Page 22 of Love You Always

For a split second, I see a flicker of recognition. “Take care ofthe business, Arch. Take care of the family.” It’s the same refrain since I took over, and the source of the weight I carry on my shoulders.

“I will, Dad. Don’t worry.”

Just as quickly, the sharpness in my dad’s eyes disappears, and I watch the vein of confusion settle in. “Worry? About what?”

I shouldn’t have come. I should have waited for “a good day,” but I fear there won’t be any of those. Maybe not ever again.

He looks off into the distance like the information he’s seeking is somewhere in the wallpaper design. Then his eyes scan the room, and I watch the confusion take over. My dad’s brow furrows and his mouth turns down into a scowl as he searches for a touchstone. Betsy moves toward us and his eyes flicker with recognition. “Judy, I’d like a glass of water.”

Betsy pours a glass of water but doesn’t correct him when he calls her by my mother’s name. Maybe I should’ve let him call me Jackson. Either way, I can see that he’s not in any state to give me the information I’m seeking, but I figure I don’t have anything to lose by asking.

“Dad, someone set fire to Buttercup Hill.”

Slowly, his gaze returns to me. “Really?” His face bears a tiny trace of a smile.

“Yes. Do you know something about that? The blind spot?”

The smile evaporates and his brow furrows again. “Judy, I asked you for water.”

Betsy pushes the still-full glass toward my dad and wraps his hand around it. “Here you go.” He doesn’t drink it. She tilts her head toward the bedroom door, her signal that I’m just agitating him and I’m probably not going to get what I want. But I’m a determined son of a bitch, so I try once more to make small talk. Sometimes when my dad relaxes, his cognitive function returns.

“It’s a pretty day today. Do you feel like getting out?”

He shakes his head. “I need some water. That’s what I want.”

I blink hard and nod. “Okay.”

CHAPTER 10

Ella

“It won’t take that long,I promise.” I shuttle Callum along, looking over my shoulder every thirty seconds.

Next to me, I hear Callum inhale a deep breath and let it out slowly. I know him well enough to understand that it’s just the way he breathes, rather than some appreciation for the scents in the air. Other than that, the only sound is the crunch of our feet on the gravel and the chirp of bluebirds in the vineyard. I can picture them perched on the houses Archer pointed out to me the last time we walked among the vines. Callum inhales again, reminding me I need to keep my focus on him—on our wedding—and not the nervous twinge in my heart over the winemaker who seems to be occupying more and more of my thoughts.

That needs to stop. I’m probably just nervous about the wedding, thinking about all that has to go right in order to clear the way to adoption. I haven’t gotten to where I have in my career by losing focus when it matters. And right now, all thatmatters is being able to walk into that courtroom with a husband on my arm and proof of a stable home life for a child.

Beatrix drives up in a golf cart and offers to shuttle us to the restaurant. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I like the walk, and that way I can show Callum around.”

“Ella, if we’re being offered a ride, I’ll take it. No reason to walk if we can ride in style.” He’s in the golf cart before I have time to argue. I take a casual glance around before I slide onto the seat next to him, but Beatrix leans in and hands us each a printed menu, blocking my view. It’s just as well because I should not be looking for a certain winemaker who treated me to the best day I’ve had in months.

Beatrix hops into the front of the cart and steers us along the path toward the restaurant. “Your guests will enter along this drive, and we’ll direct them past the vineyards to the restaurant. It gives people a sense of the winery and the relaxed vibe here, so they’ll arrive at the wedding location with a mood already set,” she tells Callum, who’s barely listening. His thumbs move across the screen of his phone, but he has the good sense to grunt occasionally, so Beatrix thinks he’s listening.

I nudge him. “Do you want to look around?”

“Not really. This is your show.”

“It’s not a show. It’s our wedding, and you were the one who insisted we invite the press,” I whisper, throwing an irritated glance his way. He’s oblivious.

Turning away from him, I take a deep breath of the lavender field Beatrix is gesturing at. “So pretty,” I acknowledge, compensating for my fiancé who couldn’t care less.

My eyes snag on the kitchen garden, where Archer and I were walking when he called me a rom-com princess. “Do you think I’m a rom-com princess?” I ask Callum with a smile, trying to rekindle a connection.

“What?” At least he looks up from his phone.

“Someone called me a rom-com princess, which I thought was kind of funny. Do you see me that way?”

“What way?” He’s back on his phone tapping away.

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