Chapter 35 #2
I go in and sit down on the family room couch as everyone else arrives for dinner. I don’t know when Kingston comes to sit next to me. We’re both exhausted.
When Greyson arrives with Theo, I bring out a few handmade tops I picked up for him.
They were made by a local craftsman near Chateau.
Greyson settles Theo in his highchair, and I set the tops spinning across the tray.
Theo lights up, reaching for them with chubby hands, catching them only to slobber all over the wood.
His delight makes me laugh. I open boxes of chocolates, but the croissants and bread we carried back don’t taste quite the same.
Dinner is a blur. Everyone is there, voices and faces weaving together until I can barely track the conversations, and my eyes are so heavy. Before long Kingston is leading me back to the helicopter, and Kevin flies us home.
“What time do you want to leave tomorrow to return to Paradise Hill?” he asks as we land.
I have to think. “How about seven?” It seems impossible that I’ll be in any sort of shape by then, but I have to try.
He nods. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
I agree, and Kingston takes my hand, guiding me inside and to his room. I’m beyond exhausted, thirty-six hours without real sleep catching up all at once.
Somehow, I wake before the sun on Monday morning, disoriented, but with Dad’s warning echoing in my head.
I shove it aside and pull on my boots. Work.
But caffeine first. That is something I can control.
I can hear Kingston in his home office talking to someone over his computer speakers. I won’t bother him.
Kevin is in the kitchen talking to Simone, and I hand her a small gift bag that has some French perfume and some handcrafted measuring cups I found in a stall in Paris.
She hugs me. “I love these. I need to get a date so I can wear this perfume.”
I glance over to find Kevin looking at her, but she doesn’t see it. Looks like they might need a little help to make something happen there.
I drink three shots of espresso and hope it’s enough to get me through the day. Then Kevin leads me out to the helipad, and within minutes, we’re on our way, flying over the lake. During the trip, he hands me his phone, and I enter my number and then text my phone, so I have his.
“Just call me,” he says once we’ve landed. “I’m about eight minutes away and can come get you anytime.”
He leaves me at the Paradise helipad, and Tarryn is there waiting for her turn. She’s off to meet with a security company to talk about what they suggest for the property, but Kevin tells her he needs to make a couple of adjustments first.
She nods at him and turns to me. “Got a minute?” she asks.
I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day on the Zoom call. About Chateau and how they handle things.”
“The audits?”
“Yeah. The audits, the supply tracking, the idea that sabotage is just…part of the business.” She folds her arms. “I know you’re right. And we need some of those systems here. That’s why I’m taking this meeting today. But I hate the idea that everyone just accepts it and moves on.”
I exhale slowly. I remember feeling that same way. “It’s not that they don’t care,” I tell her. “It’s just scale. When you’re producing at Chateau’s level, losing a thousand cases doesn’t shut you down. It barely makes a ripple. So they focus on prevention and documentation instead of outrage.”
Her brow furrows. “Still feels wrong.”
“Of course it does. And that’s also not the case for us. Every loss matters. But putting systems in place is not about giving up. It’s about control. They build mechanisms that catch problems quickly, so one mistake doesn’t become a disaster.”
She nods, but I can still see resistance in her eyes. “I get it. I do. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
I smile faintly. “Me too. But protecting the vineyard doesn’t mean you stop trusting people. It just means you have precautions in place.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Trust with a safety net.”
“Exactly.” I rest a hand on her arm. “Your family built something beautiful here, Tarryn. Systems don’t make it colder. They make it last.”
She gives me a grudging nod. “Thanks. That will help as I’m meeting with the security company.”
I give her a quick hug and head toward the office as she and Kevin prepare to rise into the air again. I want to start by reacquainting myself with the land.
After a quick stop in Tarryn’s office, I step back out into the morning.
The vineyard is hushed, the air cool with dew.
I walk the rows with my clipboard, scanning the notes Jerome, Chateau’s exchange vintner, left behind.
But his scribbles don’t all make sense, and worse than that, some tasks are half done, and some not touched at all.
How did this all get by Dad? I crouch, fingers brushing bare soil where cover crops should have been planted weeks ago. My stomach knots.
Inside the winery, it’s worse. I find inventory lists with gaps, and barrels that should have been rotated months ago still sitting in the same spots, a fine layer of dust on the hoops. I press my palm to the wood. They are good barrels, but wine will not forgive neglect.
I tug off my sweater, roll up my sleeves, and start working. One barrel at a time, shoulder to the staves, I shift them slowly, the floor creaking under their weight. My muscles burn, sweat gathering along my spine, but it feels good to make something move again.
At the calibration station, I check the hydrometer.
The readings are off, almost laughably so.
I sigh, adjust, test again, repeat until the line settles where it should have been weeks ago.
