Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
I stumbled onto the veranda, my legs wobbly like a newborn fawn.
The Proven?al sun warmed my skin, my eyes drinking in the rolling vineyards and vibrant lavender fields. The sweet scent of blooming flowers danced on the warm breeze, a stark contrast to the knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach.
I inhaled deeply, letting the calming, earthy scents fill me. The landscape before me was a painter's fever dream, bursting with more shades than I could name. Vibrant. Alive. I closed my eyes, allowing my ears and nose to feast on the sensory buffet. Was this what it felt like to be French? To have your senses perpetually dialed up to eleven?
As I gazed at this beautiful place, trying not to pinch myself, I could suddenly picture my mom here. Young, carefree, full of hope—and probably wine. Like a Hallmark romcom, I imagined her wandering through vibrant lavender fields, her hands gliding over the fragrant purple blossoms. I could almost hear her laughter mingling with Dad's as they plucked ripe fruit from the vines.
Dad. The word felt foreign on my tongue. He'd always been just Pascal—a mythical figure from my mother's past, as distant and unreachable as a character in a Proust novel. But now, standing here, I felt a sudden, unexpected connection to him. Like finding the missing piece of a puzzle you didn't even know you were solving.
This place—it was in me. I was French. The realization hit me hard. Sure, I'd always known it objectively, in that vague American way where everyone's "23.5% Irish on their mother's side." But this was different. I wasn't just French-ish. I was French French. Born in France, to a French father, probably with a baguette in one hand and a glass of rosé in the other. I liked the visual anyway.
Mom had never really talked about my Frenchness. I'd always been a little miffed at her refusal to spill the beans about my origin story. And while I still didn't agree with her choice to withhold, I was starting to get it. She had left all this beauty and magic behind, like a reverse fairy tale. Talking about it was probably painful. Maybe it even made her angry to think about Dad and this place. Perhaps it broke her heart anew every time she thought about it.
A pang of jealousy hit me then. Félicité, Régis, and étienne had won the childhood lottery. They got to run through these fields, play grape ninjas, and lounge on this sunny patio like pampered cats. They had this idyllic, Instagrammable childhood, and they didn't even seem to appreciate it. It was like being handed the keys to a palace and then complaining about the decor.
I sighed, the sound mingling with the symphony of cicadas. Family dynamics were never easy—even my orphaned self knew that. Maybe none of it was my business. I needed to focus on myself, figure out what all of this meant, and then get my American butt back on a plane to California. I might be French, but this wasn't my home. This was just a nice distraction from my crumbling—no, scratch that—my thoroughly pulverized life back home.
As I made my way back inside, I heard muffled voices raised in argument. I paused, my heart racing as I strained to make out the rapid-fire French coming from the drawing room.
" C'est inadmissible! Elle ne fait pas partie de cette famille ," a man's authoritative voice cut through the air.
Another male voice, more agitated, chimed in, " Grand-père a d? être fou pour faire ?a ."
A woman's voice, sharp with anger, added, " Elle ne peut pas simplement arriver ici et tout prendre ."
I thought I recognized a few words: Not family. Crazy grandfather. Maybe something about a cat.
Before I could second-guess myself, I stepped into the doorway of the drawing room. Three pairs of eyes snapped to me, surprise etched across their faces as silence blanketed the room.
"Elodie," étienne said, his tone carefully controlled. He offered me a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We were just discussing the…events.”
“I gathered,” I said.
I met his gaze steadily, waiting for him to continue.
He cleared his throat. “I know this has all been a shock to everyone. But really, I think there has been a misunderstanding regarding Pierre’s will." His words were measured, diplomatic. “This estate has been in our family for generations. I'm sure you can understand our... surprise at the current situation."
I nodded slowly. “Of course, I understand that.”
"Perhaps," he said, his voice taking on a persuasive lilt, “It would be best if you returned to America. We can, of course, arrange a financial settlement that compensates you fairly." He paused, his eyes searching my face. "Managing a winery and estate is incredibly complex. It might be overwhelming for someone not... accustomed to this lifestyle."
Anger and frustration began to take root in my gut.
“I’m not sure it’s that simple,” I said.
Régis scoffed, unable to contain himself. "You think you can just walk in here and play the dutiful granddaughter?"
I didn’t allow myself to react to his volatility. Régis was obviously the emotional one of the three.
My eyes instinctively darted to Félicité. She seemed uncertain, staying quiet.
I took a deep breath, willing my voice to remain steady. "I appreciate your concerns. Really, I do. But this is what Pierre wanted. I want to honor that.”
Régis let out a stream of rapid French again, and étienne raised a hand to quiet him. But I could see the frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior.
"This isn't personal, Elodie. It's about what's best for the family,” étienne said.
I felt a surge of determination course through me. “But I am part of this family," I said firmly, "whether you choose to accept it or not. Perhaps we can find a way to make this work for all of us. We could set up a meeting to discuss roles and responsibilities?"
“Elodie—This isn't some business transaction,” Félicité said gently.
"We don't need your help to manage what's ours," Régis said through clenched teeth.
étienne sighed, his facade of diplomacy cracking. “I don’t think any of us want things to get—complicated, Elodie.”
I felt a mix of anger and sadness wash over me, but I held my ground. “It'll only get complicated if you choose to make it that way.”
étienne worked his jaw and exchanged a look with his siblings, but none of them said anything for a few moments.
Félicité finally spoke. “I think we all need a little time to process this. It’s been a long day. Why don’t we reconvene later over dinner?”
I forced a smile, though it felt wobbly. “I’ll talk to Colette about it.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned and left the room, feeling the weight of their stares on my back. As I walked away, I could feel the tears threatening to spill, but I blinked them back. I wasn’t going to break so easily.