Chapter 33
Thirty-three
Kingston
Morning comes too fast. Light slants through the curtains, too bright for the weight I feel pressing down on my chest. Elise fusses with the hem of her blouse while I balance the laptop on the desk by the window.
She’s quiet, and I can tell she’s been rehearsing what she might say—or not say—since she got up.
“You look perfect,” I murmur.
She blushes and looks away. “Thank you.”
“Are you ready for a day of exploring? We’ll talk to them before we have a late dinner.”
“I can’t wait.”
We head out, and the morning air is cool, carrying the scent of river water and fresh bread.
Paris comes awake around us, but at a terrace café perched just above the Seine, it feels like the city belongs only to us.
The waiter sets down a basket piled with croissants, their golden layers flaking under my fingertips, and a carafe of steaming coffee.
Elise tears off a piece of pastry, eyes sparkling as she takes a bite. “These taste so much better here than they do at home,” she murmurs.
I watch her as part of the view, the sweep of the river catching early light, the distant silhouette of Notre-Dame rising like something out of a dream. “You say that about every croissant,” I tease, pouring her coffee into the tiny porcelain cup.
She rolls her eyes, but her mouth curves up. “Because they keep proving me right.”
We linger, sharing jam and bites of croissant, until she leans her chin on her hand and asks, “What’s next?”
I rise and offer her my arm. “A walk along the Seine. Let Paris tell you herself.”
A cobbled path follows the river, lined with green bookstalls opening for the day.
Old postcards flutter in the breeze, their edges curled, while rows of leather-bound novels and prints of Monet’s lilies catch the sunlight.
Elise pauses at every stall, fingers tracing the worn spines, delight flashing in her eyes when she finds a sketch of the Eiffel Tower from decades ago.
“You’re taking this home,” I say, handing the vendor a few euros before she can argue.
“Kingston…” she protests, though her face softens as she slips the sketch into her bag.
We walk until the bridges arching across the river bring us into the heart of the city.
The bells of Notre-Dame toll as we climb the steps, and Elise tilts her head back, awed by the gothic towers.
Sunlight filters through stained glass, washing her face in blues and reds.
I slip my hand into hers, anchoring us in the crowd.
From there we wind our way through narrow streets, past cafés spilling over with tables, until the wide boulevards open and the Eiffel Tower rises in the distance, steel lace against the sky.
Elise stops short, breath catching. “It’s so much better than I thought it would be.”
I tuck her close. “Wait until we’re standing beneath it.”
She looks up at me, and Paris itself seems to pause, the river glittering, the tower watching, the whole city bending to witness the way her smile steals the air from my lungs.
We have lunch at a cute café along the Seine and wander in and out of the little boutiques.
Elise seems intent on trying to stop me from buying everything I catch her looking at.
For the most part she succeeds. By the time the sun begins its slow descent, we’ve circled back along the river to slip into a waiting car.
The city fades into twilight as we return to the George V.
Upstairs, I settle Elise with a glass of wine.
Her gaze flickers around the room, nervous and unconvinced. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
I reach across the desk and catch her hand. “It’ll be fine.”
Before she can argue further, the screen fills with faces.
Ryker first, then Greyson and Beckett, all crammed together in the tasting room back home.
Tarryn leans in from the side, eyes sharp.
Then Cal is on, and finally, my parents—Dad in a pressed shirt, already frowning and Mom smoothing a scarf around her shoulders.
There’s a beat of silence as they take us in. Elise stiffens beside me.
“Well, hell,” Ryker says, breaking the pause. “Look who finally brought a date.”
Greyson whistles. “About damn time, Kingston.”
Beckett grins. “Paris, huh? You always did like overkill.”
Elise flushes pink. I squeeze her hand tighter. She mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear, “What, no applause?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. My family probably didn’t catch that, but her spunk is enough to convince me she hasn’t lost herself.
Mom grins. “Elise. What a…lovely surprise.”
Dad doesn’t echo the sentiment. He just studies her with that detached air that’s made more than one of us kids squirm.
I clear my throat. “I’m in France to make sure she comes back to Paradise Hill.”
My siblings exchange looks, and Tarryn blinks, lips parting like she might ask something, then thinks better of it. Ryker shifts in his seat but holds back his wisecrack.
The silence stretches long enough for Elise to fidget with her sleeve. Then she whispers, more to herself than anyone, “Well, this isn’t awkward at all.”
