Chapter 10 #2
“We’re using the truth to our advantage instead of letting someone else distort it to make it something ugly.
” Brea met her eyes steadily. “You’re a brilliant authenticator who got publicly humiliated by a mentor who threw you under the bus.
You found a second chance with a family who values expertise over scandal.
You’re building something meaningful here, both professionally and personally.
You’re human, not perfect, and you're not apologizing for either. "
“Sometimes, future mother-in-law, you’re perfectly magnificent.” Riley set her tablet aside. “Maybe you should be doing my job.”
“Good heavens, no.” Brea laughed. “I’ll stick with fundraising, charities, and taking care of all of you.”
Emery let Brea’s words settle in her mind.
She'd been so focused on saying the right things, avoiding the wrong topics, protecting everyone's reputations, that she'd forgotten the power of simple honesty.
That hiding never did anyone any favors—except make them look guilty, and that brought her to another painful topic.
"What if she asks about my father?" The question came out smaller than Emery intended. She sat up taller. “Because I can’t imagine they will let that one go unnoticed.”
The room went quiet. Riley snagged her tablet, her fingers dancing across the screen. Ashley stopped playing with the ottoman's fringe. Even Hasley set down her wine glass.
“Battle everything with the truth. It’s what Walter has always done,” Brea said.
“But what if they ask the question that most people are afraid to ask?” Emery’s heart pounded.
“And what’s that?” Riley glanced up.”
“If I believe my father’s guilty of the crimes he’s been accused of.”
“That’s an interesting question.” Riley glanced between Emery and Brea.
“There is that saying, innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, something to which I know a little bit about since my mother keeps tossing it around like confetti. When she’s been asked, ‘why’d you do it’, or ‘did you do it’, she gives vague answers, like the truth will come out when I get my day in court.
But when my siblings and I are asked, we all say the same thing. ”
“And what’s that?” Emery asked.
“That we believe she put that poison in our father’s coffee, handed it to Grant, and that led to our father dying. That she purposefully, and with intent, killed our dad. No question.”
“Yeah, but people in this town always think something," Hasley said. “Unfortunately, not enough time has passed since Sean was murdered, and there are a few idiots who whisper that maybe it wasn’t Elizabeth. That may be something else happened.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Ashley added, "half the people talking probably have family members with secrets. Everyone's got something. The difference is whether you own it or let it own you."
“The problem is I don’t know what to believe when it comes to my father.
” Tears welled in Emery’s eyes. She hated herself for even having one single doubt, but she had plenty.
Her dad never once publicly defended himself.
He had a team of lawyers, but all he said was that time would fix everything.
And to her, that sounded like a guilty person.
“If asked, I worry I’d stumble over the question, giving that reporter something to chew on, to twist and distort, and the next thing that would happen is my poor dad would be watching on YouTube how I think he’s guilty. ”
Riley was typing furiously now. “Thing is, you can’t comment on what you don’t know, and we can use that. It’s an ongoing investigation. Simple.”
“Now, what about the Harold situation?" Emery asked. “We know that’s going to keep coming up, and I’m honestly tired of dodging the question.”
“What do you want to say about it?” Riley asked.
Emery thought about the humiliation, the betrayal, the three months of carrying shame for something she didn't do. "I want to say he's a lying snake who destroyed my career for—and that’s the problem. I don’t know why he did it.”
"Perfect. Say that." Brea shrugged.
"Mom.” Riley's voice rose. “You know she can’t say that.”
“Maybe not those words, but no reason she can’t be honest.” Brea smiled. “Emery didn’t do it. And you called me mom.”
“It just slipped out.” Riley sighed. "Right now, we need Emery to sound professional, not vindictive."
"Why can't she be both?" Ashley asked. "Professional people can be righteously pissed when they're wronged.
Emery looked around the room at these women—Devon's mother, his sisters, his brother's girlfriend, who was practically family already. They were strong, opinionated, and unafraid to speak their minds. They weren't asking her to be perfect, polished, or politically correct.
They were asking her to be real.
“It sounds like I’m fighting back,” Emery said quietly.
“I like it, but we should make sure Walter’s on board,” Riley said.”
“He’ll agree. I’ll make sure of it.” Brea's voice was warm with approval. "But we have to be smart. Don't sink to Harold's level. Don't make wild accusations you can't support. Just tell your truth and trust that people who matter will see it for what it is."
"And the people who don't?" Emery asked.
"Fuck them," Hasley said cheerfully.
“Language.” Brea's tone held no real censure.
"What? You were thinking it." Hasley laughed.
"I was thinking it more diplomatically." Brea raised her coffee cup and sipped, with her pinky sticking out.
The room erupted in laughter, the tension breaking like a burst bubble. Emery felt something loosen in her chest—anxiety giving way to something that felt almost like confidence.
"Okay," Riley said, still smiling as she composed herself. "Let's go through a few more potential questions. I’ll ask them like I’m the reporter.” She cleared her throat. “Emery, what drew you to wine authentication specifically?"
"The intersection of art and science," Emery answered.
"I've always been fascinated by provenance—how you trace an object's history, verify its authenticity, build a narrative from fragments of evidence.
Wine authentication combines chemistry, art history, detective work, and storytelling.
It's like solving a puzzle where the pieces span centuries. "
"Perfect," Riley said, typing. "That's exactly the kind of answer that shows your passion and expertise. Now, what about—"
"Riley, sweetheart, she's got this." Brea interrupted gently. "Stop drilling her like she's preparing for a deposition. Let's talk about something else for a few minutes. Give her brain a rest."
“Oh, no. Don’t. I beg of you.” Riley set the tablet down. “I’ve known this family my entire life, and it was hard on me coming back in. Imagine how overwhelming it’s going to be on her.”
