Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Kat

W hen I think of growing up in Kentucky, especially the feud between the Blackburns and the Mardraggons, I often get a sense of awe over how long ago it started. Over a hundred and seventy years—that span used to seem unfathomable to me. But as I walk the ancient streets of Saint-émilion, I realize our American feud happened the equivalent of a yesterday to the French.

I can understand why Sylvie is so homesick for this picturesque town in the Bordeaux region. The town was formed in the eighth century—over a thousand years ago—and while math has never been my forte, those numbers make my head spin. I've been absolutely charmed by the stone architecture and the narrow cobblestone streets. Because the town sits atop a hill, stunning views of the vineyards stretch as far as the eye can see, the Dordogne River meandering in the distance.

I've walked the streets early in the morning each day we've been here, feeling more confident in myself to bridge the language barrier by lucking into residents who speak English or miming what I need when inside a bakery or coffee shop.

Gabe has taken to working on Mardraggon business first thing in the morning and I've used the time to explore. Sylvie has been the social butterfly, visiting dear friends she was forced to leave behind without proper goodbyes. While I wanted her by my side as I experienced my first trip to Europe, I also could never deny her the opportunity to soak up every bit of homecoming that she could. She stayed at a friend's house yesterday and last night.

Glancing at my watch, I see it's nearing nine a.m. and I have to be back at the chateau in about an hour to meet Gabe. We're going to review the notes from our meetings regarding the expansion as well as the portfolios of interested investors.

My stomach rumbles, the perfect invitation to stop inside my new favorite boulangerie on the Place du Marché where I've taken to eating baguette slices with butter and jam. Nothing has ever tasted as good, especially sitting outside at their little wrought iron tables while inhaling the scent of grape leaves in the air from all the vineyards surrounding the town.

I get my food along with a strong cup of coffee and settle into a table that allows me to see the bell tower of the Saint-émilion Monolithic Church. I toured it our first full day here when we let Sylvie be our guide. It's an architectural wonder, partially carved from a single block of limestone for which the region is known. We climbed to the top of the bell tower and my breath was robbed upon taking in the panoramic view of the region. From high above, the vineyards were segregated into asymmetrical blocks of different varieties of grapes, creating a patchwork quilt of color.

Keeping one eye on my watch, since it's a good twenty-minute walk to the chateau, I let my attention follow the people milling around. Many are tourists but some are locals, and it's not hard to tell the difference.

I'm slathering orange marmalade onto another baguette slice when a shadow falls over my table. I look up to see Gabe standing there, casual in a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. He settles into the chair opposite me and without asking takes the baguette from my hand. "I'm starving. I haven't had a chance to eat breakfast."

"Hey," I exclaim, only slightly irritated, and it fizzles just as quickly when he winks at me before taking a bite. "What are you doing here?"

"It was too nice a morning to keep working, so I canceled a meeting and decided to come find you. Figured we could talk business while we walk around and look at cool old stuff."

I finish the last bit of my coffee, loving the bitter bite after the sweetness of the marmalade. He notes the skeptical look on my face.

"What?" he inquires. "I know how to have fun."

This is laughable as Gabe has done nothing but work, other than that first day we hung out with Sylvie. Granted, I've worked too, focusing on administrative stuff I could handle with the convenience of a good Wi-Fi connection at the chateau, but Gabe is hard-core devoted. He reminds me so much of Ethan, managing an empire and making it look easy, even though we all know it's not.

"If you say so," I mutter.

Gabe pops the last piece of bread into his mouth and brushes off his hands. He chews, swallows, and then rises from the chair. "Come on. Let's take a walk."

We meander through the town and back down a winding lane toward the chateau, which sits right in the middle of vine plots. The winery grows mainly two types of grapes, making their signature blend from merlot and cabernet franc varieties. I learned during our tour of the winery—which included a tasting—that the merlot grape lends flavors of plum and black cherry to the wine, and the cabernet franc offers a spicy bouquet that hints at tobacco and raspberry.

I tried my hardest to taste those things within the rich, red wine, but my palate is apparently not very sophisticated. All I know is that the wine tasted good and that was the extent of my input into the product. Gabe thought it hilarious when I later confided to him that I had no ability to taste any of that stuff.

"You'll have to come do a bourbon tasting with me. I can coach you through how to taste certain qualities. It takes practice."

I didn't respond because that sounds like something lovers might do together, or even friends.

