Chapter 47
Forty-seven
Alaric
Three months later
Last night, Liz and I had a nice dinner out, and I’m more and more convinced that we’ve settled into a good place. She’s moved out of the cottage she was renting and into my house like this is where we were always meant to be. I don’t ever want to spend another night without her.
Evie, on the other hand, has spent the last three months going back and forth with the police.
Somehow, she’s not in jail, but that’s only because she’s Evelyn Dempsey.
And even so, our world has been shaken up.
My sisters and cousins have all been questioned.
We’re waiting for the shoe to drop when the Crown finally gets all their evidence in line.
I should be getting ready for work, but I’m sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of green tea that’s gone cold. Outside, the sky hasn’t decided whether it wants to turn gray or stay blue. My phone vibrates across the wood, and I recognize the number before I even pick it up.
I already know what they’re going to say.
The officer’s voice is calm and measured. There’s no urgency now, only procedure. He informs me that my grandmother was taken into custody without resistance. She was processed. She’ll be transferred to the regional facility this afternoon. The district attorney will make a statement later.
I thank him, set the phone down, and breathe through a heaviness that doesn’t belong in my chest, yet has lived there most of my life.
For a moment, I stay seated, trying to feel the ground under my feet.
The tea tastes bitter when I swallow, but it anchors me enough to stand and reach for my jacket.
I need to get to Sera and Josie. The vineyard is going to be chaos with the press.
I’m halfway down the hall when I hear a soft noise behind me.
Liz steps into the kitchen, ready for another day at the hospital. The morning light touches her hair, and the look on her face tells me she already knows what’s happened.
“Was it the police?” she asks.
I nod.
Her hand slides over mine. The warmth of her touch pulls something tight inside me.
“You should go to them,” she says. “I’ll join you if you’d like.”
I want to tell her she doesn’t have to. I want to tell her she’s already done more for me than anyone. I don’t say any of that. I just nod again and let her fingertips brush against my palm before we gather our things and step outside.
“I’d like to make a stop on the way,” she says as we get in the car.
She directs me to her favorite bakery, and she’s in and out in a minute. Now, the car is full of the scent of cinnamon and warm bread.
We drive on to Sera and Josie’s house, and I park on the gravel driveway and sit for a second, staring at the front window. The curtains are open. It’s a small thing, but I know what it means. They aren’t hiding today.
Inside, Josie’s sitting at the kitchen table with a mug she hasn’t touched. Her eyes are red but dry. She looks up the moment she hears me, and something in her breaks. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a soft collapse of breath as I pull her into my arms.
Sera stands by the counter, arms folded tight across her chest. She meets my gaze, and for a heartbeat, her expression softens. Her anger has built a shell around her for months, but today, it looks cracked at the edges. “We knew it was coming,” she says.
I nod. I did too, but knowing hasn’t made it easier.
I stand with them, one hand on Josie’s shoulder, the other reaching for Sera’s. I tell them they’re not alone. I tell them I’m here. They listen, but more importantly, they lean in.
Liz sets the bakery bag on the table and rests a gentle hand on Josie’s back.
Josie’s breath hitches once, then steadies.
Liz looks at me, her eyes calm, clear, and quietly protective.
She’s here the way she’s been here for weeks for all of us, steady and sure, a presence that makes the room feel less brittle.
“Thank you for coming,” Sera says to Liz.
“Of course,” Liz answers.
After a few minutes, Addie and Ginny arrive.
And we hold on to each other all over again.
There’s no talking or forced comfort. Just the six of us in the quiet kitchen while the morning proceeds around us.
It feels like the beginning of something, like a life where we’re not holding our breath all the time.
I look at my sisters. Then at Liz. I feel something like peace take shape inside my chest. We don’t know what Evie’s arrest means.
She told all of us she was ready for whatever fake news was going to do.
But this morning we don’t talk about it.
We sit together and eat our cinnamon rolls, drinking coffee and tea.
The vineyard is awake and busy by the time we leave my sisters. The fruit is set and the canopies are growing, so there’s much to be done. The July air outside is warm, and it feels clean. Liz slips her hand into mine as we walk to the car.
I drive us to the hospital with the windows cracked. The road unwinds in front of us, and neither of us speaks. There’s no need to fill the silence.
We each go our own way when we get to work, but Liz leans over and kisses me before she starts down the hall. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”
I squeeze her hand. “Promise. And I can make something for dinner tonight.”
She smiles. “I’ll order takeout.”
Back at home at the end of the day, we move to the living room where she curls against one end of the couch, knees tucked. I sit beside her, close enough to feel the heat coming off her. The fading light washes across her face, soft and warm, catching on the tiny lines of worry.
I trace the back of my fingers along her arm. “Are you okay?”
She looks at me, her expression open in a way I’m still getting used to. “I’m all right. I’m more worried about your sisters.”
