Chapter 43
Forty-three
Elise
The night air is warm against my cheeks as I step away from the house after dessert has been cleared.
Laughter still drifts faintly from the patio, but I can’t make myself go back inside.
My chest feels too tight, my pulse too quick.
Kingston’s words and his gesture still echo inside me, and I don’t know what to do with them.
An Elise label. Public, permanent, impossible to ignore.
To everyone else it probably looked like a grand romantic moment.
For me, it’s dangerous. Too much hope feels reckless.
The crunch of gravel reaches me before his shadow does. Kingston doesn’t rush, doesn’t call my name. He just comes close enough that I can feel his presence, the heat of him swirling in the warm breeze.
I keep my eyes forward as he joins me in the yard, but I can sense the exhaustion in him. Anxiety has carved hollows beneath his eyes, tension along his shoulders. He’s carrying more than vines and barrels, more than this family name. He’s carrying me too or trying to.
My throat aches with words I will not let out. I want him—God, I want him—but want has never been enough. Want doesn’t protect you when the bottom falls out. Want doesn’t save you from betrayal. I curl my fingers into my elbows and force my voice steady. “What are you doing out here?”
His silence is calm, and it only makes it harder to keep my defenses intact. For one flicker of a moment, I let myself imagine leaning back into him, closing my eyes, letting his arms hold me steady.
Instead, we walk without speaking, the gravel path giving way to dirt between the rows.
The vines stretch up on either side, their leaves whispering in the breeze, and the stars are sharp above us.
My arms are crossed, but he keeps pace beside me, patient in a way that makes me want to scream and kiss him all at once.
Finally, he clears his throat. “I need you to hear me, Elise. All of it. No walls.”
I glance at him, ready to argue, but instead something in me goes still.
“I stayed married too long,” he says. His voice hitches.
“I did everything I knew how to do to hold it together—took extra shifts to make more money, built Renew Motion, tried to give her more because I thought if I worked harder, she’d feel loved enough to stay.
And all the while she was unhappy. She was already gone.
My wife and my best friend lied to me. And after, I let that wound shape too much of who I became.
I thought silence was strength, but all it did was hurt.
It hurt me, and it has now been hurting you. ”
His hand trembles as it scrapes across his jaw, and the breath I take feels sharp in my lungs. I knew pieces of this story, but hearing it from him like this, like a confession, knocks something loose inside me.
“I was wrong with you,” he continues, his gaze fixed on the dark stretch ahead.
“Things were so easy at first because we fit, but the moment real life intervened, I panicked. And every time I stayed silent, every time I pulled back instead of trusting you, I was wrong. You deserved honesty. You deserved me fighting for us, and instead, I gave you hesitation. I gave you doubt.”
Heat pricks behind my eyes. I blink fast, but one tear escapes, sliding down my cheek. A thought races through me—what if he lets me fall again? What if I give in and he walks away?
His hand brushes mine, tentative, almost reverent. “I want you to know that I love you. Not in a way that’s just easy. And not in a way I can walk away from. It’s you. Always you. I believe we belong together, and I know you belong in this family, at this vineyard.”
The defenses I’ve built fracture under the weight of those words, of this night, of everything he’s doing.
Belonging. The idea sinks into me, dangerous and sweet, something I’ve wanted so much to believe in. My lips part, but no sound comes. For once I can’t find armor to hide behind. I just stand there with tears burning in my eyes, his honesty pulling me in until I can’t resist anymore.
We reach the edge of the vineyard. The silence between us pulses like a heartbeat, alive, on the edge of breaking or healing.
He turns to me. “Come home with me. I have the helicopter.”
My stomach twists. I should say no. This is too fast. I should remind him how much it hurt to believe and be left standing alone. The words crowd my throat, but what comes out instead is a whisper. “Why?”
“Because I want to be with you,” he says, holding my gaze like he’ll never let it go. “No vineyard. No labels. No input from anyone else. Just us.”
The honesty is almost unbearable. My chest feels like it’s splitting wide, like every defense I’ve built is falling to pieces at my feet. I shake my head, half in disbelief, half in surrender. “You make it sound so simple.”
He steps closer, warmth brushing against me. “It is. It has been before—before I let everything else get in the way. I love you, Elise. That’s the only part that matters.”
The fight inside me stumbles. I’m tired of pushing him away, tired of guarding myself against something that already owns me. I look at his mouth, his eyes, the hope there, and for once, I let myself choose, not what I should do, but what I want to do.
“Okay.” The word is soft, but it feels like the biggest decision of my life.
Relief shines through him like sunlight breaking storm clouds. He cups my face in both hands, and before I can second guess, his mouth is on mine.
The kiss begins reverent, and then hunger crashes through it, weeks of silence burning away in a single spark. His lips part mine, his tongue sweeps in, and I melt against him, fisting his shirt to hold myself steady.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard. “There’s no turning back now,” he murmurs.
I nod. I don’t want to.
We drive to my dad’s place, I pack a bag, and we return to fly back to his home.
The road winds along the lake, the light fading to amber. I rest my elbow against the window, fingers grazing the glass.
Kingston glances over. “You’re quiet.”
“Just thinking,” I say.
He waits a few seconds. “About how I’m kidnapping you for the rest of the night? Can you call in sick tomorrow?”
