Page 28 of Vine (Island Love #3)
CHAPTER 27
CASPIAN
The last few days of filming had a giddy, end-of-term feel to them. The weather turned hot and unexpectedly stormy, bursts of thunder heralding quick showers, over as soon as they’d begun. Huddled in billowing, flapping tents, the crew were already chatting about the next project. They were only hanging around to film the handover of the vines to the cooperative and record the beginning of the vendage.
Two days earlier, I’d driven Emma to the airport. It was lonely on set without her. If the camera crew hadn’t realised me and Leigh and Jonas only communicated through one of them, then they must have had their heads in the sand. I had taken to sheltering in the unused gatehouse in between takes, with my viticulture studies.
Once the handover was done, Jonas oversaw a slap-up evening meal in the function room at L’Escale, complete with endless booze, as if he was funding it out of his own pocket. Anyone who knew him knew hell would freeze over before that happened. My meagre appetite was ruined by Leigh’s oily schmoozing. He drank more than he normally did, restlessly fluttering from table to table, eyes darting everywhere, most frequently landing on me.
“I know what you’re doing, Caspian,” he hissed. I stood alone at the buffet, picking out the Comte, Max’s favourite cheese, wishing he was at my shoulder but content in the knowledge that he was supping a quiet pint in his favourite corner downstairs, with Noir at his feet.
“I’m eating a plate of cheese and ham,” I answered calmly. “Or trying to.”
“Not that.” He jerked his chin back towards the room. “Acting all moody, like you’re the injured party. Sulking. So childish, Caspian, nobody’s falling for it.”
Whatever. As Jonas’s desktop calendar had recently reminded me: people either completed you or deleted you. Leigh fell into the latter category; my only regret was that it had taken me so long to see it. “You should try some of this, honestly. It’s been aged ten years. Lovely with a dab of that red-onion chutney.”
He huffed with annoyance. “And this stupid stringing it out, not signing for Libby. We’re supposed to be meeting with the execs next week before I fly out for the jungle prep. It’s inconsiderate of you. It really is.”
I smiled to myself. Inconsiderate was fucking one of our best friends. Then inviting me to join in. Belittling my health issues. Knowing your fuck buddy was framing me and letting him do it anyway.
“I’m not signing.” I cut another wedge of Comte. “Not now, not ever.”
Leigh stabbed at a lump of cheese. “Stop being so bloody melodramatic. Of course you are. It’s the biggest opportunity we’ll ever get. This is it, Caspy! Doors are opening! In six months from now, we’ll be household names!” He checked over his shoulder, then dropped his voice. “And you know that without Jonas around, we’re good. And I don’t mean,” he flicked his eyes over me, “you know, like that—I’m not saying we need to give that aspect of us a try again. But on screen. We work , Caspy.” He gave me a sly nudge. “Although I’m not making a massive fuss, I haven’t forgiven him for what he’s doing to you. I’m just not rocking the boat, not until we’re out of here and home and dry, anyhow.”
I couldn’t decide which of them was worse. Jonas the snake, with his snivelling leers and his mocking laughs, openly despising me. Or Leigh, my one-time friend, husband, lover. Letting himself be swept along, everyone’s pal, pretending not to see his boyfriend’s coke addiction. Weak and worthless, like a two-faced coin.
“I’m not being melodramatic. I’m not signing. I emailed Libby before I came out tonight. My television career is finished. I’m staying here, seeing the vendage through and then taking over the vineyard.”
“This vineyard?” Mouth agape and a picture of incredulity.
The thought struck me that, after tomorrow, I might never see him again. Jonas either. Our long association no more, damply fizzling out, ending right here, over an ordinary buffet cart.
It was a great feeling.
“Yes. This vineyard. I’ve become… quite attached to it.” I put down my plate, the food only half eaten, but not before wrapping a slice of ham into a napkin as a treat for Noir. Leigh still stared at me as if I’d announced I’d become straight. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment downstairs with a man dressed in blue waders.”
