Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Daisy
Beckett
I’ll be in the city all day tomorrow for meetings. Try not to burn the place down before we can sell it. Don’t use the stove. At all.
I didn’t realize the gas burner was still on. And whose fault is that??? But yes, I shall try to survive without you
Beckett
See that you do. I expect you to be ready and waiting for me when I get home.
I might even get started without you
Beckett
Just don’t finish without me.
Why are you texting anyway? I’m literally across the hall from you
Beckett
We don’t talk much these days…which means I’m currently sleep-deprived yet determined to get my full six hours.
If you weren’t so busy trying to fuck me out of your system, you wouldn’t be having this problem. Good luck with that, btw. That’s like asking a junkie to stay clean.
Beckett
It sounds as if you have me confused with one of the degenerates you’ve dated in the past.
Of which there were many. Many have come before you…many will follow…you’re just a pit stop on my road to recovery…
Beckett
Happy trails to you!
On Friday morning, I wake up feeling horny and angry and oddly bereft.
Last night, I dreamed that Beckett was the Beast, leading me in a waltz around a ballroom dripping with chandeliers. With every turn on the dance floor, I caught our reflection in the antiqued mirrored walls.
The Beast wore a suit and tails, and I wore an ice-blue gown that matched his eyes.
We danced and danced, twirling and spinning until I got dizzy, but he held me aloft so my feet never touched the ground.
When I kissed the Beast, he transformed into Beckett Heyward, and that’s when the dream took a turn for the worse.
He dragged me out of the ballroom, shoved me out the front door, and then he set fire to the castle.
I tried in vain to save the castle he was so intent on destroying, but he held me tightly. And even though I kicked and screamed and fought, he overpowered me, so my attempts were futile.
He wore a triumphant smile, and I shed tears as my beloved castle went up in flames.
He won, I lost, and in the end, all that remained of the castle was a pile of rubble and ash.
Beckett’s beautiful face was cruel and twisted, and there was a sardonic gleam in his eyes when he said, “That’ll teach you to tempt the Beast, princess.”
He dropped me to the ground, and I fell to my knees, crying for the Beast who had been so sweet and gentle and loving.
The Beast who had twirled me around the dance floor, putting a bright, happy smile on my face and hope in my heart.
Now, in the light of day, the dream is still so vivid in my mind that I can almost believe it happened.
I lift my camera and take a photo in the gilt-framed mirror.
Belle, after the ball, leaning against a midnight blue wall.
Beckett has already left for his meetings in the city so the kitchen is empty when I get downstairs.
Was the dream a premonition?
Is this how the whole thing will end?
Is he so focused on revenge that he would sooner burn everything to the ground and destroy it than build upon his father’s legacy?
While it was only a dream, it feels like a metaphor for our entire relationship.
You’re being ridiculous, Daisy. It was just a dream.
Laughing at myself, I shake it off and walk out the door to get on with my day.
“It’s crush season,” Callie singsongs when Hunter and I join her for lunch in the olive grove.
“I can’t wait,” I say, spreading whipped ricotta on a slice of baguette and drizzling honey over it. Luckily, the harvest is a few weeks earlier this year so I’ll get to experience most of it before I leave.
“Beckett said we’ll start harvesting the grapes in a few days,” Hunter says, flipping his baseball cap backward.
“It’s a huge relief that he’s so organized,” Callie says. “Robert was a last-minute guy so we’d always scramble to get everything ready in time. But Beckett has already ordered all the supplies and hired a temporary vineyard crew, so you’ll have all the help you need.”
Beckett’s organizational skills don’t surprise me a bit.
I laugh to myself thinking about the spreadsheets and lists in the leather binder he handed me on our first day. I’m more like Robert—always scrambling to get everything done at the last minute. I’m more impulsive and spontaneous than Beckett. But it’s nice to have someone who thinks ahead and handles all the nitty-gritty details.
“So, how are you feeling about your harvest internship?” I ask Hunter.
“Yeah, good.” He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I think this might be my thing.”