We're not even friends.

We reach the chateau built in the same golden-yellow limestone that most buildings here have been done in. It can seem dull at times, especially in the town limits where all the buildings are the same color, but there's something to be said about the way the structures glow warmly during sunset, taking on a rich, amber hue from the sun's dying rays.

Very similar to Gabe's eyes when he's feeling extreme emotion.

The chateau itself is a home little girls' dreams are made of and while I love our historical house back in Kentucky, I can see why Sylvie misses this place so much. The massive three-story structure has steeply pitched roofs covered in slate tiles and on the front corners are two elegant towers with conical roofs. I can almost imagine the prince climbing up to kiss the princess, and from the windows in those rooms—one a library and the other a bedroom—the view of the vineyards is beyond compare.

The chateau is set on expansive grounds with meticulously maintained gardens that bloom with a variety of flowers and shrubs. Sylvie told us that gardening was her mother's hobby and someone has been doing a beautiful job in caring for the plants in her absence.

The backyard slopes downward, flanked by rows of ancient cedar trees. The vineyards stretch out beyond with rows of grapevines meticulously tended, following the gentle roll of the hills.

It's toward the rows of grapes that we walk, chatting about the expansion. Gabe does most of the talking while I listen.

"We need to be aggressive but practical." Gabe reaches out, plucks a small grape—no bigger than the size of a pea at this point in the season—off a merlot bunch and examines it. The end of each row has a post with a plaque identifying the grape variety, which is the only way I know it's a merlot. "We can't afford a misstep on this expansion, especially since you and I are out of our element."

I shake my head. "I'm out of my element. This is your forte."

"Bourbon isn't the same as wine, not to mention, this is a French company and product. Trust me, I'm out of my element."

I glance over at him, the morning sun making his blond hair glow like a halo but I know he's no angel. "You don't ever act like it. You're always so in control."

"Only because I work hard at looking like I'm in control," he replies, and while he sounds like he's jesting, I get the feeling he's serious. "We can't just throw money at this idea, even if we have legit investors. We need a sustainable approach. This is going to be a long and costly process, results not being seen until probably at least ten years down the road. I have my own business to run, and you're busy as hell."

"It sounds daunting. What am I supposed to tell Ethan when I barely understand this stuff?"

"I don't think Ethan is looking for a recommendation from you as to the viability of these suggested plans. I think he's looking for you to gut check yourself as far as I'm concerned."

"I'm not following you," I say hesitantly, although I think I've got an inkling as to what he means.

Gabe stops, turns to face me. "Your brother is smart. He's a businessman, same as me. He can have any number of advisors evaluate all this stuff and tell him what to do, but he's letting you handle this for one reason only."

"And that is?"

"To find out if your family can trust me."

I stare at Gabe because I used to trust him and then he betrayed me. Abandoned me. The easy answer to my brother should be "No, we can't trust Gabe Mardraggon."

But he's not the same man I knew. He's become a protector to Sylvie, turned his back on his father and that familial legacy, and he's a man who loves his niece so thoroughly, I'm not sure there's anything he wouldn't do for her.

That all has to go into this gut check that Gabe is talking about. I have to reconcile my past feelings and experiences with the man standing before me now. But to admit that I think it's okay to trust Gabe as it involves Sylvie and the winery means I might have to admit he's changed for the better. It might mean there's room to forgive and perhaps evaluate that kiss we had, and what seems to be a growing connection and I'm not sure I can do that.

"I don't know," I say, crossing my arms over my stomach. I look off into the distance over the fertile green hills. "Maybe we should just let the winery run as is for a while. It's making a good profit and the oversight is manageable."

Gabe stares at me, his expression teetering somewhere between admiration and annoyance. "When did you become so cautious? I remember a girl who used to take risks, who wasn't afraid to chase what she wanted."

"A lot has changed since then," I reply, my arms shifting to cross over my chest. Defiance rather than self-protection. "I had to grow up and I don't call that being cautious. I call that being wise."

The big jerk isn't chastened by my veiled reference to the reasons I had to grow up—mainly his lack of devotion to me. His eyes roam the length of my body and in a husky, sexually taunting voice, he says, "Yes, you have grown up, and very nicely indeed."

"Oh, shut up," I growl and backhand him lightly in the chest. There's no heat in my strike because it's all centered in my lower belly where his words have a very unwanted effect on me.

