Page 117 of Bitter Rival

I was never supposed to care about him. I was never supposed to catch feelings, but I fell for him all the same.

The heart doesn’t understand logic. It wants what it wants.

And I want him. All of him. His flaws, his weaknesses, his vulnerabilities, his love.

As my mother always used to say, “You’re such a silly little fool, Daisy.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Beckett

Daisy looks like a summer dream in her pale blue dress. As she climbs the hill, I can’t look away. My chest feels tight, and I have tunnel vision. All I can see is her.

Which is pretty damn inconvenient, all things considered.

Why did she have to be Astrid’s daughter?

Why did she have to be sent here by my father?

I consider myself a man of reason. Cool, calculated, and level-headed, I rarely allow my emotions to interfere with my end goal. But over the past few months that’s all been shot to hell and now I’m hard-pressed to remember the last time I acted rationally.

When Daisy reaches the top of the hill, she lowers herself to the ground and sits next to me. No fucks given that she’s going to ruin her pretty dress.

“So what happened back there?” she asks after a few moments of silence.

“I decided you were right. Michael Castellano doesn’t deserve this place.”

I’d rather sell to a buyer with absolutely no connection to the Heywards than to the man responsible for sending Astrid to our front door.

And now that I know Michael has buried the hatchet with my father, he’s not even my father’s enemy anymore. He’s mine.

“Because he hired my mother,” she says, getting right to the point.

“And because today reconfirmed what I already knew. The Heyward men are grade A assholes. Every single last one of us.” I give her my most vicious grin. “But I took immense joy in dangling the carrot in front of Michael’s nose only to yank it away.”

She laughs softly and bumps her shoulder against mine. “You’re terrible.”

“I know.” I rest my forearms on my bent knees and give her the side-eye. “But you like me anyway.”

“Says you,” she sasses.

After a beat, she says, “You’re not an asshole.” I give her a look. “Not all the time. Most of the time you’re not an asshole at all.”

“Such a pretty liar.” I’m a bigger asshole than she even knows.

But I’m going to stick to the plan. Now that I’ve successfully drained Astrid’s account, I’ll be flying to London to confront her after this is all over.

I want justice for my mother, and I won’t fucking stop until I get it.

“I didn’t want to leave here,” Daisy says. “I wanted to stay. It felt like the only real home I’d ever had—” She inhales sharply and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. This was your home. Never mine.”

My gaze sweeps over the verdant hills of the vineyard and the terracotta roofs of the house and the winery.

From this vantage point, it’s all spread out below us like a patchwork quilt. Pretty as a postcard. California gold. The battle ground for feuding fathers and sons for as far back as I can remember. And the place Daisy called home for six or seven years.

Now that I’ve heard her Finn story and the way she was forced to live, I have a better understanding of why this place was so special to her.

This vineyard represents a safe haven. The last vestiges of her childhood innocence. And I guess that’s what it used to be for me too before everything went to shit.

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