I give him a big smile. “I’m so happy for you. It’s the best feeling when you find your passion.”
“Yeah. I’ve loved every minute of it. I was going to ask Beckett if he would consider hiring me full time.”
No point in mentioning that Beckett will be selling this place and be gone in a month. I’m still hoping to convince him to keep it. Not because it’s what Robert wanted, but for Beckett’s sake.
“He’d be a fool not to. You’re pretty much the model employee. You work hard, and you always go above and beyond.”
“Maybe you can put in a good word for me.”
“I’d be happy to. But I’m not sure how much it would help. I don’t think he’s ever listened to my opinion on anything. The man is so contrary that he does the opposite of everything I say just to annoy me.”
Hunter chuckles. “Yeah, okay.” He laughs again and shakes his head like he’s in on a good joke I’m not privy to. Next to me, Callie is laughing too.
I look from one to the other. “What’s so funny?”
“Everything he does is for you,” Hunter says.
Callie nods. “Yep. It’s Daisy this and Daisy that.”
I snort. “You guys are delusional.”
“Did you enjoy all those blackberries he picked for you?” Hunter says. “There wasn’t a single berry left on the bushes when he was done.”
“Good try but I already know that you picked those blackberries.”
“Nope. I delivered them. He picked them.”
I’m stunned into silence. It was right after I sprained my wrist. That was weeks ago.
“And how about that rush order he put in for the cabernet sauvignon labels,” Callie says. “I was there when you told him you didn’t like the new ones. And sure enough, just a few days later, he told us we had to change them.”
Once again, I’m too shocked to speak.
Even though those were little things, I can’t help but attach a bigger meaning to Beckett’s small acts of kindness. The cinnamon rolls, the night he covered me with a blanket when I fell asleep on the outdoor sofa, the blackberries, the morning he made breakfast and peeled oranges for me.
Despite not wanting to care about me, I think there was always a small part of him that did, but he just never wanted to admit it.
It’s probably a mistake to allow myself to believe that what we have is more than just sex, but I can’t help but think it is.
“The only reason I’m sitting next to you at lunch is because he’s not here today,” Hunter says.
Ugh. I could live without his control freak tendencies. “That’s ridiculous. We should be allowed to sit wherever we want. What’s his problem, anyway?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Hunter says. “He’s jealous. Full disclosure. I did have a crush on you in the beginning but I never would have acted on it.”
My jaw drops. “And why not? Do I look like the kind of girl who doesn’t deserve a nice guy?”
Hunter laughs. “No. You deserve the world, Daisy. But I knew something was going on with you and Beckett right from the very first day.”
“Trust me. Nothing was going on.” I can say that with absolute conviction because it’s true.
“And now?” Callie asks, giving me a coy smile.
“We’re just two frenemies sharing a house.” And having sex with no strings attached. I take a fortifying drink of water to cool my flushed cheeks and steer the conversation into safer territory. “So, how are things going with you and Ian?”
“Good.” Callie nods. “We’re taking it slow though. I need to earn back his trust, you know?” I nod. “I need to prove to him that he’s the only one for me and that I’m not that same stupid girl I was at eighteen.”
Judging by the way Ian looked at her the night we all had dinner together, I’d be willing to bet that all is forgiven and that he’s still madly in love with Callie. “So he’s the love of your life?”
Callie smiles. “He is. Being with him again…” She sighs. “It only reinforced what I already knew. No one could ever compare to him. No one has even come close. But I think we both needed some time to grow up.”
“He seems like a good guy,” Hunter says. “He gets my seal of approval.”
“No offense to Ian because I totally agree,” I say, my gaze swinging to Hunter. “But is there anyone you don’t like?”
Callie laughs. “Fair point.”
Hunter is the nicest guy in the world and never has a bad word to say about anyone.
“I don’t like everyone ,” he protests. “But I don’t actively hate anyone either. You never know what someone is dealing with, so I try to give people the benefit of the?—”
“There she is. Hello, my dear.” My gaze snaps to Harold who stops on the opposite side of the table and mops his brow with a handkerchief. He looks like a character in a Tennessee Williams play in his linen suit and snow-white hair.
