Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, I woke to the sound of a rooster. My eyes fluttered open, and I laughed. I really was in the French countryside.
After my morning coffee, I ventured out to explore the property—my property. The idea still wasn’t sinking in. If this wasn’t a reality show, then I had to be dreaming. Wake up anytime now, Elodie.
I wandered along the chateau's perimeter, my fingers trailing over the sun-warmed stone facade. My eyes roamed every inch, cataloging each weathered crevice and fading sculpture. The scent of wild rosemary and thyme wafted from the nearby herb garden, mingling with the earthy aroma of the vineyard stretching out before me.
As my gaze swept over the neat rows of grapevines, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze, reality hit me like a sledgehammer. Restoring an old house was one thing, but this? This was an actual operational vineyard. What the hell did I know about any of this? Who was even running things now? Who was keeping the gardens alive? Paying the vineyard workers? Was anyone still making wine? In all the chaos, I hadn’t thought to ask.
Details, Elodie. Never had been my strong suit.
“ Bonjour .”
I whirled around, startled. I exhaled when I saw the neighboring winemaker standing there. Remi, wasn’t it?
His piercing eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made me want to shrink into the stonework.
"Oh, hi. Bonjour ,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "You scared me."
Remi said nothing, his silence as heavy as the midday heat. His sharp blue eyes bore into me, making me so uncomfortable that I instinctively stepped back, the rough stone of the chateau scraping against my bare arm.
Finally, he spoke, his voice as dry as the dusty gravel path. “Elodie, right?”
“Right. Remi, wasn’t it?”
He nodded. “ Oui . What are you doing?”
"Oh, uh, just sort of assessing the property. Figuring out what needs to be repaired. Trying to decide if I'm absolutely insane for getting myself involved in this.” I glanced up at the length of the old house.
“Getting involved?”
I turned back to face him. “Oh. Right. I—in an interesting turn of events, Pierre left this place—to me.”
For a moment, Remi’s expression was a gnarled pretzel of confusion. “ Quoi ?”
“It’s pretty strange for everyone, I admit. Caught me off guard.”
Remi shook his head slowly as though processing, then muttered a few words in French I couldn’t decipher.
Finally, he exhaled and shrugged. “How nice for you then. It was nice to see you, Elodie. Have a good day.”
He turned then and walked toward the back of the house. What had just happened?
"Hey, wait, what are you doing?" I called after him.
He stopped and turned, fixing me with an icy stare. For a moment, I nearly backed down, but then I remembered—this was my house now. I had every right to know what he was doing.
"I just have some business," he said, his words clipped. "I must speak with étienne."
"What kind of business?" I pressed, lifting my chin slightly.
His eyes narrowed. "That's not really your business, is it?"
Okay, so he was going to be like that. Apparently, the French weren't particularly known for their warm embrace of strangers. I crossed my arms, feeling the fabric of my sundress stick to my sun-warmed skin.
"Fair enough," I said, injecting a hint of sweetness into my voice. "But I don't remember telling you that you could conduct business in my house." I narrowed my eyes but paired the gesture with a friendly yet authoritative smile.
He laughed, the sound dry and harsh.
"Figures.” He turned away again.
"What figures?" I called after him, my earlier bravado fading fast.
"That you would come and suddenly start bossing everyone around. Act like you own the place."
This time, it was my turn to laugh incredulously. "Well, I kind of do own it. You know, as of like yesterday. So, I think I'm entitled to know what goes on."
He sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. "I am just talking to étienne about the wine. I mentioned to you that I was helping Pierre. We have to coordinate some shipments. The last batch that your grandfather commissioned is ready to be bottled."
I tilted my head, studying him. “Wait—did you actually make wine for him?"
He nodded slowly, and for a moment, I thought I caught a flicker of emotion in those steely eyes.
"Toward the end. Oui . As I told you, things got hard for him once he got too sick and tired to do the work himself. So, he commissioned me to help out. He figured this would be the last harvest. He wanted it to be a good one. Final batch to remember his last sixty years in this place."
The words hung in the air, laden with a sadness and nostalgia that tugged at my heart. I swallowed hard, pushing down the lump forming in my throat.
"So you knew Pierre well then?"
Remi worked his jaw, the muscles tensing visibly before he nodded. "Well enough. I spent more time here than his grandchildren did. Your siblings, I guess. They didn't really care about this place. étienne cared about the business side of things. And he worked on some of the distribution. But it was all Euros to him."
“That’s sad to hear.” I shook my head. “I would have spent every moment of my life here if I could have.”
I felt his eyes boring into me and I shook off the budding emotions.
“Anyway. I’m happy to hear you were here.”
He offered a tight smile that wasn’t really a smile.
“Well then. If Madame has no objections, I should get to it.”
I waved my hand in a soldier’s salute and said in a terrible—or perhaps terribly awesome— British accent, “Carry on, good sir.”
Remi shot me a look that bordered on disgust.
“Right. Ok. See you later.” He shook his head as he turned and headed around the side of the house.