I squeeze her hand again as Cal, our private investigator, clears his throat and jumps in. “Right. Well. Good you’re all here because we’ve got developments.”
The mood shifts immediately. Cal straightens papers in front of him, jaw tight. “We traced the last round of payments connected to the vineyard sabotage. They didn’t stop with local hands. This goes deeper—professional saboteurs, contracts, shell companies funneling the money.”
Greyson swears under his breath. Beckett leans forward, brows drawn.
“Who’s behind it?” Ryker demands.
Cal looks grim. “I chased it down to a company based in the Cayman Islands. The two shareholders are Maximus Paradise and Evelyn Dempsey.”
My chest clenches as everything in me freezes. What. The. Fuck?
“That’s impossible,” Tarryn whispers. “Why would they do that?”
“Max and Evelyn,” Greyson mutters. “Together?”
Ryker bangs his hand on the table. “What the hell? They hate each other.”
Beckett rubs his jaw, his mind working, always the strategist.
Mom’s eyes close, pain written across her face. Dad mutters something about family reputation, his voice clipped.
“Dad, what do you want to do?” I ask.
After a beat, Cal checks his watch. “I’ve got to run.
I’ll send you the details of this and let you discuss.
Meanwhile, we’re continuing to dig. Let me know what else I can do.
I’m still gathering evidence on who they’re paying to do the sabotage because it’s no longer Zach.
I’ll be in touch.” With that, his square disappears from the screen, leaving only my family.
Mom clears her throat. “So. What now?”
Dad leans forward first, his voice careful. “We’ve got to prevent this from happening again. Exposure like this could ruin us.”
“You think?” Ryker snorts. “What’s Ginny going to do?”
Beckett shoots him a warning glance, and then turns to me. “Do we have a plan?”
Before I can answer, Elise clears her throat. “At Chateau, they run checks every week—staff audits, supply tracking, even cross-verifying shipments against independent logs. It’s tedious, but it makes sabotage harder to slip through unnoticed.”
All eyes swing toward her. I can feel her fingers twitch against mine under the desk.
She goes on, gathering confidence. “They also keep a rotating oversight committee. No one person controls the whole process. It builds accountability.”
I smile. She’s clear, practical, offering solutions instead of fear.
Dad leans back, arms crossing. His tone is dismissive. “This is Paradise Hill. We don’t need French bureaucracy choking our operations.”
The words land like a slap. Elise’s expression falters, though she tries to hide it. Her chin lifts a fraction, eyes flashing before she forces them down. “It isn’t bureaucracy. It’s protection,” she says quickly.
Dad scoffs. “Protection is what people talk about when they don’t understand how a real vineyard is run. Leave the book learning to the French.”
She lowers her gaze, shoulders curving inward. And something in me snaps.
“Don’t dismiss her,” I counter. Dad’s brows lift, but I don’t stop.
“Elise has seen firsthand how a large house operates. Don’t think for a minute that once we get to the bottom of whatever Max and Evelyn are up to, it’s going to go away.
This is going to happen again and again.
She’s not suggesting weakness. She’s offering safeguards we clearly need. ”
“Kingston—” my mother tries, soothing, but I shake my head.
“No,” Tarryn interrupts. “Kingston’s right. I know the repercussions of Max’s betrayal are big. That’s why this requires a change in our response. If you don’t want to listen, fine, but don’t belittle Elise, who actually has the perspective to help.”
The air goes razor sharp. On the screen, my siblings are silent. Beckett’s eyes narrow, and Ryker leans back with a smirk, not mockery, but satisfaction that I’ve finally raised my voice to our father.
Dad doesn’t answer right away. He studies me with that cold, assessing look I’ve hated my entire life. For a heartbeat, I’m sixteen again, trying to prove I belong.
But then Elise’s hand squeezes mine under the desk.
Finally, Dad exhales through his nose. “I’m sorry, Elise. I didn’t mean to disregard you or your suggestion. We’ll discuss safeguards later. Right now, we need to get to the bottom of the relationship between Evelyn and Max.”
Which means never, unless we force it. But for now, it’s the only retreat we’ll get.
Mom clears her throat, her voice smoothing the jagged edges. “We all want what’s best for Paradise Hill. Perhaps we should take time to review options before we act.”
The call devolves after that—half-hearted updates, Greyson cracking a joke to ease the tension, Ryker needling him back. But the weight remains, and I don’t miss the way Tarryn’s gaze lingers on Elise, thoughtful and unsettled.