I smile faintly. “You read me too well. Actually, I was thinking about Hope.”
His brow creases. “I don’t want you feeling like you have to compete with someone from my past.”
“I don’t,” I say simply.
Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “You know, you’re being more reasonable about this than I’ve been.”
I smile a little. “I’m not sure that’s a high bar.”
He reaches across the console and takes my hand, chuckling. “Not giving me an inch. I love that about you.”
“Good,” I say, squeezing his fingers. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
He laughs, the sound low and warm. “I sure hope so.”
We trade the car for the helicopter and fly across the lake. His house feels different tonight as we enter. I’ve been here before, but never like this, never so conscious of the weight of hope pressed into every shadow.
The door shuts behind us with a quiet click, sealing us off from the rest of the world.
Three strides and I am in his arms, my back hitting the wall as his mouth claims mine.
The kiss is hungry, desperate, making up for all the silence and longing.
His hands grip my hips, sliding beneath my dress like I am the only thing keeping him alive.
I clutch his shoulders, feeling the strength there, anchoring myself in the solid weight of him. Our kiss deepens, his breath ragged against mine. I gasp when his palm skims up my ribs to cup my breast, his thumb teasing over lace until my body arches for him.
He takes my hand and nearly drags me up the stairs to his bedroom. There he tugs my dress over my head and lets it fall, finds the clasp of my bra and slips it down until I am bare beneath his gaze. Heat stirs in my belly with the way he looks at me—dark, reverent, as if I am something sacred.
“Elise,” he murmurs, lowering me onto the bed. The sheets are cool, a shocking contrast to the heat racing over my skin. His weight settles beside me, his mouth tracing fire down my neck, over my collarbone, lower still, each kiss leaving me trembling.
When he reaches my thighs, he slows. His hands part me gently, his breath hot against skin already pulsing with need. His eyes meet mine, holding me there, and then his mouth is on me.
The first stroke of his tongue rips a cry from me. It’s too much, not enough, everything at once. My back arches, fingers tangling in the sheets, then in his hair, pulling without meaning to. He groans against me, the vibration shuddering through my core.
He doesn’t rush. He lingers, teases, circling slow until I am writhing, begging, then he plunges deeper, harder, until sparks burst behind my eyes. His hands grip my hips, pinning me as my body bows to his mouth. Pleasure coils sharp, urgent, climbing higher with every flick of his tongue.
When it breaks, it’s violent, tearing me open. I cry out his name, trembling, shaking apart. Still, he doesn’t let up, drawing wave after wave until I collapse boneless, gasping, every nerve alive.
I am barely breathing when he crawls up my body, kissing me with the taste of myself on his lips. His skin is hot against mine, his chest pressed to my breasts, his hips heavy between my thighs. I feel him, hard and ready, pressing where I am already slick and aching.
He braces on his forearms, his forehead against mine. “Tell me you’re here.” His voice is hoarse, desperate.
“I’m here,” I whisper, cupping his jaw. “I’m not leaving.”
Relief moves across his face as he thrusts into me. My cry is swallowed by his kiss, the stretch and fullness shocking me, overwhelming me. He stills, groaning low, as if holding on by a thread.
Then he moves. Slow at first, deep and steady, dragging pleasure through me until my nails dig into his back.
He pauses once, lifting his head, eyes searching mine, as if asking permission again.
I answer by pulling him closer, wrapping my legs around him, and he groans into my mouth before driving harder.
His rhythm builds, every thrust pulling me higher. The headboard bumps the wall, his breath ragged in my ear, his hand clutching my thigh.
We lose ourselves in the slap of skin, the heat, the need to be closer even though there’s no space left between us. My body tightens again, the wave rising fast.
When it hits, it’s blinding. My orgasm is like an earthquake, shaking me to the core. I cry out his name, and he follows, thrusts going erratic before he shudders hard, spilling inside me.
We collapse tangled together, sweat cooling, our chests heaving. He pulls me close, his arm locked around my waist, as if he will never let go again. And I don’t want him to.
His heartbeat thunders against my ear as I lie draped across his chest. His hand strokes down my back, slow and steady, as if he’s memorizing the shape of me. Every pass settles me deeper, calms the storm that has raged in my chest.
I shift just enough to see his face. His eyes are softer than I have ever seen them, wide open, no walls. “You undo me,” he whispers.
A lump rises in my throat. I touch his jaw, rough with stubble, and realize something inside me has shifted.
All the doubt, the fear, the constant bracing for the fall—it goes quiet.
“I had convinced myself this had to be temporary,” I admit, my voice shaking.
“That since we’d returned, it was falling apart, if it had ever been anything in the first place. ”
His thumb brushes my cheek. “And now?”
I draw in a breath. “Now, I believe. In you. In us. In a future that’s messy and hard and real. And I want it.”
His eyes close for a beat and when they open again, they shine with something new. “I thought I’d never get this back. You’re the one thing I will never risk losing.”
The way he exhales—relief, reverence, something like wonder—makes my heart surge. He kisses me slow, not hungry this time but tender, sealing the words between us.
When he pulls back, he keeps me close, tucking me under his chin. I close my eyes and let the weight of him anchor me. I’m not bracing for the bottom to drop out. I’m not guarding my heart.
I’m exactly where I want to be. Where I want to stay.