“They’ll be all right,” I say. “It’ll take time. But they’re stronger than they think.”
“And you,” she says quietly.
I lean back. “I’ll get there too. Today was…a lot. But it needed to happen. And now, it’s done. No more anticipating.”
She nods, as if she understands every piece of what I’m not saying. She’s been doing that more lately. Seeing me without trying to fix anything, meeting me where I am instead of where I should be. It’s a kind of care I didn’t know I needed until I had it.
“You were good with them this morning,” she says. “They needed you.”
I nod. “I spent a long time stepping around the worst parts of this family. Today felt like facing it head on.”
“You did,” she answers. “And you didn’t fall apart.”
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. She shifts closer, head resting against my shoulder. Her hair brushes my jaw, and the scent of her shampoo settles the rest of the tension under my ribs.
We sit like that for a long time.
After a while, she lifts her head to look at me. “You didn’t have to do this alone.”
“I know,” I say. “I just didn’t know how to let anyone in without losing myself.” I breathe out, slow and steady. “It’s different now.”
“It is,” she says. “For both of us.”
The last of the daylight fades, leaving the room washed in gray-blue.
I press a small kiss to her hair. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She leans into me with an ease we both once thought we’d lost, and knowing she’s found it again with me brings gratitude I feel to my core.
Today was heavy. Tomorrow might be too. But this is growing into something that won’t break under pressure. And I want whatever comes next.
Liz spoke with Hudson yesterday after we got to the hospital and told him I was going to need some time away from the press—and she was going to join me.
Miraculously, he agreed to give us Friday off.
He’s gradually stopped being so defensive about our relationship.
Once he realized that apart from Evie, the current generation of Dempseys and Paradises are doing a much better job of sharing space with one another, he let go of the idea that being involved with me somehow means Liz is putting the funding for her position in danger.
So, instead of working today, we’re out in the fresh air.
We’re not going far, just out to Big White, but it’s enough distance to breathe without feeling the weight of the last few months.
I drive us along the lake as the sun climbs higher, the water catching the light in long streaks that look almost metallic. Liz watches the shoreline through the window, her fingers resting loosely against mine on the console.
My dad’s cabin sits at the edge of a narrow inlet, tucked between tall pines that sway just enough to break the stillness.
It isn’t fancy—two rooms, a small deck, a view that stretches across the water like a slow exhale.
When I see it again, a hush settles inside me.
There’s something about this place that feels like hitting a reset button.
I unlock the door, and Liz steps inside. The smile that moves across her lips makes the entire drive worth it.
We spend the afternoon doing nothing that would count as productive. We walk the path behind the cabin. We sit on the deck with mugs of tea. We let the lake do most of the talking. Every once in a while, she reaches for my hand, and each time, something in my chest loosens a little more.
As the sun starts to drop, I build a small fire in the stone pit outside.
The air cools fast in the valley once the light fades.
Liz wraps herself in a blanket and sits close, her shoulder brushing mine.
The fire pops and crackles, throwing a warm glow across her face.
She tucks her hair behind her ear, and I watch the way the light catches the gold in her eyes.
“You look like you’re thinking,” she says.
“I am.”
“About Evie?”
“Yes, and the mess she created.”
She shifts so she can see me better. “Tell me.”
I look at the fire for a moment before meeting her gaze. “I keep thinking about how long it took me to get here. Not to the cabin, but to this place with you, where I’m not hiding from myself or pretending I’m fine while I push you away.”
Her expression softens. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s what’s different.”
She reaches for my hand under the blanket.
“I spent most of my life reacting,” I explain. “To my family. To expectations. To fear. I didn’t know how to choose for myself or how to hold onto something good without assuming I’d break it.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” she says.
“I came close.”
She shakes her head. “You learned.”
I breathe in the scent of the fire, the sharp cold rolling off the water.
The world feels small and steady. “I love this with you,” I tell her.
“The way we fit when we’re not running from anything.
The way we talk. The way we don’t talk. The way I feel when I wake up with you next to me.
” I pause. “I love who I am when I’m with you. ”
Her eyes pull me closer without either of us moving.
“I want a life where I get to come home to you,” I say quietly. “I want that every day.”
She inhales slowly, the blanket shifting with her breath. “Ric…”
I’m not on one knee. There’s no ring in my pocket. There’s no plan. It doesn’t feel like a performance. It feels like the truth.
“I want to marry you,” I tell her. “Not because it fixes anything or erases the past. But because you’re the person I want beside me while I build whatever comes next.”
The fire pops softly. The lake carries the sound away. Liz looks at me for a long, still moment. Her eyes shine, but she’s not crying.
She touches my cheek, her palm warm against my skin. “Yes,” she whispers. “I want that life too.”
I exhale.
She rests her forehead against mine. The moment isn’t dramatic, and it doesn’t need to be. It’s quiet and honest and completely ours. It feels exactly right.