“Hey, Harold.” I force a smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d swing by and see how you’re doing. Where’s Beckett today?” His gaze scans the grove like he’s expecting Beckett to pop out from behind a tree and yell Surprise!
Leave it to Harold to choose the one day Beckett isn’t here to pay us a surprise visit.
“Oh. Beckett is…meeting with restaurant and wine bar owners.” I cross my fingers under the table and pray that no one calls me out for the blatant lie I’ve just told.
Neil chimes in from the other end of the table. “He’s been working hard to ensure that the Heyward Estate wines are available in every establishment in Sutton Ridge and beyond.”
“You don’t say,” Harold says, tucking his handkerchief in his pocket. “Well, I’m glad to hear he’s taking an interest.”
I give Neil a grateful smile. He returns it with a conspiratorial wink like we’re in this together.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch,” Harold says with a pleasant smile aimed at me. “But may I borrow you for a few moments? This won’t take long.”
“Of course. I’ve finished eating.” When I stand, it’s the cue for the whole table to get to their feet.
I join Harold, and we take a little stroll through the orchards.
I love that I can reach up and grab a juicy peach right from the tree. I grab two and hand one to Harold, hoping that it will sweeten him up.
I don’t trust him, and I’m not his biggest fan, but there’s no point in alienating him when we’re so close to the finish line, so I’ll play nice.
“I’ll save mine for later,” Harold says as I take another bite of my peach, and juice dribbles down my chin. “So, how have you been getting on, my dear? Are you enjoying your time on the vineyard?”
I take three more bites of the peach and toss the pit, wiping my sticky hands on my T-shirt and nodding. “I’m having the time of my life.” And it doesn’t even feel like a lie.
“Good. Good.” He rocks back on his heels and strokes his whiskered jaw. “I heard an interesting rumor the other day.”
My shoulders tense, but I force a smile and keep my tone light. “Oh? What’s the word on the street?”
Harold loves to drag things out, so he starts walking again, his thumbs hooked in his suspenders, and I dutifully fall into step, wishing he’d just get to the point already.
It’s not until we reach the lane that leads from the winery to the house that he finally speaks. “I heard Beckett is looking to sell this place to his uncle.”
His uncle?
I wasn’t even aware that Beckett had an uncle. Harold must be confused. “I can assure you that’s just idle gossip.”
“Hmm. Maybe I was mistaken.”
He sounds casual enough, but I know better than to think this conversation is over. Harold is a lawyer by trade, and I’ve never met a lawyer I could trust.
We follow the lane to the driveway where his Mercedes is parked, and when we stop next to his car, I’m on edge, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“So there’s no truth in it?” He turns to face me, eyes shrewd. “He’s not, in fact, looking to sell to Michael Castellano?”
It takes everything in me to keep my expression neutral and my jaw from dropping. Michael Castellano is Beckett’s uncle ? How are they related? I didn’t even know Robert had a brother.
I shrug. “Not that I’m aware.” Why am I lying for Beckett when he didn’t even have the common decency to tell me the truth?
“So you have no knowledge of this?”
I think Harold is just taking a stab in the dark, hoping I’ll cave and give him the information he wants.
He’s bluffing. He has to be. Beckett asked the Castellanos to keep it confidential, and they assured us they wouldn’t say a word.
“I don’t think Beckett is looking to sell at all.” That, of course, is yet another blatant lie and just wishful thinking on my part, but Harold doesn’t need to know that.
“I hope you’re right. But if, by some chance, you’re not, I hope you do the right thing.”
“I have every intention of doing the right thing. You know my plans. You’ve known them from the start.”
“Yes, my dear, I know. And I’ve kept that under my hat. But I sincerely hope you’ll do everything in your power to ensure that Robert’s legacy is kept intact.”
After my shower, I drop onto the outdoor sofa, phone in hand, and debate my options.
