Page 26 of The Vines Between Us

Chapter Nineteen

ALEXANDRE

I stared at the number on the contract before me, certain I'd misread it.

"Triple." Rousseau smiled, his manicured finger tapping the figure. "Triple our original offer, Monsieur Moreau. Immediate payment. All debts cleared."

The morning sun streamed through Henri's study windows, catching dust motes dancing in the air. Outside, birds called to each other across the vineyard rows. Inside, the devil sat across from me in an impeccable suit, offering me more money than I'd ever imagined.

"Why?" I managed to ask, my throat dry.

"VitaVine values Domaine Moreau's heritage and location." Rousseau adjusted his platinum cufflinks. "Your little alliance proposal has... complicated matters. My superiors prefer resolution rather than protracted negotiations."

I leaned back in Henri's chair, my grandfather's presence almost palpable in the worn leather. "This is a significant increase."

"Indeed." Rousseau's smile never reached his eyes. "Enough to purchase a magnificent apartment in Paris. Perhaps a vacation home in Provence. Financial security for life, Alexandre. No more struggling with ancient equipment, unpredictable weather, or labour shortages."

The offer was obscene. Excessive. Tempting in ways I hadn't anticipated.

With this money, I could walk away from everything—the crumbling estate, the failing vines, the village politics.

I could return to Paris, not to my corporate job but to freedom.

I could travel, invest, live comfortably without ever working again.

I picked up the contract, pretending to read details I'd already memorized. "And what happens to Domaine Moreau?"

"We maintain the name, of course. It becomes part of our premium heritage collection.

" Rousseau waved his hand dismissively. "The manor house would make an excellent hospitality center.

The more productive sections of vineyard would be integrated into our operations.

The rest... repurposed for more efficient use. "

"Repurposed."

"Some areas simply aren't economically viable in their current state." He shrugged. "Business realities."

I set the contract down, my fingers lingering on the heavy paper. "And if I refuse?"

Rousseau's expression hardened momentarily before smoothing back into practiced charm.

"Then you face foreclosure in—what is it now?

—seventy-four days? The bank takes everything, you leave with nothing, and we likely purchase the property at auction anyway.

" He leaned forward. "The outcome is inevitable, Alexandre.

The only question is whether you benefit or not. "

I stood, needing to move, to think. The study suddenly felt suffocating despite its familiar comfort. "I need time to consider."

"Of course." Rousseau stood as well, straightening his jacket with practiced precision. "But not too much time. This offer expires at noon tomorrow." He extracted a business card, placing it beside the contract. "Call me when you're ready to sign. I'll have the funds transferred immediately."

I walked him to the front door, our footsteps echoing through the quiet house. At the threshold, he paused.

"One more thing, Alexandre. Your... partner, Monsieur Tremblay. He's received a similar offer for his property."

My stomach tightened. "Has he?"

"Indeed. Though not quite as generous as yours." Rousseau's smile was reptilian. "His vineyard lacks the historical significance of Domaine Moreau. Still, it would be enough to clear his grandfather's debts and provide a comfortable new start elsewhere."

"Hugo would never sell."

"Everyone has their price." Rousseau stepped onto the gravel drive. "Even those who claim principles above profit. It's simply a matter of finding the right number." He gestured toward the contract on Henri's desk, visible through the open study door. "And I believe I've found yours."

I watched his Bentley disappear down the drive, dust settling in its wake. The morning breeze carried the scent of ripening grapes and distant rain. I should have felt anger, indignation, resolve to fight harder against VitaVine's manipulation.

Instead, I felt temptation coursing through me like poison.

I returned to the study, picking up the contract again. The figure hadn't changed. It was still obscene. Still life-changing. Still an escape from the uncertainty that had plagued me since returning to Saint-émilion.

"Merde," I whispered to the empty room.

I poured myself a measure of Henri's cognac—too early, but necessary—and stepped onto the terrace.

The vineyard stretched before me, rows upon rows of vines my grandfather had tended for decades.

Vines I'd learned to care for during childhood summers.

Vines that were failing now, despite our best efforts.

What would Henri do? The answer seemed obvious: he would never sell. But then, Henri had loved this place with his entire being. I merely... what? Respected it? Felt obligated to it ?

