The Vineyard Visit

The tension from the gala still lingered in the air the next morning. My thoughts kept repeating last night—Cole’s kiss, Nathaniel’s warning, and the way Cole had taken me out of the event without further word. He had barely spoken to me on the way home, and I hadn’t dared to break the silence. Now, as I sat in the backseat of his car, watching the city disappear behind us, I couldn’t ignore the feeling that something between us had shifted.

The winery was about an hour away, situated in rolling green hills that stretched eternally beneath the gentle morning sun. My family’s vineyard. Or at least what was left of it. This was the only portion of my father’s heritage that still existed, and the idea of bringing Cole Montgomery here felt almost… improper.

He had insisted on coming with me.

I wasn’t sure why.

After last night, I had expected him to remove himself, to shrink back into the cold, cruel version of himself I had grown to know. Instead, he had woken me up early, urged me to get dressed, and before I could even grasp what was happening, we were on the road.

The automobile was silent save for the constant hum of the engine. Cole sat alongside me, his jaw taut, one hand resting nonchalantly on the steering wheel. As usual, he appeared unreadable, but today, he had a different appearance that I couldn't quite identify.

I broke the stillness at last. "You were not required to attend."

He gripped the wheel with slightly tighter fingers. "I desired to."

My eyebrows furrowed in perplexity as I turned to face him. "Why?"

There was a long silence.

At last, they said, "I need to understand you."

Uncertain of what he meant, I scowled. "You get me?"

He glanced in my direction, held it for a moment too long, and then looked back at the road. "You looked at me last night as if you weren't sure whether to kiss me back or hate me."

My stomach twisted at the memory, and my face burned instantly. My body had betrayed me by bending into his touch, and his lips had pressed against mine. He was bringing it back to the surface as if it had significance, even though I had been trying all night to forget how it had felt.

I turned away, staring out the window. “That doesn’t mean you needed to come to my vineyard.”

“You talk about your father like he was everything to you,” Cole said, his voice steady. “I want to see the world he built.”

Something in his words caught me off guard. This place was sacred to me, a part of my past I wasn’t sure I wanted Cole to touch. After everything he had done to me—to my family—it felt dangerous to let him into this space. And yet, I couldn’t ignore the strange pull between us, the way last night had changed something between us, whether I wanted it to or not.

So I let the silence settle again as the car rolled through the hills.

When we arrived, I stepped out of the car and inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the familiar scent of sun-warmed earth and ripe grapes. The sight of the grapevine stretched forever before me brought a flood of emotions through my chest. For a moment, everything else faded—the arranged marriage, the debts, the constant push and pull between Cole and me.

This place was home.

Cole stepped up beside me, his sharp blue eyes scanning the land with an unreadable expression. “It’s beautiful,” he said, and for the first time, I heard something real in his voice, something that wasn’t calculated or controlled.

I turned my gaze toward the main house, my heart aching at the sight of it. The wooden shutters, the wrap-around porch, the small swing where my father had once sat with me as a child—it all felt frozen in time, untouched by everything that had fallen apart after his death.

“Come on,” I said quietly, leading him inside.

The familiar scent of aged wood and wine filled the air, wrapping around me like an old memory. Every part of this house carried my father’s presence, from the worn-out furniture to the paintings he had hung on the walls himself.

Cole walked further inside, running his fingers along the edge of the old oak table in the center of the living room. “Your father built all this?” he asked, his voice lacking the usual arrogance it carried.

I nodded. “He started with nothing. He worked day and night to turn this place into something special.”

Cole traced the designs etched into the table's surface while remaining silent for a while. “You talk about him like he was a hero.”

I got a lump in my throat. “He was.”

We were silent for a long time. I could feel his gaze on me, studying me, but I didn’t look at him. Instead, I walked toward the old cabinet in the corner and pulled out a bottle of wine, running my fingers over the label that still bore my family’s name.

“This was the last batch he made before he died,” I murmured, staring at the deep red liquid inside. “He always said wine tells a story. Every bottle holds memories, struggles, and dreams.”

I turned toward Cole, offering a small, almost challenging smile. “What’s your story?”

His jaw tensed slightly. “I don’t have one.”

I raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Everyone has a story.”

His eyes hardened as he met my gaze. “Not me.”

For a brief second, I saw something flicker in his expression—something raw, something broken—but it was gone before I could place it. I wanted to push, to ask him about his background, to understand why he held so much evil inside him. But before I could, he lunged for the bottle in my hands.

“Let’s open it,” he said.

I paused. “This is the last one.”

“Then let’s make it count.”

There was something in his tone that sent a shiver down my spine.

We sat outside on the porch, the golden afternoon light spilling over the vineyard like liquid gold. I poured us each a glass, watching as the deep red wine swirled in the glass before I took a slow sip, letting the taste linger on my tongue.

Cole took a sip as well, his fingers wrapped around the delicate stem of the glass. “It’s good,” he admitted after a moment, his voice softer than usual. “Strong. Brave.

I grinned. "Much like my dad."

His mouth moved a little. "And you?"

I cocked my head to observe him. “What about me?”

He leaned back in his chair, his piercing blue eyes locked onto mine. “Are you strong, Aria?”

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to believe it.

But before I could answer, Cole reached out, his fingertips brushing against my cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The contact was delicate, almost timid, and it sent a rush of heat through my body.

My heart hammered in my chest.

“Careful, Cole,” I cautioned. “You’re starting to look at me like you care.”

His jaw tightened slightly, something unreadable flashing in his gaze. “Maybe I do.”

I hardly had time to digest those remarks before a loud crack disturbed the tranquil nighttime air.

Cole was on his feet swiftly, his body tight as his sharp glance flashed toward the vineyard.

"What was that?" With my heart pounding, I whispered.

With alertness and calculation, his gaze examined the land. "Remain behind me."

I turned toward the door, but just as I reached it, a shadow moved at the edge of the vineyard. A person lingered among the vines, watching, waiting, and as they withdrew into the darkness, a voice resonated through the night—low, amused, tinged with silent threat.

"Nathaniel sends best wishes."

A shiver went through my body.

Cole's face grew serious as his fists tightened at his sides. There was no mistaking the rage underlying his quiet, controlled voice.

"This is not the end of it."

I knew in my heart that he was correct.