Only a couple of days in, and I was really filling up my awkward resume.
That afternoon, I took a nice long nap and woke to the sounds of mellow French jazz humming through the old walls. I smiled, feeling like I had been transported through space and time. I got up and followed the music downstairs like a siren’s call. It led me to the formal sitting room. I froze in the doorway.
étienne, Régis, and Félicité were huddled around a nearly empty wine bottle, their postures as stiff as the paintings on the walls. The air crackled with unspoken tension.
"Elodie," Félicité blurted, her voice dripping with guilt.
" Bonjour ," I offered, the word hanging awkwardly in the air. "What's going on?"
Silence. Eyes darted around the room like startled birds, refusing to land on me.
"Is everything OK?" I pressed, my stomach doing somersaults.
Félicité finally broke. "We were just discussing some of the terms of the inheritance."
My insides clenched, but I forced my face into neutrality. "Oh? Has there been a change?"
"Unfortunately not," étienne snapped, his words sharp enough to draw blood. "But that doesn't mean there won't be."
Something in me snapped. "OK, look. Can we drop the pretense and just be honest? What's really going on?"
étienne and Régis exchanged a loaded glance before étienne dropped the bomb. "Fine. I'm going to contest the will."
The words hit me like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," étienne continued, his casualness more cutting than anger. "It's nothing personal, Elodie. But this place doesn't belong to you. The house, the furnishings, the vineyard. You don't have any right to it."
My jaw unhinged. I looked to Félicité, my supposed ally, but found her suddenly fascinated by the bottom of her empty wine glass.
"I see," I managed. "On what grounds?" I aimed for confident, praying my legal ignorance wasn't showing.
"On the grounds that you've never been part of this family. Our lives," étienne said, his tone softening a fraction. "I don't mean that harshly, but it's the truth."
My hands shook as I sought eye contact with each of them. "Félicité?" I pleaded.
She bit her lip, conflict etched across her face. "I—I don't know, Elodie. It's all very sudden, and étienne has a good argument."
The room suddenly felt too small, too stuffy. The gentle jazz in the background had morphed into a mocking soundtrack to my crumbling world.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself against the onslaught of emotions. The room felt charged, like the air before a thunderstorm.
"I can understand why everyone's upset," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "We all need time to process. But if you're going to take legal action, then I'll have to get a lawyer too."
étienne's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise flashing across his face. I saw it then—they saw me as some na?ve little girl. Then it dawned on me that I was actually the oldest person in the room, a realization that nearly made me laugh. All my life, people had made me feel small, inconsequential. Evan. Even my well-meaning mother. But they weren't here to protect me now. So, I would protect myself.
I straightened my spine, drawing strength from a well I didn't know I had. I might be quiet, analytical, not the loudest voice in the room, but I'd survived plenty on my own.
"That's your right then," étienne said, his tone clipped.
Régis stepped forward, hands raised like a UN peacekeeper. “I don’t think anyone wants a fight here, Elodie. None of us want to get entrenched in some legal battle. We all just want to do what’s fair. But you must see reason. Grandpère wasn’t exactly within his right faculties toward the end. He made a lot of crazy decisions and wasn’t thinking clearly. And you have to admit that it’s a little suspicious that you just show up here unannounced, after more than thirty years of no one even knowing about your existence.”
My lip quivered at his words. Elodie, just the forgotten child who had been allowed to fade into the distance without a second thought. But I held strong.
"That's not entirely true. Dad knew about me. Pierre knew about me. Whether they talked about me is a different story."
Félicité's eyes flashed with sympathy, caught between family loyalty and compassion. I felt a pang of envy at the bond between these siblings—something I'd yearned for all my life. All the good and all the bad. The fights and the tears, Coming together as one. And I saw now that maybe I could have that chance. But not if we got entrenched in some sort of legal battle.
“Maybe we can all sit down with the lawyer. Altogether, as a family,” I suggested.
They stared at me intently. The word 'family' hung in the air like an uninvited guest. I could see it in their eyes. They thought I was an interloper. Someone robbing them of something that was rightfully theirs.
Even Félicité didn’t look certain.
"Can I be honest?" I started, deciding to lay my cards on the table. When they said nothing, I cleared my throat. "I've always wanted this. A family. I grew up with just my mom, no siblings. Distant grandparents on my mom’s side I saw once a year. I hardly knew anything about where I came from. All I had was one faded photo of an old French house. And now my mom is gone, too. So being here, seeing there's more to my story... I don't want to let it go. I want to be part of this with you. To know you. To be your sister."
Silence fell, heavy as a blanket. The two boys stared at me hard and Félicité's gaze ping-ponged between us all, her platforms shifting nervously. I fought the urge to fill the void with more words, letting what I'd said sink in.
Allowing étienne to see me. Really see me. I really hoped he would.
Finally, étienne sucked in a breath. "How can we trust you?"
The question caught me off guard. Was that the crux of it all—trust?
"By getting to know me," I said simply, hoping my sincerity shone through.