Page 115 of Bitter Rival

Michael nods. “I was high as a kite. Never smoked that stuff again, I can tell you that much. I was also jealous and angry. My father had died a few weeks before and I’d just found out that he left everything to Robert. He didn’t leave a single penny to my mother. So I came over here in the middle of the night and hacked away at those poor grapevines. The next morning, when I woke up and remembered what I did, I felt like shit.”

I look over at Beckett. He’s wearing a look of practiced boredom, but I wonder if any of this hits close to home for him.

Michael felt slighted by his father so he took out his revenge on Robert, and now Beckett is doing the same thing by selling this vineyard to the “enemy.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t feel guilty about doing that to Robert,” Michael says. “I just wish I would have chosen a different way to retaliate instead of taking out my anger on those grapevines.”

“You should have challenged him to a duel at sunrise,” Beckett drawls.

Michael snorts. “The coward never would have showed up. He got me back though. He didn’t just let it go.”

He leans back in his seat and squints into the distance. “I went off to make my fortune and vowed to come back richer, smarter, better than Robert. Better than our old man. And when I came back and bought a neighboring vineyard, that bastard drained the wine from the barrels. I returned the favor.”

He chuckles under his breath, and I get the feeling that he and Robert enjoyed messing with each other. It wouldn’t surprise me.

He gives me a smile. “And that was how the great feud started.”

“Sounds like a waste of time and energy to me.” I give Beckett a pointed look. He returns it with a lazy grin.

“That’s because you don’t have a vengeful bone in your body,” Beckett says, swirling the wine in his glass. “Shame, really. It makes for good sport.”

“It went on for years and years,” Gabriella says. “Every time I tried to play peacemaker, they thwarted my efforts. Grown men acting like schoolboys. It was embarrassing.”

“I can only imagine,” I mutter.

Beckett laughs, completely at ease now that we’re discussing one of his favorite topics.

But I still have more questions, so I ask Michael the most pressing one. “So did you and Robert ever bury the hatchet?”

He nods slowly. “He showed up at my door…must have been right after Christmas…with a bottle of wine and two cigars. Said that ‘life is short, we’re not getting any younger, and this feud has gone on for too long.’ We drank the bottle of wine, smoked the cigars and then he left. A few weeks later he was gone.”

Michael twirls the stem of his wine glass between his fingers, his expression thoughtful. “I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we’d made our peace sooner and had more time.”

I give Beckett another pointed look which he studiously ignores.

He looks bored now, like the thrill is gone after finding out that Michael and Robert made their peace.

“Chances are he would have only disappointed you,” Beckett says. “My father was only good in small doses.”

“Maybe,” Michael says. “When we were kids, we were close. But after the old man kicked me and my mom out, I told my mother that I would make them pay for the way they treated us. After he died and left us with nothing…well, I went after Robert. I set out to take everything from him just like it had been taken from me. Unfortunately, I took it too far. We both did. I regret that now.”

He looks at Beckett. “I’m just sorry you and your mother got caught in the crossfire. But I’m happy you’re willing to let bygones be bygones. I just never thought…” He shakes his head and sighs. “Water under the bridge.”

Beckett’s eyes narrow and he sits up straighter, suddenly on the alert. “What are you talking about?”

“The role I played in getting him involved with Astrid—” He cuts himself off, his eyes on me. “I’m sorry. I forgot she’s your mother.”

I shrug one shoulder, trying to be nonchalant even as my stomach twists into knots of dread. Why do all roads have to lead to my mother? “It’s okay. We’re not close.”

He nods. “Guess you wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“What did you have to do with Astrid?” Beckett says sharply.

Michael hesitates. “Go on, Michael,” Gabriella prompts. “Tell them what you did.”

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m the one who hired her.”

“You hired her,” Beckett says, enunciating every word. “To do what, exactly? Seduce my father?”

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