Page 64 of The Vineyard Crush

Mother’s eyes glittered knowingly as understanding finally sank its hooks into me.

“Look around you, beta,” she prompted with a careless wave of her hand, pinning me with that same patronizing half-smile. “You can barely organize your own living area or act the capable adult who knows to clean up her own messes. How did you possibly expect to effortlessly insert yourself into Ridge’s world without only adding to his burdens?”

The truth of her astute observation was a vicious slap, stealing what little air remained in my lungs. I felt my cheeks flush with the scorching wave of shame and self-loathing crashing over me as tears burned hot at the corners of my eyes.

This was my fault…my immaturity and lack of consideration that would inevitably drive a wedge between Ridge and I before we even had a real chance to explore the depth of whatever this fragile new connection was. A stupid, silly girl playing at adulthood, convinced she was capable of holding her own in a grown man’s demanding world.

I was so naive. So painfully, pathetically—

“Emma?”

Mother’s voice broke through the haze of mortification swirling through my mind, laced with a rare undercurrent of concern. I blinked dazedly as she took an abortive step in my direction, hand outstretched and expression pinched.

But I couldn’t bring myself to meet that pitying gaze again, not when every molecule of my being was roiling with self-disgust and despair. Ridge deserved so much better than enduring whatever paltry scraps of womanhood I could scrounge up between my petty shortcomings.

He was a good man, an honorable father—

(Yours. Yours. The insidious voice inside my battered psyche whispered treacherously. You could be those for him too, if you’d only allow yourself…)

An anguished rasp tore from my raw throat as I blindly pivoted on my heel and fled the oppressive stillness of the cabin. Mother’s bewildered call faded into the distance as I tore down the darkened trail leading deeper into the vineyard.

Uncaring of the sting of branches lashing my exposed arms or the burrs and pebbles littering the uneven path, I fled with single-minded desperation. The overwhelming compulsion to escape those brutal home truths scorching the air from my lungs drove every pounding stride.

I ran until my chest felt fit to burst, tears carving blazing tracks down my chilled cheeks and back arched in a wordless scream muffled behind clenched teeth. By the time I finally collapsed against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, my entire body quaked with bone-deep convulsions of turmoil.

The realization had shattered every beautiful illusion in its merciless wake. No matter how profound the connection thrumming between Ridge and I burned…our disparate realities would always be an obstacle I could never bridge. Not completely. Not without one of us being crushed beneath the weight of sacrifice, settling for a pale imitation of what they deserved.

After everything he’d already endured, Ridge didn’t deserve anymore compromises or disappointments inflicted upon him by my flighty immaturity. And I…?

I didn’t deserve to be the one holding him back from the full life he’d fought so hard to rebuild for himself and his children. To selfishly stake any claim that could potentially upend the hard-won peace he’d achieved just to assuage my own naïve wants.

Each observation sliced a little deeper, releasing a fresh wave of that too-familiar inadequacy I could never quite escape. My jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth as a burning pressure built behind my eyes.

She’s right. The thought replayed on a sickening loop. Ridge will realize I’m too much. Too messy, too scattered, too…me. I’m just adding to his stress.

Twenty Seven

Emma

The gravel crunched under my boots as I trudged up the winding path to Leo’s lakeside cabin. Evergreen boughs formed a canopy overhead, casting dappled shadows that danced across my face with every gentle breeze.

I swiped at the dampness streaking my cheeks, but more tears replaced them just as quickly. Get it together, Emma. I drew a shuddering breath and knocked on the solid oak door.

Seconds ticked by until finally the door swung inward, and there stood Leo, his dark hair still damp from the shower. A few rogue droplets clung to the bronzed skin of his bare chest before disappearing into the terrycloth towel slung low on his hips.

“Emma?” Confusion flickered across his features as he took me in—red-rimmed eyes, shoulders hunched. “What’s wrong, ma lutine?”

The childhood nickname, my brother’s voice soft with concern, was my undoing. A harsh sob escaped my constricted throat as fresh tears spilled over. Before I could answer, Leo’s arms encircled me, pulling me into the cocooning warmth and safety of his embrace.

I melted against his solid frame, burying my face into the soft cotton of his well-worn Wilder’s Jersey tee—a relic from his university days when he played cricket for his friend’s local community league team. The masculine scent of sandalwood and clean soap overwhelmed me, stoking a faint ember of calm against the raging storm of emotions.

“It’s Mom,” I finally choked out, and felt the rumble of his sigh against my cheek.

“C’mere.”

Leo ushered me inside, guiding me with a gentle hand on my lower back to the plush leather sofa positioned before the great room’s stone fireplace. I curled into his side like I’d done a thousand times before, drawing my knees up as he looped a comforting arm around my shoulders. Ever since Dad’s passing, Leo had stepped into that role—my protector, my safe haven when Mom’s criticisms or the pressures of life became too much.

A few errant teardrops darkened the soft fabric of his shirt as I recounted the disastrous baking episode that sparked Mom’s latest barbs about my inadequacies, her insistence that Ridge would soon realize I was more burden than benefit to his already full life as a single father. I poured it all out in halting phrases, shoulders tensing with the echoes of her harsh rebukes still ringing in my mind.

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