Gabe moves lightning fast, catching my wrist. But he doesn't push me away, rather reels me in slowly until our hands are trapped between our bodies.

The air thickens, charged with the history and tension of what was left unsaid all those years ago. "Why do you think we keep circling back to each other?"

"Because I'm a glutton for punishment," I bite out.

His voice is low, rumbling. "Oh, I think it's more than that."

My breath hitches and my legs wobble. "It's bad history. That's all."

"Or a new future," he counters softly, and all my fears—or are they dreams—come true as his mouth descends onto mine.

It's not that fiery crash of lips on the night of the gala but something so terrifyingly sweet, I almost believe I could forgive Gabe for breaking my heart. His mouth roams mine, a slight brush of tongues, a gentle exploration, as if he's trying to lay down new memories to block out the old.

A rebranding of sorts.

As quickly as it starts, it ends, with Gabe being the one who pulls back to peer down at me. I can't read his expression, but I expect that's intentional as he's trying to read mine without providing any influence.

He's using silence to force me to say if this is okay.

Continue? Slap him? Tell him to go to hell? Ask him to kiss me again.

"Aunt Kat," Sylvie calls in the distance. I try to jerk away, but Gabe holds my hand tight for a second. My head twists and I see her making her way to the cedars where her complete view of us is momentarily obstructed.

Did she see that kiss or was she too far away?

I look back to Gabe, still holding tight to my hand. I stare at him imploringly to let me go before Sylvie can see us in this intimate position.

"We need to talk," he says.

"We talk all the time," I mutter.

"About us."

"There is no us," I snap and jerk hard, my hand sliding free as I step back.

"There could be, Kat. Second chances happen all the time."

"Aunt Kat. Uncle Gabe," Sylvie calls again and I see her waving at us enthusiastically as she clears the cedars and lopes down a gentle incline to reach us. By the tone of her voice, I can tell she didn't see anything.

"Kat," Gabe says softly, and I look back at him. His eyes are the ones beseeching now. "Can we talk?"

The thud of Sylvie's feet on the earth has me distracted so I mutter, "Maybe," and then turn back to her.

"Hey, kiddo," I say, opening my arms for a hug. She flies into them and I embrace her tight. "Have a good time at Camille's?"

Camille was a classmate of Sylvie's and the closest friend she left behind. This is the second night she stayed over with her.

"Oui," she says with a toothy grin. "Nous nous sommes tellement amusées!"

I laugh because since returning to her homeland, Sylvie has slipped back into French as if it's a natural extension of her body, like her arm or leg. "English, please!"

"We had so much fun," she corrects and then slips from my arms to hug Gabe. "Her parents took us kayaking yesterday afternoon on the Dordogne and then we had a bonfire in their yard last night. Her dad told us ghost stories, but we weren't afraid." She then glances back to me, her expression chagrined. "Much."

Tonight, Sylvie is going to another overnighter with a group of girls who she took ballet with for several years and while she hasn't shown any interest in returning to dance in Kentucky, her bonds with these young girls are strong. One of the mothers suggested a big sleepover at their house and though it's our last night in France, I can't deny her the opportunity to squeeze every drop out of this visit.

"What do you want to do for the day?" I ask as she steps back from Gabe and leans over to look at a bunch of grapes. She doesn't pick one the way Gabe did but turns a full bunch in her hands. This is the stage known as fruit set, something I learned this week, and the tiny green spheres haven't accumulated any significant sugar. They're still green to match the color of the leaves but by early September, they'll be ready for harvest.

It's astounding to me that this little girl, only ten years old, examines these grapes with the seasoned eye of a master vintner. She may be a Blackburn now and she's being raised on a horse farm in Kentucky but I'm seeing her future, and I know it's going to be here.

"We can do whatever you want until it's time for your sleepover," I say, my gaze landing on Gabe. I know that I can't let the overwhelming nature of this winery let me be complacent when it comes to making sure we preserve Sylvie's legacy. I can help Gabe make this place even better. "And maybe tonight we can work on a game plan for the expansion."

Gabe nods, his mouth curving into a pleasing smile.

For a moment, I only focus on that mouth, remembering the whisper-soft kiss we just shared, and I wonder if something has actually reignited between us. It was an impulsive act but it doesn't mean it lacked meaning or merit.

I just have to figure out if I want to explore this further and if so, how will I navigate the host of problems it will create, given our bitter past and the fact our families don't trust each other?