Page 63 of The Vineyard Crush

Tutting under her breath about ‘insatiable boys’, she didn’t seem overly concerned with whatever debauchery Leo had in store for his homecoming. An indulgent shake of the head and she was already refocused on monitoring the evening’s culinary efforts.

Ethan leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a rumbly whisper clearly meant for my ears alone. “Seriously though, bro…glad to have you back.”

I let out a contented sigh as I settled onto the plush sofa in my cozy living room cabin, finally able to decompress after an eventful evening reconnecting with Leo and Ethan. We’d spent hours reminiscing over childhood antics and mapping out tentative plans for the upcoming Vineyard Festival - a cherished annual tradition.

Glancing around the comfortably cluttered space, I felt a sense of deep contentment unfurl within me. This was my sanctuary - a place I’d painstakingly cultivated to be a reflection of my spirit and passions. Design magazines and scattered Post-It notes littered the coffee table where I’d been drafting initial decor concepts, while the walls were a makeshift gallery proudly displaying some of my favorite photographs and charcoal sketches from the past few vintages.

My gaze snagged on a particularly exquisite piece - the barest suggestion of delicate wisteria vines rendered in broad, confident strokes. As my fingertips traced over the familiar shading, I could practically feel the warm press of Ridge’s solid frame against my back as he’d coached me through those first few tentative lines.

A shiver of remembrance licked up my spine as images from that afternoon flooded my mind’s eye - the heady scent of his skin and the scorching glide of his calloused palms skimming over my inner thighs, guiding my strokes along the parchment. Back arching reflexively as the deep timbre of his gravelly rumble ghosted over the fine hairs at my nape…

The jarring rap of knuckles at my front door startled me so violently I nearly toppled off the couch, breaths coming in shallow pants. Heat seared across my cheekbones as I scrambled to smooth my hair and regain some semblance of outward composure before answering.

I already knew who would be standing on the other side the moment I pulled the door open. Mom’s expression was patently disapproving as she swept an assessing gaze over my no doubt flustered appearance before brushing past me into the living room without preamble.

Some things would never change, no matter how old I got.

Squaring my shoulders with a fortifying inhale, I turned to face the brewing confrontation head-on. “Mom?”

“Your uncle Arjun called this afternoon,” she began without preamble, eyes flickering with undisguised censure as they raked over my rumpled havens. “There’s someone he wants you to meet.”

Despite her carefully measured tone, I heard the implication loud and clear. My stomach plummeted as frigid dread rapidly congealed in my veins. I’d known this was coming eventually, yet the easy, affection-filled evening had lulled me into a false sense of complacency.

Clearing my throat, I forced the inquiry even though every self-preserving instinct within me recoiled violently. “What do you mean? Who is it?”

Mother’s discerning gaze remained shrewdly trained on me, as if gauging the veracity of my feigned ignorance. Apparently finding my reaction at least somewhat satisfactory, she pressed on.

“His name is Jayesh. From a very…influential family back in Mumbai.” The barest emphasis lent to those last few words spoke volumes - wealthy, well-connected nobility. Exactly the kind of prestigious, ‘respectable’ pedigree Mother had always dreamed of but never quite managed to attain on her own merit.

Jayesh. The name alone was like a lead weight slamming into the pit of my churning gut. So it had finally come to this inevitable crossroads - that obligation stretching back through generations of tradition and duty from which I had naively thought myself sheltered thanks to Dad’s influence.

“No,” I heard the whispered refusal leave my lips before I’d even fully registered it. “I…Mom, I can’t. Not with some random stranger from halfway around the world.”

Mother seemed almost relieved at the hint of protest, regarding me with the same pursed half-smile that meant the real confrontation was only just beginning. Muscles tensed across my body in that precognitive awareness that the safety and sanctity of this refuge was about to be irrevocably violated once more.

“Is this about the nonsense going on with Ridge?” she scoffed under her breath, already answering her own question with a derisive wave.

“What? How?” I ask and she rolls her eyes, “I have have, Emma. The Vat, the roofs, don’t you think that we see you sneak around you are not very good at hiding things.” I pull at the threads in my t-shirt as I look at my feet. We really weren’t careful, what if his kids find out, what if I hurt them.“Sweetheart, Ridge is a single father with three children already. You must be realistic - he doesn’t want another obligation tying him down even further than he already is.” mom continues on.

My breath escaped in a stuttered whoosh at her words, heart clenching at the undeniable truth they contained. No matter how deeply those roots between Ridge and I had already entangled…Avery, Lily and Hunter would always be his primary responsibilities. His world. And I…?

A cool palm cupped my cheek with an intimate tenderness that belied the glacial detachment in Mother’s frosted gaze.

“This Jayesh has the means to give you everything and more without ever needing to lift a finger,” she wheedled in that familiar dulcet tone. “Maids, cooks, travel…a life of total indulgence and ease, just as you’ve always envisioned for yourself. Isn’t that a far preferable alternative to shackling yourself to a laborer and his brood?”

The poisoned barbs dripped from her lips with practiced precision, each one meticulously targeted to unravel the tightly woven tapestry of wants and contentment I’d steadily been cultivating over the past few blissful months.

With her next words, Mother delivered the fatal blow that knocked the very wind from my lungs. Mother’s words hung heavy between us, each syllable driving the barb deeper until I felt utterly flayed open and exposed before her relentless stare. The undisguised pity tingeing her expression as she continued was almost more than I could stomach.

“I like Ridge, I do,” she insisted with a condescending pat to my stricken cheek. “But we both know he’ll realize soon enough that you’re simply…too much for him to handle, Emma.”

A breathless, wounded noise punched from my lungs at the brutal assessment. My stinging eyes instinctively swiveled to drink in the cozy, cluttered disarray of my living space - the domestic chaos that had always felt so innately mine. The scattering of throw pillows and magazines strewn about, that utterly meaningless daub of charcoal peeking out from beneath the coffee table…

All at once, every cherished detail took on an air of abject carelessness. Embarrassing clutter and mess that a grown, capable woman like me shouldn’t have allowed to accumulate so thoughtlessly. Not if I expected to seamlessly merge my life with another’s that was already overflowing with responsibilities and stresses.

Like an ice pick piercing straight through my back, the memories came rushing forth in a torrent I was powerless to stem. Every bewildered look from Ridge when he’d return home from the ranch to find my “harmless mess” scattered through the main living area. Each exasperated huff and tensing of those broad shoulders as he wordlessly restored order in my wake.

He’d never voiced any real complaints, but his body language painted such a clear picture of the strain I’d been thoughtlessly adding on top of everything else he shouldered. All because I was too selfish and childish to simply pick up after myself out of respect for his space.

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