Chapter 24 - Aurélie #3
“Gave her a full check before I left. Oil is fresh and tires are good,” étienne said, tossing the rag he’d been holding onto the nearby workbench. His voice was casual, but there was something weighted beneath it—something unspoken. “She drives like a dream.”
“She’s perfect,” I said quietly. I hadn’t driven her since the end of last season. My life had shifted so drastically the moment I signed with Luminis, that I had barely spent any time at home since the start of the year.
“You’d better treat her like it.” He smiled faintly, that same familiar brotherly grin. “You’ve poured your heart into restoring her.”
I turned toward him then, really looking at him. “You helped, remember?”
He shrugged, modest as always. “Maybe a little.”
For a second, it almost felt easy again. Like we were just siblings, teasing each other over engines and torque wrenches. Like we had never turned on each other at all.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” I blurted before I could talk myself out of it. I didn’t look at him as I added, “Back in Monaco. I should have waited to tell you when we weren’t arguing. I wasn’t fair to you.”
étienne stilled beside me, like he was trying to decide whether to nod or brush it off. “You weren’t,” he said finally, but there was no bite in it. Just honesty, and maybe a little relief.
I glanced over, surprised by how gently he said it.
“But,” he went on, turning toward me fully, “I wasn’t exactly a saint, either.”
I scoffed, but couldn’t stop a small smile from forming. “Understatement.”
He huffed a laugh, his gaze dropping to the gravel for a beat.
Then he leaned back against the side of the car, folding his arms. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then.
Watching you go through all this—your first season, the press, the bullshit politics.
People comparing you to me like it was some kind of baton pass instead of its own goddamn career. ”
He shook his head. “I knew it was going to be hard. But I didn’t realize how isolating it would be for you. How much you were carrying by yourself.”
“I could’ve said something,” I admitted. “I should’ve. But… I didn’t want to make it worse. You were recovering. And I felt guilty. About everything. About accepting the seat. About the way they—” I stopped, my voice thinning out. “I just didn’t want you to think I took it lightly.”
His head came up sharply, eyes locking on mine.
“Aurélie… you’re my sister. My twin. I don’t care if you took my seat.
It’s not about that. It’s never been about that.
” He paused, something raw flickering across his face.
“I should’ve been looking out for you. And not in the ‘I read the headlines’ kind of way.
Actually looking. Asking. Instead, I was an asshole because I was angry that I was out of the sport. ”
“I know you didn’t mean to…” I paused. “But what you said still hurt. And I didn’t know how to tell you that without making you feel like you owed me something.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said firmly. “Least of all an explanation for doing the thing you were born to do.” His hand landed lightly on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. For not seeing it sooner, and for letting my own ego make me miss all the celebrations that should have been about you.”
I looked up and saw a softness I hadn’t seen in months. Maybe years. It said I’m still here. The knot in my chest didn’t disappear. We still had a lot to sort through—boundaries to set, truths to admit—but it loosened. And it was enough to let the air in again.
“Alright,” Emilie said lightly. “Now that the reunion’s over, can we go inside? We have to drive back tonight, but I wanted to make us all dinner while étienne does the heavy lifting.”
I laughed, watery but real. We each grabbed a box and some paper bags and trudged back toward the house. Boxes crowded the entryway and spilled into the kitchen, but neither Emilie nor étienne seemed fazed.
“I’ll work in here,” Emilie announced, lifting the chilled items out of the basket with quick efficiency. She moved like someone who needed no instructions—already pulling open cabinets and drawers to see what I’d already unpacked.
“Ray, just tell me what goes where,” étienne offered.
I stood in the middle of it all for a second, useless and unmoving. Watching them move so naturally in my space, as if they’d done this before. Like it wasn’t strange that we hadn’t seen each other in months and now they were here, grounding me with paper towels and local cheese.
“I brought a fresh cut of lavender and verbena for your diffuser,” Emilie said casually as she lined up bottles of wine, preserves, and soft cheeses in the fridge. “From the estate, not the shop.”
“My diffuser?”
“Yeah, the one you left in your room. Don’t worry.
I didn’t go snooping. I just wanted this to feel like a home for you.
I’ve seen the headlines. Your sex life is on display, like you aren’t already enough of a public figure, and the speculation with the FIA.
We’re all clueless as to what’s going on behind closed doors.
So I figured that you could use a sense of home here.
” She said it all so casually as she rifled through my kitchen boxes.
I sighed, wincing from a deep cramp. “Ah, yes. All that. Don’t worry, my publicist is the best in the game. As for all this…” I gestured to the basket. “You didn’t have to, but it’s much appreciated.”
“I wanted to.” She glanced over her shoulder as she put my knife block on the counter. “It still smells like you when I walk into the cellar.”
