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Fernando nods, and we fall into a comfortable silence.
I close my eyes and rest my head against the window. Despite having the jet all to myself, fifteen hours in the air has left me drained. I need to get a proper night's rest if I’m going to tackle my first day here with a clear head.
Which reminds me—my new assistant.
Fuck. I didn’t bring the folder Mrs. Evans prepared for me with all her information. I hope she made a digital copy and sent it to my email. That’s something else I’ll have to check in the morning.
When we arrive at my parents' hacienda, Mariela, our longtime nanny, is waiting outside the door. Before the truck even stops, she’s rushing toward me.
“I didn’t believe your parents when they said you were coming. I’m so happy you’re here, Vicente,” she exclaims, pulling me into a warm embrace.
A genuine smile spreads across my face. Mariela’s been like a bonus mother to me and my siblings.
I inhale a deep, cleansing breath. The air is different here—cleaner, with a touch of nostalgia. It reminds me of long summer days running around the vines, playing tag with Gabo. When Karina was old enough to join us, we built a tree house where we pretended to be secret agents, swearing to protect the vineyard. I wonder if it still exists? Maybe Karina’s son would enjoy playing in it one day.
Shaking off the memories, I glance up at the hacienda, perched front and center on the hill—the heart of the vineyard. Its imposing white facade and adobe roof are reminders of the timelessness of this place. It has been the same ever sinceAbueloHenry bought the land and built the property in the early 1900s. Over the years, the acres of vines have grown to two hundred and fifty.
“Yes, I’m here. Even though it’s against my will,” I say between my teeth.
Mariela smacks me on my chest.
“Ouch, what was that for?” I ask, rubbing the spot. It’s intriguing and infuriating how I transform into a child the moment I set foot in this place.
She gives me the side-eye as we walk toward the house. “You’re an adult, Vicente. I’m sure your parents didn’t force you to come.”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, she shifts gears. “Are you hungry?” she asks. “I made the chicken casserole you love.”
I nod goodbye to Fernando and follow Mariela into the kitchen. I’m starving after a long day of travel and surviving on plane snacks.
As I enter the house, a brick wall of memories hits me square in the chest. The walls have been white for as long as I can remember, with nothing but picture upon picture of us kids decorating them.
Cold tile presses against my feet. I can’t wait to take my shoes off and feel the cold surface on my bare skin—just like I did growing up. The den is spacious, and now that there aren’t toys scattered about, I can truly see just how big this house is. I guess it was the perfect size for raising three rambunctious kids.
Past the den, the living room is on the left, the dining room on the right, and beyond that, the kitchen and the main door leading to the patio.
Suddenly, a mix of anxiety and frustration invades me. I make a mental note of the things I need to deal with in the morning. The most pressing of all? Meeting my new assistant.
I swear, if she’s not at the office by eight sharp, I won’t hesitate to end the six-month trial period I promised Mrs. Evans. I’m not a patient man, and I don’t plan on changing any time soon.
Chapter 4
Camila Flores
Iwoke up at four a.m. to bake a batch of cookies that need to be dropped off at the corner shop this afternoon. It’s my last order. I’ve decided I’m going to dedicate myself fully to my job as an executive assistant.
By the time I’m able to shower, my feet are dragging—and it’s only six. I better make a double espresso to-go.
I probably should have woken up early yesterday to test how much longer our routine would take. But as my grandma used to say, “Now’s not the time to cry over spilled milk.”
I decide to make breakfast before I wake up Ava, that way, she’ll have something to look forward to. I’m sure the smell of bacon and pancakes will do the trick.
“Ava, good morning,mi amor,” I say, turning on the light as I walk into her room.
My girl is a sound sleeper, so I usually have to gently nudge her before she can even start tossing around. It’s a process that can take up to fifteen minutes.
Her body is usually achy in the mornings after an active day, so I often massage her legs and arms to make her feel better. Today is no exception—yesterday she spent the entire afternoon chasing ducks at the park.
“Good morning, Mummy. How was your sleep?” My sweet girl asks after she opens her eyes and gives me a hug.