No, that wasn't fair. I loved Domaine Moreau. But I also feared it—feared failing it, feared being trapped by it, feared giving myself to something that might not survive despite my best efforts.

The cognac burned pleasantly down my throat. The money would solve everything. I could pay off Henri's debts, salvage my career in Paris, avoid the humiliation of bankruptcy. I could walk away clean, financially secure.

And Hugo... Hugo would understand eventually. He was a practical man beneath his passion. He would see that this was the sensible choice.

Wouldn't he?

"You can't be serious."

I looked up from the contract to find Hugo standing in the study doorway, his expression shifting from disbelief to anger as he took in the scene: the open bottle of cognac, Rousseau's business card, the contract spread before me.

"I'm considering all options," I said, straightening in my chair.

"All options." Hugo stepped into the room, his movements tightly controlled. "Including selling your grandfather's legacy to corporate vultures? What about the cooperative?"

I set down my glass harder than intended. "I'm acknowledging reality, Hugo. We're seventy-four days from foreclosure. The equipment is failing faster than we can repair it. The alliance is a beautiful dream, but—"

"But what? It's too much work? Too uncertain?" His voice rose. "We've barely started and you're already looking for the exit."

"I'm being practical."

"You're being a fucking coward."

The accusation hit like a physical blow. I stood, anger flaring. "Easy for you to say. Your vineyard isn't seventy-four days from being seized by the bank. "

"No, it's about ninety days from that point, not that it makes any difference" Hugo shot back. "And I'm still fighting. I'm not taking the easy way out."

"You know there's nothing easy about this decision."

"Isn't there?" He picked up the contract, glancing at the figure before tossing it back onto the desk.

"This is exactly what you want, Alexandre.

An escape. A reason to run back to Paris with your conscience clear because you had 'no choice.

Just when I was beginning to think that maybe you could change. '"

I circled the desk, needing to move, to put distance between us. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Hugo followed, refusing to let me retreat. "You've been looking for an excuse to leave since the moment you arrived. Now Rousseau has handed you the perfect one, gift-wrapped with a bow of self-justification."

"What would you have me do? Watch the bank take everything? Watch twelve generations of Moreaus end with me, the failure who couldn't save what everyone before me managed to preserve?"

"I'd have you fight!" Hugo's voice cracked with emotion. "I'd have you believe in what we're building. The alliance, the future—maybe even us, if you can see past the obstacles we've faced."

“There isn’t an ‘us,’ Hugo. Not anymore. Those moments we shared—they were beautiful, but they belong to our teenage years. This is the real world now, and we both need to accept that.” My voice was heavier than I intended, thick with the weight of memories and unresolved feelings.

Hugo stepped back as if I'd struck him. "Right. Of course." His laugh was bitter. "There's just you, making decisions that affect everyone else. Just like fourteen years ago."

"That's not—"

"It is." His eyes blazed. "You're doing exactly what you did then. Running away when things get difficult. Choosing safety over... over anything real."

I felt cornered, defensive. "I'm trying to be realistic. This offer solves everything."

"It solves nothing! It just lets you escape the hard parts.

The uncertainty, the vulnerability, the possibility of failure.

" Hugo's voice dropped, somehow more devastating in its quietness.

"You know what I think? I think you're more afraid of succeeding than failing.

Because if we save these vineyards, if we build something together, then you'd have to stay.

You'd have to commit. And that terrifies you more than any financial ruin. "

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Hugo's eyes searched mine. "Tell me you're not tempted to take that money because it gives you permission to leave. Tell me you're not relieved to have an honorable retreat."

I couldn't answer. The truth of his words burned too deeply.

"That's what I thought." Hugo turned toward the door, then stopped. "Your grandfather stayed, Alexandre. Despite everything—society's judgment, the impossibility of being with Claude openly—he stayed. He built something that mattered, even though it was hard. Even though it hurt sometimes."

"And look what it got him," I said quietly. "A lifetime of hiding. Of compromise."

"Of love," Hugo countered. "Of purpose. Of belonging somewhere, to someone, even if it wasn't perfect." He shook his head. "But you wouldn't understand that, would you? You've spent your entire adult life making sure you belong nowhere, to no one."