Chapter Twenty-Five
Walker
The chill in the air isn't enough to compete with the icy tension between my father and me. I glare at him across the expanse of the bar, a barrier that feels more like it's made from our shared history than wood.
“I made a mistake,” he says, his voice gravelly with regret.
“What did she do, siphon your accounts?” My words come out like acid, corroding the last bit of respect I had for the man who chose his deceitful wife over his own son.
He shakes his head, dismissing my jab with a heavy sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I should have trusted you.”
“Yes, you should have.” The words slide off my tongue, filled with bitterness that's been there since the day he turned his back on me. Blood is thicker than water, but the betrayal still stings like salt in an open wound.
“Can we fix it?” His voice is low, but I catch a flicker of hope in his eyes.
An idea sparks to life in my mind, fueled by the thought of Isla and the future I'm determined to build with her—no, for us. “Maybe. We can start by setting things right.”
He nods, taking a drink and sitting there like he can finally breathe again.
I walk through the vineyard, where rows upon rows of grapevines stretch as far as the eye can see. The flowers are arranged just so, bursts of color against the lush greenery. The venue I've chosen breathes rustic elegance, every detail meticulously planned to reflect how serious I am about this moment.
I adjust the cuff of my shirt, feeling the weight of the ring in my pocket—a promise carved in diamond and gold that will beautifully compliment her.
I'm done playing games. Isla won’t be able to walk away—not when I tell her the truth and offer her all that I am. I won’t allow doubt or hesitation to cloud this moment. I'll bind her to me with every word, every look, every touch.
As I stand amidst the beauty I've crafted for her, my heart hammers against my ribs with a ferocity that matches my thoughts. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life as I am in this moment—I'm going to make her mine forever.
Tonight, everything changes. Tonight, I’m not her boss, the dominant force in the room. I’ll be the man down on one knee asking the woman he loves to share forever. Tonight, I’m simply Walker—the man who loves Isla more than his next breath. And I will fight with every fiber of my being to ensure she becomes my first wife, my last, my everything.
The moment she steps into the sun-dappled vineyard, all I can see is her. She's a living dream, and my breath catches at the sight of her. Of course, she’s going to be mad I lied, but hey, a guy’s got to find a way to get a woman where he wants her to ask this question, right?
I’d told her to dress nice because this is a vineyard I’d planned on doing business with. And here she is, a vision in a beautiful dress that can’t hold a candle to her beauty.
“Wow,” she murmurs, her eyes tracing the rows of grapevines, the petals strewn on the ground, the white drapes billowing softly in the gentle breeze. But then her gaze lands on me, and there's something I know she’s thinking about. My heart pounds, a drumbeat of hope and fear.
“You sent the flowers,” she says, unfolding the note I'd left for her the first night we’d spent together.
I nod, the confession feeling like relief.
“You have no idea how much that helped me through a hard time,” she says, her voice soft yet strong, like the undercurrent of a deep, silent river.
“Is that so?” I say. I’d hoped to do just that; give her hope when she felt lost.
“More than you'll ever know.” Her smile chases away the shadows. Then her eyes widen, taking in the gathered crowd—her mother, whose warm eyes shimmer with unshed tears; her brother, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn line, yet standing protectively close to their mom; my dad, then friends who've become family, all here, all for her.
“Walker, what's going on?” she asks, sounding breathless.
“Something I should have done a long time ago,” I say, my voice steady despite the raw nerves inside me.
She spins slowly, studying the faces, the flowers, the sheer beauty of this place I'd chosen. It's more than a venue—it's a taste of the life I want to build with her, brick by brick, memory by sweet memory.
As I drop to one knee, the ring in my hand feels perfect. “You are my person,” I say as she turns to me once more. “The one who makes me feel whole and worthy of love. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Her lips part slightly, and there's a shimmer in her eyes—a reflection of the very stars I'd steal from the sky for her if I could. For a heartbeat, the world holds its breath.
“Of course I'll marry you,” she says, and it's as if the whole vineyard exhales in joyous relief.
I rise, pulling her into an embrace that feels like coming home. “I love you,” I whisper against her ear.
“I love you, too,” she whispers back, her words filling the voids I didn't even know I had.
With trembling hands but a steady heart, I slip the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit, a perfect moment, a perfect start to forever.
Laughter bubbles around us like champagne, effervescent and infectious. I clink glasses with old friends, swapping stories, while Isla, radiant and filled with joy, is the sun everyone orbits. My gaze keeps going back to her, how the light plays off her hair, the way she throws her head back when she laughs.
I catch my father's eye across the room. We're navigating this new terrain between us, cautious but determined. Every small conversation, kind word, and nod of acknowledgement is another step on the path to reconciliation. It feels good, hopeful.
“Congratulations, son,” he says as he comes up beside me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “She's quite a woman.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, a sense of pride swelling within me. “I know.” She deserves better, but here she is, promising to be mine forever. And I’ll be hers for as long as she wants me.
As night falls and crickets and frogs begin to sing, Isla's brother, still wary, gives me a nod that's as close to approval as I'm likely to get from him, and I’ll take it.
“Ready to go?” I whisper to Isla as the party begins to dwindle.
I won’t tell her just yet, but there’s one more secret I’m just itching to reveal. She nods, and after quick goodbyes, I lead her out to the car. “I have one more surprise for you,” I say softly in the privacy of the front seat.
“Another surprise?” The curiosity in her eyes brings a smile to my face.
“Trust me?” I ask, offering her my arm.
“Always,” she says, her hand slipping into the crook of my elbow as she stands.
The drive is short and quiet as the evening air slips through the open windows, cooling us from the heat of the day. Anticipation winds up in my stomach, but it's the good kind—the kind that comes before a moment you know will be locked into your memory forever.
Pulling up to the storefront, I can feel her confusion. The Closed sign hangs lopsided in the window, the interior shadowed but for the faintest glimmer of light that escapes a back room.
“Here,” I say, unlocking the door and leading her inside.
The front room is quiet and dark, but when we step into the kitchen, I hear her gasp. Every surface gleams beneath the high-tech lights rigged up for filming. Cameras wait to capture her culinary magic. It's sleek, professional, every detail meticulously chosen just for her.
“Wha— How did you...” Isla stutters, her eyes wide as she takes it all in.
“I knew what you needed before you did,” I say with a shrug, trying to play it cool even though my heart is hammering against my ribs. “For your cooking channel. You're amazing.”
“You knew?” She sounds almost distrustful, as if me keeping this knowledge from her was wrong. I disagree.
“I knew,” I say. I want her to know that I intend to always anticipate her wishes, to support her dreams, and help her however I can.
She spins to face me, her arms flying around my neck, her kiss fierce and hungry. She’s kissing me like the world is about to end. But for us, it’s just beginning.