Page 40 of The Forbidden

I exhale, his question causing the weight to feel a tiny bit heavier. “It’s never-ending. And in addition to my regular job and the winery, I’m also handling all the medical oversight for the horses. Everyone in the family has pulled something off Ethan’s shoulders to give him breathing room. It’s like juggling knives.”

Gabe chuckles and with a look of genuine interest on his face says, “I’m not sure I really understand everything that you or your family does. Educate me.”

“Yeah, I guess we never talked about that stuff back when we were together.” The words come out of my mouth unbidden and for a fearful moment, I’m concerned that Sylvie heard that. My gaze snaps to her but she’s engrossed in her movie. I move far away from that subject and launch into answering his question. “Blackburn Farms is the largest breeding and training facility for American saddlebreds in the country.”

Gabe’s eyes flare in surprise and I’m honestly confused how he doesn’t know that. We have business interests in the same small slice of Shelby County, but I guess when you mutually hate one another for decades upon decades, families don’t tend to get into the important details.

“We have over a thousand acres of land, two hundred brood mares, almost seventy retired horses, nine studs and plenty of foals and yearlings that rotate through. I have no clue how many staff total and it fluctuates seasonally, but I’d guess we average anywhere from fifty to seventy-five people at a time.”

“Doing what?” he asks.

“Stable workers, grooms, trainers, veterinarians, administrative staff, maintenance techs. That’s just off the top of my head.”

Gabe issues a low whistle. “Impressive. I wish I’d asked more about it before.”

I’m uncomfortable that he’s bringing up our past, especially with Sylvie sitting beside us and the chance that the conversation could turn volatile. I shift attention back to him, delving into something that’s been on my mind. “Tell me more about Alaine. What was she like?”

I’ve heard Sylvie talk about her mother on many occasions because it’s a subject everyone in my family encourages. None of us forget that only a few short months ago, Sylvie lost her mother to cancer and then was thrust into an alien world. So we push to keep that connection alive, which is also why Ethan allowed her to come to France with Gabe.

Expression softening, Gabe taps his finger against his glass as he ponders. “I don’t quite know how to describe my sister. She was incredible, the best mom to Sylvie. She was so passionate about everything she did, especially the vineyard. That made her a formidable businesswoman and yet… she was really down-to-earth. Nothing like me or my parents in that respect, but I expect that’s because she got away from them as soon as she could.”

I don’t point out there was a time when I found Gabe to be genuine and down-to-earth but instead say, “I can tell you were very close to her just by the tone of your voice.”

Gabe settles back in his chair and nods. “We only had each other. Our parents weren’t very… well, parental. I guess it’s okay for me to say it out loud now given everything that’s happened the last few weeks, but they’re both cold. Detached. Alaine and I were raised by a rotating door of nannies. So yeah… we only had each other.” His gaze shifts over to Sylvie. “And now she’s all I’ve got.”

Understanding dawns on me. Sylvie isn’t just his niece, she’s his last connection to his sister. The only part of his family that was genuine and loving. The only part of his family that would speak to his own humanity.

Gabe clears his throat and rises from his seat. He’s dressed casually in a pair of khaki pants and a black polo shirt with the Mardraggon Bourbon logo of a flying golden dragon over the left breast. “Excuse me a moment… I need to check on something.” He moves to the back of the plane, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He puts it to his ear, connecting a call.

I know he would like me to believe that he has business to attend to, but I can tell that he was feeling emotional in remembering his sister. I don’t begrudge him that vulnerability and God help me, it makes him more attractive. It reminds me of the man I knew long ago, the one I lost my heart to.

CHAPTER 16

Kat

When I think of growing up in Kentucky, especially the feud between the Blackburns and the Mardraggons, I often get a sense of awe over how long ago it started. Over a hundred and seventy years—that span used to seem unfathomable to me. But as I walk the ancient streets of Saint-Émilion, I realize our American feud happened the equivalent of a yesterday to the French.

I can understand why Sylvie is so homesick for this picturesque town in the Bordeaux region. The town was formed in the eighth century—over a thousand years ago—and while math has never been my forte, those numbers make my head spin. I’ve been absolutely charmed by the stone architecture and the narrow cobblestone streets. Because the town sits atop a hill, stunning views of the vineyards stretch as far as the eye can see, the Dordogne River meandering in the distance.

I’ve walked the streets early in the morning each day we’ve been here, feeling more confident in myself to bridge the language barrier by lucking into residents who speak English or miming what I need when inside a bakery or coffee shop.

Gabe has taken to working on Mardraggon business first thing in the morning and I’ve used the time to explore. Sylvie has been the social butterfly, visiting dear friends she was forced to leave behind without proper goodbyes. While I wanted her by my side as I experienced my first trip to Europe, I also could never deny her the opportunity to soak up every bit of homecoming that she could. She stayed at a friend’s house yesterday and last night.

Glancing at my watch, I see it’s nearing nine a.m. and I have to be back at the château in about an hour to meet Gabe. We’re going to review the notes from our meetings regarding the expansion as well as the portfolios of interested investors.

My stomach rumbles, the perfect invitation to stop inside my new favorite boulangerie on the Place du Marché where I’ve taken to eating baguette slices with butter and jam. Nothing has ever tasted as good, especially sitting outside at their little wrought iron tables while inhaling the scent of grape leaves in the air from all the vineyards surrounding the town.

I get my food along with a strong cup of coffee and settle into a table that allows me to see the bell tower of the Saint-Émilion Monolithic Church. I toured it our first full day here when we let Sylvie be our guide. It’s an architectural wonder, partially carved from a single block of limestone for which the region is known. We climbed to the top of the bell tower and my breath was robbed upon taking in the panoramic view of the region. From high above, the vineyards were segregated into asymmetrical blocks of different varieties of grapes, creating a patchwork quilt of color.

Keeping one eye on my watch, since it’s a good twenty-minute walk to the château, I let my attention follow the people milling around. Many are tourists but some are locals, and it’s not hard to tell the difference.

I’m slathering orange marmalade onto another baguette slice when a shadow falls over my table. I look up to see Gabe standing there, casual in a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. He settles into the chair opposite me and without asking takes the baguette from my hand. “I’m starving. I haven’t had a chance to eat breakfast.”

“Hey,” I exclaim, only slightly irritated, and it fizzles just as quickly when he winks at me before taking a bite. “What are you doing here?”

“It was too nice a morning to keep working, so I canceled a meeting and decided to come find you. Figured we could talk business while we walk around and look at cool old stuff.”

I finish the last bit of my coffee, loving the bitter bite after the sweetness of the marmalade. He notes the skeptical look on my face.

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