But each click of the gauge steadies my chest. And as the line holds true, I remember Kingston’s comment in one of his emails, teasing me about precision—wine is patient, Elise, but only if you respect her tools.
By the time I circle back to inventory, my hands are streaked with oak dust and ink. I scrawl corrections into the margins, circle missing shipments, make notes to call suppliers. Every unchecked box feels like a failure I have to correct.
“Elise?”
I jump at the sound of Tarryn’s voice. She leans in the barrel room doorway, arms folded, a half-smile on her face. “You’ve been at it since dawn. You almost ready for dinner at the main house?”
Dinner. Kingston. My pulse stumbles.
My head hurts, and I just want to go back to Kingston’s and crawl into bed. “I can’t. Not tonight. There’s too much.”
She raises a brow. “There’s always too much. You’ll drown if you never come up for air. Plus, you have to get back to the right time zone.”
I want to argue, to tell her I’m right where I need to be, fixing what slipped while I was gone. But then I picture Kingston waiting at that long family table, his brothers teasing, his mother’s smile.
I set the clipboard down with a sigh. “Fine. Just let me wash up.”
Tarryn grins. “I’ll hold you to it.”
When she disappears, I press my palms against the counter and breathe. I will never catch up in one day. But I can’t miss tonight. Not when Kingston will be there.
I scrub my hands until the dirt finally lifts from under my nails and change into a soft blouse and dark jeans I keep here on the off chance I need to go into town.
I twist my hair into a braid. When I’ve finished, my reflection looks tired but steadier, like I’ve shaken some of the vineyard dust off of me.
Still, my pulse picks up as I cross the gravel drive toward the main house. Dad’s words come to me again, and I struggle to push them down. It’s no good to worry about trusting the person keeping me steady in all this newness. I just have to believe…cautiously, I guess…
The door is already open, voices spilling out, the kind of noise that only comes when all the Paradises are under one roof.
“Look who finally showed,” Greyson calls as I step inside. He’s lounging against the counter with a beer in his hand. His gaze moves to Kingston, then back to me. “Didn’t think you’d let her breathe without you.”
Heat rushes up my neck, but Kingston doesn’t take the bait. He just pulls out a chair for me, steady and unbothered. That calm of his grounds me as I slip into the seat beside him.
Their mother swoops in before I can catch my breath, wrapping me in a hug that smells of lemon and butter. “You look tired. How’s the jetlag?” she asks, her smile bright and certain.
I stand a little taller at the warmth in her voice. “It’ll be a few days before I’m back on track,” I reply.
Then the teasing starts, bouncing around the table. Beckett jabs Greyson about his ego, and Ryker mutters something under his breath that has Tarryn swatting him on the arm. Laughter rises and falls in waves, and for a moment, I just sit and absorb it, letting myself belong.
At some point, Kingston excuses himself.
I catch the soft scrape of his chair and the quiet click of the door as it closes behind him.
No one else seems to notice—conversation continues without pause—but I do.
His absence lingers beneath the noise. Is it Hope again?
What could be so urgent? What makes him so unsettled?
By the time he returns, plates have started to circle the table. He moves to my side again, one hand brushing the back of my chair as he sits. There’s a faint crease between his brows that wasn’t there before.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, leaning toward him.
He nods once. “There’s an issue at work,” he says under his breath. “Nothing serious, just something I’ll have to deal with tonight.”
I nod, deciding to believe that’s true.
Once everyone has their food, the conversation turns. Greyson brings up the vineyard almost casually, but the lightness drains from the room.
“Zach’s name came up again today,” Kingston says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Cal sent me a message. He believes he’s back from Mexico.”
Forks pause, chairs creak.
“Zach is here?” Tarryn frowns. “Back in Paradise?”
“Word is yes.” Kingston’s gaze sweeps the table. “And Max is behind all of it. Every problem, every crack in this place, it all traces back to him.”
Trace sets down his fork. “I’ll deal with it.”
“No.” Vicky’s voice slices through, firm in a way that silences even Greyson. “Not alone. Tarryn goes. And one of you boys.”
“Mom—” Tarryn starts.
But Vicky shakes her head. “I never thought Max was dangerous,” she says, her eyes moving over her children. “I knew he was bitter, but I didn’t think he would sabotage his own family. I misjudged him. I won’t do it again.”
The room goes quiet, heavy. My heart hammers, my hand twitching under the table. I reach for Kingston’s hand.
Zach’s return changes everything—the questions, the blame, the fragile peace this family has been holding together with careful smiles and good intentions.
Kingston’s thumb traces slow circles over my hand, a small motion that feels like an anchor. But even that can’t quiet the thought pressing forward in my mind.
If Zach’s back, then the past isn’t finished with them yet.