I’d never love this ocean like Max did. Too bleeding cold for a start, even after a rare late September day like today, when the hot sun had beaten down on it from dawn ‘til dusk. Dipping my toes in at any time of year punched the air from my lungs.
The beach had grown on me, though. Kicking off suffocating shoes at the end of a day, peeling away sweaty socks, I revelled in the tickly, grippy scrunching of warm sand between freed toes. The slip and slide of thousands of grains, hugging and comforting a tired, worn sole.
Strolling along the beach with my slim hand dwarfed in Max’s felt even better. We took a slow meander. Every so often, he bent down to pick something up, pocket it, or toss it aside. Second guessing him was hopeless; I’d given up. I no more understood the workings of his complex mind any more than he did mine. Perhaps that was why we fit.
“I’m still staying,” I said. “Even though they’ve all gone. Just in case you were worried I was having second thoughts and might be tempted to go with them.”
Every last person and piece of equipment departed yesterday. I hadn’t even said goodbye. I’d taken Noir on a long hike instead, while Max was at work, then gone to watch him bring the day’s oyster haul home.
He squeezed my hand, still perusing the sand with his eyes. “I know,” he answered. “I’m irresistible.”
My boyfriend was becoming an expert tease. “I’m going to have to go back to England at some point soon, to rent my flat out, sort through my stuff. But then I’ll be back.”
I tipped my head up to the sky. A few light clouds, nothing threatening. “And then, after the vendage, I’ll look for a job. Something simple. Low stress.”
I squeezed his hand back with my last words, and he gave a faint smile. “I’ll start with asking around at the cooperative,” I carried on. “To see if they have anything to offer over the winter. And then I need to get in touch with the vineyard owner. And maybe see about renting the other gatehouse, if it’s not too expensive. If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll maybe look for some bar work or restaurant work. I can’t sponge off you forever, Max.”
His mouth quirked into a faint smile; a little mysterious if I was honest, like he was harbouring a secret. Leaning over, he planted a kiss on my temple. “I like having a kept man.”
We walked a few paces farther until Max stooped again, pocketing whatever treasure he’d spied, after giving it a brisk rub with his thumb. “The vineyard owner says he’s open for a chat about you carrying on managing it.”
This was good news. “What, you’ve asked him already?”
“Yes.” He nodded, and the smile grew even more mysterious. “He also says you can stay on every year after that.”
“D-did he?” I stuttered, somewhat taken aback. “That’s… that’s great, Max!”
“But he says you can’t stay in the other gatehouse. Absolument non . He says you have to stay with me. In my bed. And if my gatehouse is too small for the two of us, as well as Noir and Kaa, then he says we can move to the big house. And live there together.”
We plodded a few feet more before his words sunk in and their meaning slotted into place. Then I skidded to a halt. “What? Are you… what?”
I stared into his eyes like they were the only thing on the beach, trying to suck the truth from them. “Are you…you’re the…?”
Max’s own eyes didn't flinch. Locked onto mine, they were steady and determined. Proud. I drank him in. So many questions flashed across my mind at once, too many for me to even name them. “It’s your… it’s your vineyard, isn’t it?”
A flush of colour stole across his cheeks. “Yeah. It is. I inherited it from my mother when she died. I’ve always rented it out.”
A fuzzy, tingling warmth spread across my forehead, down my neck and into my cheeks. My mouth opened and closed; no words issued forth. My head spun, too, like I was falling through the sky, pirouetting, backflipping, not sure how I would land, but for the very first time, not petrified of finding out. Strong enough to take a chance.
I got my mouth to work again. “Why,” I was surprised by the calmness of my own voice, “didn’t you tell me?”
Max shrugged one of his big shoulders. “It wasn’t important. Stuff like that isn’t. Pale cheeks are important. Shells, oysters, and vines, too. Earlobes, mean gestation periods for Alsatians. The weather report. Finding a perfect peach and having good teeth.” He kissed me on my gobsmacked mouth, one of his firm, possessive kisses that made me feel loved in a way no one else ever had. “But who has what, and who owns what. None of that stuff matters at all. Except that you’re mine. That matters. A lot.”
THE END