“Her is sitting in the room, and frankly, I’m getting a little tired of everyone speaking like I’m not here,” Emery said, turning her attention to Brea. “Whatever you want to chat about, I’m good with.”
“Let’s discuss the fact that Devon's been staying at your place since the break-in." Hasley’s grin was wicked. "How's that going?"
Emery felt her face heat. "It's... he's being protective."
"I'm sure he's being very protective," Ashley said, her tone suggestive. "And from the way you two look at each other, I'd say the protection is mutual—and hopefully being used, unless you want to beat Riley into parenthood.”
“That’s not funny,” Riley said. “I can’t even get your brother to understand all the hints I’ve been dropping since I learned about that engagement ring. If he doesn’t do it soon, I might be the one dropping to one knee.”
“Well, that’s a revelation.” Brea clasped her hands together and rubbed vigorously. “And while I’d love to sit and discuss that for hours, because you know I’ve got ideas, we were discussing Emery and Devon’s… living situation.”
“We’re not living together. He’s just staying there because of the break-in,” Emery stammered.
“But you are dating and sharing a bed.” Brea winked.
Emery opened her mouth, but absolutely nothing came out. She closed it then tried again. “Are you always this blunt?”
“It’s my superpower,” Brea said. “Biggest thing I’ve learned about being like that is blunt gets blunt back, and I value that. Sure, I’ve got some opinionated children because of it. But look at the kinds of partners they choose.”
“Um, Bryson married Monica and Devon dated Callie,” Ashley said. “Until recently, they’ve both had shit taste in women.”
“We all make mistakes.” Brea waved her hand like she shoved a bee out of the way. “A lot is going on right now, and some of it sucks. But you and Devon are good. It’s new and exciting. Enjoy it while it lasts."
"That sounds ominous," Emery said.
"Not ominous. Realistic." Brea's smile was gentle.
"The beginning of a relationship is intoxicating.
Everything's heightened—the attraction, the connection, the feeling that you've found something special. Savor that. Because eventually it settles into something deeper but less dramatic. Still wonderful, just different. I don’t want all this outside drama to take that away from you.”
"Mom's being philosophical because she and Dad just celebrated their anniversary," Hasley explained. "She gets nostalgic."
"I'm not nostalgic, I'm practical." Brea sipped her coffee. "I'm saying that right now, Emery and Devon are in the honeymoon phase. Everything feels urgent and intense. That's normal. But it doesn't mean it's not real."
"How do you know the difference?" Emery asked before she could stop herself.
"Between infatuation and love?" Brea considered the question.
"Time, mostly. Infatuation burns hot and fast. Love builds slowly and lasts.
But here's the thing—every lasting love starts with infatuation.
You can't skip that part. You just have to be willing to see what's underneath once the intensity fades. "
"That's actually kind of beautiful, Mom," Ashley said.
"I have my moments." Brea looked at Emery.
"My son cares about you. I can see it in how he looks at you, how he talks about you when you're not around.
Whether that becomes something lasting—that's for you two to figure out.
But don't let fear or doubt or other people's opinions rob you of that exploration. "
“Easier said than done.” Emery smiled, even if her insides were rolling around like they were tossed out on the ocean in a dinghy during a Category 5 hurricane.
Brea set down her coffee mug. "Now, let's talk about something important. Have you thought about what you're wearing for this interview? Because I have a closet full of clothes for special occasions. You know, like when you want to destroy someone.”
“You should’ve seen the dress Mom lent to Riley for the garden party.” Hasley twisted her hair. “Monica’s jaw was on the floor.”
Emery glanced down at her outfit. A modest top. Cream, not white. It didn’t cover her neck, but it wasn’t revealing. And a pair of slacks. Very professional. "I was just going to wear this?"
"Absolutely not." Hasley stood from the window seat. "You're wearing black pants and a cream sweater. You look like you're going to a funeral."
"What's wrong with cream?"
"It washes you out," Ashley said. "You need color. Richness. Something that says, 'I'm confident and professional' without looking like a corporate clone."
"I have a burgundy blouse in the guesthouse—"
"Burgundy says wine industry without being too on the nose. And it'll look great on camera, but I think that cabernet colored blouse I just bought last week and my dark skirt with the slit would look stunning.”
“Oh, I totally agree. And the lighting in here would catch the colors perfectly,” Riley said.
“I’ll go snag them and bring them to the bathroom down here.” Hasley jumped to her feet and raced off.
Emery could hear male voices from the den down the hall—Devon, Bryson, Walter, probably Gabe. They were being kept separate intentionally, Riley had explained, so that the women could prepare Emery without male opinions cluttering the strategy.
"You're going to do great," Riley said, reaching over to squeeze Emery's hand. "I know this feels overwhelming, but you're stronger than you think."
"I hope you're right."
The doorbell chimed, echoing through the house.
"That'll be Sarah," Riley said, checking her watch. "Right on time."
Emery felt her stomach drop. This was it. The interview would either help rebuild her reputation or cement her as the woman from the scandal.
"Breathe," Ashley said, standing and offering her hand. "You've got this."
"Remember," Brea added, "authenticity over perfection—truth over polish. And if in doubt, just be yourself. That's more than enough."
Hasley appeared with the new outfit. "Quick change in the powder room, then showtime."
Shaking, Emery took the clothing and headed for the hallway bathroom. In the mirror, she saw a woman who looked terrified and determined in equal measure. A woman who'd been knocked down but hadn't stayed down. A woman who was tired of hiding and ready to fight back.
She changed quickly, smoothed her hair, and took one last steadying breath.
Then she walked back to the family room to face whatever came next.