I could just ask Beckett if Michael Castellano is his uncle.
Or I could gather the information on my own.
I gnaw on my lip, replaying the conversation with Michael and Gabriella over lunch. There was never a single mention of Robert’s relation to Michael. In fact, Robert never came up in the conversation at all. Not once. There was no mention of a family connection whatsoever.
But if it’s true, why didn’t Beckett tell me? Why would he withhold that information?
Because he can’t be trusted.
Because he has a hidden agenda that he doesn’t want you to know about.
God. That man is so infuriating. He’s happy to stick his dick inside me, but he still doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.
I thought, at the very least, that we were becoming friends, but I guess I was wrong.
I’ll just have to ask someone who will give me a straight answer and get my information from someone I trust.
I swipe my thumb over the screen and call Pete. After we exchange greetings, I get right to the point. “What can you tell me about the feud between Robert and Michael Castellano?” Yeah, subtlety has never been my strong point.
Pete sighs. “Do I want to know why you’re asking this?”
It dawns on me that this might not have been the best approach because now I’m going behind Beckett’s back. “Probably not. This needs to stay between us.”
“Guess I should have known it would come to this. Is Beckett thinking of selling the vineyard to him?”
“Maybe. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“When Beckett was a boy, he used to ask me about the feud all the time. Back then, he was angry that anyone would tamper with his father’s vineyard. Now I’m guessing he’s just angry at Robert.”
“Can you blame him?” There I go again, defending Beckett. Why do I keep taking his side? I’m not sure he deserves my loyalty when all he’s ever done is shut me out and lie to me.
“No, can’t say I do. But he’s better than this. He just needs to be reminded of that.”
I mull that over for a moment, wondering why everything is falling on my shoulders when I’m getting absolutely nothing in return.
But I’ve been asking myself that question for months, and I don’t have an answer so I steer the conversation back to the Castellano/Heyward feud. “Why did Michael and Robert hate each other so much?”
“It went way back to their father.”
“Their father?” I don’t know why I sound so surprised. Harold told me Michael was Beckett’s uncle, but I didn’t understand how he could be. “They were…Michael was Robert’s brother?”
“His illegitimate brother. Michael’s mother was the Heywards’ housekeeper. Coincidentally, they lived in the gatehouse.”
Of course, they did. That’s where the Heywards have kept their dirty secrets over the years.
The gatehouse isn’t even there anymore. I have no idea what happened to it but it used to be in the cathedral of trees where the hot tub now lives.
“Michael and Robert grew up together, but their father never acknowledged Michael as his son,” Pete says. “When the old man died, Robert inherited everything.”
Another Heyward patriarch who pulled a dirty trick.
What is wrong with these men?
“Meanwhile, Michael went off and made a fortune on Wall Street,” Pete continues. “When he returned, he bought a neighboring vineyard and tried to outdo his brother. Michael was on a mission to take everything away from Robert, and of course, Robert retaliated. They stole each other’s girlfriends. Drained each other’s wine barrels. You name it, they did every dirty deed in the playbook. That feud went on for decades.” Pete sighs. “What a mess.”
The Heyward men certainly know how to hold a grudge. Revenge obviously runs in the family. “Money makes people do such horrible things.”
“I think it goes deeper than money. Michael became wealthy enough to buy the vineyard ten times over. But I think…and this is just speculation, mind you…but when a parent refuses to acknowledge their child, that cuts deep. And when a father plays favorites and gives everything to one son, that son believes they’re entitled to it. Robert was the chosen one, and Michael felt slighted.”
Robert could have done the right thing by giving his brother half but chose not to.
Instead, he went to war with him, and now Beckett has decided that the best revenge would be to sell this vineyard to his father’s enemy. His father’s half-brother.
Talk about bad blood.
“Thanks, Pete. Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no bother at all. Feel free to call me anytime.” He pauses. “But the more I think about it, the more I suspect this is why you’re here.”
I sit up straighter in my seat. “To prevent the sale? Or to mend the rift?”
“I guess that’s for you to decide.”