chill, and guide her to the sofa. She tucks against me easily, head fitting under my chin.
“You’re brooding again,” she murmurs, voice muffled against my shirt.
“I’m memorizing,” I tell her.
“Dangerous habit.”
“Necessary one.”
Her laugh is quiet, soft as the fabric beneath my fingers. I hold her tighter, greedy for the weight of her against me, the sound of her laughter, the taste of wine still on her lips when she lifts her face to kiss me. I don’t want to think about tomorrow.
But I do. I should be savoring Paris—the view, the food, the city spread out like a jewel.
Instead, all I can think about is what waits at home and how I’ll integrate this life with her into the demands of everything else.
Can this survive reality? Can I leave myself open to the future’s possibility without being overrun by fear, by the experiences of my past?
The vibration of my phone slices through the quiet. Elise stirs against me, her head lifting from my chest. I fish the phone out, already hating the intrusion.
Cal: Need to regroup tomorrow. Everyone available?
So much for the bubble.
I exhale slowly, feeling Elise’s gaze on me. Her eyes are wide, wary, as if she already knows this night in Paris just shifted into something heavier.
“This is Cal. He wants to talk to everyone, and that means it’s time,” I say quietly. “We need to talk to them, because everyone includes you.”
She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest, her wine glass forgotten on the table. “Who exactly is everyone?”
“My brothers. My sister. My parents.” I watch the nerves flicker across her face, the way her teeth worry her bottom lip.
“They’re your family,” she says. “Not mine.”
The words sting more than she intends, I think. She’s not wrong. But she doesn’t see what I see, that she already belongs in the middle of this mess, like it or not.
“They’re your family too,” I tell her.
Her head snaps toward me. “Kingston—”
“No,” I cut in, firm but gentle. “You’ve been in this fight with us since you were born. You’ve seen things, connected dots none of us could. They need to hear your perspective. And I want them to see you with me.”
She presses her lips together, color rising in her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can face them right away. What if they don’t think we belong together?”
“Then they’ll answer to me.” My voice is edged with the protective anger that’s been simmering for weeks.
Her eyes soften. “You’d do that?”
“Already have. Already will.”
For a long beat she studies me, the city lights painting her profile gold. Finally, she nods. “Okay. Set it up.”
I shift back, phone heavy in my palm as I find the family group chat.
Me: Cal has an update he’d like to give us together. How does Sunday 10 a.m. your time work? I’ll host the call. Elise and I will join from Paris.
The three dots appear almost instantly.
Ryker: You just sent this to me. I’ll let everyone know. Vancouver time.
I guess I only thought that was the family chat. I confirm, then set the phone face down on the table.
Elise leans against me again, quiet, but I feel the tension in her body. I press my lips to her hair. “Don’t overthink it,” I murmur. “They’ll see what I see.”
She tilts her head up, her eyes catching mine. “And what do you see?”
“The woman who’s been holding this whole thing together while the rest of us scrambled. The woman who’s even better prepared to lead now than she was before.”
Her throat works as she tries to swallow a smile, but her nerves don’t vanish. She exhales shakily, and then puts her head back down. I keep my arm around her shoulders.
Despite the late hour, the city moves on outside our window—lights, sirens, laughter.
Inside, I hold her tighter and imagine tomorrow, when the screen fills with familiar faces and one that’s new to the gathering.
Elise isn’t wrong. They are my family. But whatever my own worries might be, I know she belongs in that frame.