That shouldn’t have made me cry, but it almost did. God, the tears were creeping up now. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold them in.
She pivoted toward the island with a bamboo utensil holder in hand, placing it in the drawer to the right of the cooktop before pausing, her voice softer this time. “We’ve kept your room the same at the house. Just in case.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
I just nodded and directed our brother on what room upstairs my unassembled desk would go, then opened up a box.
The glass cups were separated by dividers.
I pulled one out with each hand, placing them side by side in one of the cabinets even though my hands were still trembling.
étienne returned a while later, flushed and sweaty. He bent over and braced his hands on his knees. “Jesus, how much shit do you have?”
I glowered at him as I broke down the box I’d emptied. “I bought a house, étienne. So, a lot.”
“I’ve done at least six hauls. I don’t even want to know how many more I have. There’s still so much on the goddamn porch.”
That pulled a laugh from me.
étienne stepped over to the counter, pulling his keys from his pocket and flipping out the built-in corkscrew.
Perks of having a family in the vineyard business: one of us always had a bottle opener on hand. A corkscrew was practically a birthright.
He popped the cork clean and held the bottle out.
I leaned in, inhaling the soft bloom of the wine—a blend of summer-ripe stone fruit, orange blossom, and the faintest kiss of oak.
Soleil d’Or always smelled like home. It tasted like it, too.
Warm and elegant, like our family’s land taught it to speak in full sentences.
I arched a brow. “Wild vines? Papa must be panicking.”
Wild vines meant rebellion. They twisted away from their guides, reaching for sun and soil on their own terms. Sometimes it made the grapes unpredictable, sometimes it made them extraordinary.
Emilie pulled out three wine glasses from a cabinet we’d just finished stocking. I eyed the glasses, guilt pooling in my stomach. Of course I could drink. But the mere thought that I was actively miscarrying made me want to drown in something stronger.
“He’s pretending to be mad, but secretly he loves it.” étienne poured us all a glass and passed one to me. “He said it reminds him of your first solo blend. The one you made in secret when we were fifteen.”
I snorted, lifting the glass. “Oh my God. I forgot about that. I snuck berries from the ripest row and added them to the late harvest muscat batch. Then I spilled sugar all over the press and tried to clean it up with a mop I’d dipped in rosemary water.
It fermented so weird, like—jammy lavender disaster. ”
“You made Maman cry when she tasted it,” Emilie added dryly.
“She said it was ‘a beautiful mistake’.”
“She also grounded you for two weeks,” étienne reminded me.
I laughed, and it felt good. Real.
We lifted our glasses and clinked gently.
“To beautiful mistakes,” étienne said. “And wilder vines.”
The chardonnay was soft on the tongue, sun-drenched and a little floral, with hints of nectarine and lemon peel. Bright and smooth, with a slow-burn finish. My go-to blend from our vineyard.
“And Maman…” étienne hesitated. “She keeps setting an extra plate every Sunday. Says it's a habit, but she’s not subtle.”
Emilie set a wooden cutting board down, placing a small wedge of cheese on it. “They miss you. Even if they won’t say it the way you need them to. You left a hole when you said you weren’t coming home until you moved your stuff out, Ray. One that even you couldn’t outrun.”
I blinked fast, looking down into the golden hue of the chardonnay. “I didn’t mean to leave things like that.”
“We know,” étienne said simply. “And so do they. But time does heal all wounds.”
Silence drifted in around us—but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was whole, as though something had been unearthed, and didn’t need to be explained further.
They kept unpacking. Emilie moved on to stacking towels in the bathroom.
étienne unboxed the coffee maker and set it up, taking time to wind the cord, rinse the carafe, and test the brew setting.
I trailed after them in small bursts, grabbing hand soap for the sink, folding tea towels beside Emilie.
The house began to take shape—not all at once, but in flickers.
A chair in the corner. Candles lit. Bed made.
Bathroom linens hung. Familiar laughter drifted in from the living room as étienne found a picture frame I hadn’t realized they’d brought.
It was a candid from the vineyard harvest four years ago.
My hair was shorter. étienne had a sunburn.
Emilie still had braces and unfortunate bangs.
I reached for it slowly, brushing a thumb across the edge of the glass.
“We’re still here, you know,” Emilie said softly. “Even when you’re not.”
For some reason, that’s when it hit me.
The life I was currently losing. The one I hadn’t gotten to meet. The one who didn’t make it because my body was a grave it didn’t deserve.
I imagined whispering those same words to it. I’m still here, even when you’re not. The guilt was nearly crippling, because I survived and it didn’t. I’m sorry, I wanted to tell it. I’m sorry I failed you.
I loved it as much as the others I’d lost. They were all a part of me. Just like a part of me was lost with them.