Chapter 64 You can have one
The walk back is long, the silence between us stretching out like the shadows of the vines. Halfway to the house, the world abruptly changes.
In a synchronized flash, the high-intensity stadium lights I had installed years ago roar to life. It’s evening, but suddenly the vineyard is bathed in violent, artificial light. It lines the vineyard, the paths, the structures....It’s almost jarring. Like stepping into a different time of day.
Kaden stops immediately. Throws his arms up, shielding his face with a sharp curse under his breath. I slow, stopping a step ahead of him before turning back. I don’t even blink, I’ve lived by these timers for years, calibrated to the minute for every shifting season.
I watch as he slowly lowers his guard, his eyes narrowed to slits as they fight to adjust. He looks around at the illuminated rows, the harsh light bouncing off the damp leaves and the white gravel of the path.
“What the hell....” he mutters, blinking. “Why is it so fucking bright? You trying to blind me?”
I take him in. Under this light, there's nowhere to hide. I can see the dampness of his hair, the faint flush still lingering on his neck, and the way my navy handkerchief is crushed in his fist. I glance around the property. Every corner, every leaf, every stone is visible for miles. It’s exactly the way I like it....zero shadows, zero surprises.
“I like to see what I own,” I say simply.
He exhales, dragging a hand over his face. “I need sunglasses for this. It's fucking insane.”
A faint smirk pulls at my mouth. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Suddenly not a fan of the spotlight?"
He shakes his head and starts to walk again, faster now.
"Do you like wine?" I ask, the question cutting through his agitation.
He finally turns his head to look at me. He gives a noncommittal shrug, his expression guarded. "Sure. I’m a bartender." He pauses, his gaze sharpening. "But if you think you’re going to trick me into staying here another hour for a tasting, you’re delusional. I'm leaving the second I get a bar of service."
He doesn't slow his pace, forcing me to keep up with his stride. "I can't trick you into doing something you're already craving, Kaden. We both know you're not half as eager to leave as you're pretending to be."
His glare could melt steel, but he keeps his mouth shut, his attention shifting to the structure looming ahead. The main house rises out of the landscape. Glass, dark wood, and weathered stone. It’s the kind of architecture that doesn't need to scream, the sheer scale and the way it integrates into the hillside does the talking for it.
"Are those orange trees?" Kaden suddenly asks, his voice losing some of its defensive edge.
I turn to him. A small grove of them stands in front of the main entrance, their deep green leaves shimmering under the artificial lights. They were one of my grandmother's non-negotiable stipulations when she signed the deed over to me....a living clause in our contract. Even now, halfway across the world, she never ends a call without asking if they’re thriving.
A faint smile touches my lips. Of all the things for him to notice, it’s the citrus that hooks him.
"They are," I say, and for reasons I’ve stopped trying to audit, I find myself offering more. "My grandparents planted them while the foundation of the house was still being poured decades ago. Usually, the staff has standing orders to harvest whatever they want when they’re in season, otherwise the fruit will just rot on the branches."
His expression softens, a genuine, ghost of a smile appearing as he looks at the trees. "We had one," he says quietly. "In our backyard, growing up. It was just randomly there when we moved in."
Then, as quickly as it appeared, the smile vanishes, replaced by a cold, hard shuttering of his features. "Then my asshole of a stepfather cut it down."
The pure, concentrated loathing in his voice is impossible to miss.
I turn toward him. "Why would he do that?"
He shrugs, but his jaw is tight enough to snap. He shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the trees with a dark sort of intensity. "Who knows? He said the fallen fruit was 'attracting pests,' or that the roots were probably messing with the foundation, or maybe he just woke up one morning and decided he didn't like something that actually provided a bit of shade. Some people just like to break things that aren't theirs."
I watch him for a second longer than I should. “Not a fan of his?”
He huffs out a short laugh. “Understatement of the century.”
The name Matthew Olsen sits on the tip of my tongue. I could say it right now, drop it into the conversation like a stone in a glass pond....just to watch that flicker of panic in Kaden's eyes when he realizes exactly how deep I’ve dug into his life. But for the first time, the urge to dominate feels wrong. I don't want to see him retreat behind a wall of panic. I don't want to be the one putting that look of loathing back on his face.
"You can have one," I say instead, my voice steady.
He blinks, frowning slightly. "One what?"
I gesture toward the grove as we cross the final stretch of the driveway. "One tree. Pick whichever one you want. I’ll make it an official directive.... no one touches it, no one harvests from it, and it stays exactly where it is. It’ll be yours."
He lets out a short, disbelieving scoff, shaking his head like I’ve just said something ridiculous.
“I’m serious,” I add, tone even. I stop in front of the largest, most ancient-looking tree in the line. Its branches are heavy, and the scent of the leaves is sharp and clean. I point to it. "How about this one? It looks as stubborn as you are."
Kaden looks at the tree, then back at me.
"You could carve this one up instead," I add. "Write your name on it. Whatever you want."
He takes a small step toward me, then another, until the space between us is nonexistent. I watch his hands. He reaches up, his fingers steady as he catches the lapel of my suit jacket. With a slow motion, he slides my navy handkerchief, the one stained with the evidence of what we just did, into my breast pocket.
He taps it once, smoothing the edge. "A souvenir," he tells me, his voice a quiet challenge.
I look down at the pocket, then lift my gaze to his. There’s a crawling sensation in the back of my mind, a reflex to discard anything that leaves a mark, anything that taints the pristine image I present to the world. I ignore it. I force it down until it's nothing.