Page 93 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

It doesn’t.

Nothing ever will.

“Candace,” I say softly, stepping closer. She flinches but doesn’t move away. “I didn’t know. If I’d known...”

“It’s too late, Ryan,” she cuts me off, her voice trembling. “It’s always too late with you.”

Her anger is a shield, but I see the pain underneath it, the hurt she’s been carrying alone for years. My hand moves without thinking, gripping her arm gently but firmly, pulling her closer. She struggles for a moment, but I press her back against the side of the limo, my free hand cupping her jaw.

“Let me fix this,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Let me fix us.”

Before she can answer, I lean in, my lips finding hers in a desperate kiss. For a moment, she freezes, her body rigid against mine. Then her hands come up—not to pull me closer, but to push me away.

Her teeth sink into my bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood again, and before I can react, her knee connects with my groin. Pain explodes through me, sharp and unforgiving, and I stumble back, gasping.

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses, her voice low and venomous. “Don’t you dare think you can kiss me and make it all better. You don’t get to do that, Ryan. Not anymore.”

She yanks the limo door open and climbs inside, slamming it shut behind her. The driver doesn’t wait for my permission this time; he jumps in, and the car pulls away before I can recover, leaving me doubled over in the parking lot, clutching my aching groin.

“Well,” a familiar voice drawls behind me. “That was… different.”

I look up to see Emma walking toward me, her arms crossed and a wicked grin on her face.

“Is that how you fix things?” Emma asks as she stares at the retreating limo. “Because that looked painful. I knew there was something I liked about her.” Her voice drips with amusement.

My little sister can be annoying, especially when she’s got a point.

“Not funny,” I manage to grit out, rubbing at the blood on my lip and trying to straighten up despite the pain.

Emma just laughs, clapping a hand on my shoulder as I glare at her. “Come on, you big scary Navy SEAL. Let’s get you in my SUV and see if we can’t find some kind of frozen vegetables to put on your… injury. I don’t think riding your motorcycle would do you a lot of good. Let’s get going before someone calls the cops on you for loitering. We can send someone for your motorcycle and have it brought back to the house.”

I shake her off and limp toward her SUV, my thoughts spinning as I climb into the passenger seat.

Seeing Candace again has stirred up feelings I thought I’d buried. Anger. Guilt. Desire. And beneath it all, a flicker of hope I can’t quite extinguish.

Maybe it’s not too late. Not for the vineyard. Not for me. And maybe… not for her.

Chapter 7

Candace

The world outside the limo window blurs into a smear of grays and greens as tears cloud my vision. I swipe angrily at my cheeks, frustrated with myself for letting him get to me again. Damn him. Damn Ryan Murphy. I’d worked so hard to build myself into this person, this woman who could stand in front of him and not feel a damn thing. And yet, here I am, falling apart in the back seat of a limo like the naive girl I swore I’d never be again.

The car glides to a stop in front of the Airbnb. I sit there for a moment, staring at the sleek, modern lines of the house against the backdrop of the crashing Atlantic waves. My chest feels tight, my thoughts spinning. Nothing is working out the way I planned. Nothing.

Ryan wasn’t supposed to come back. Not now. Not after all these years; not when my goal is in sight.

I’d arranged everything so perfectly. I held the note. I was supposed to be the one in control. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. And yet he is, and it’s all unraveling faster than I can keep up. I look down and see a bit of dry cum on the seat. Damn him, and damn my response to him.

The driver clears his throat softly, pulling me out of my haze. “We’ve arrived, Ms. Prescott.”

I nod, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to pull it together. “Thank you.” My voice is steady, at least. Small victories.

Once inside, I kick off my heels and shrug out of my blazer, leaving it draped over a chair as I make my way to the bedroom. The soft luxury of the Airbnb feels hollow right now, its pristine white walls and minimalist decor offering no comfort. Ryan and I had planned to restore the original stone cottage from when the vineyard was founded. We’d had so many plans…

I change into a loose sweater and soft yoga pants, craving anything that doesn’t feel like armor. The woman who walked into that bank today, heels clicking and head high, feels like a stranger now. No one likes her. She has no friends, no family. Truth is I don’t much like her, either, these days. She’d been necessary in order to survive.

All those years of hustling, juggling two or three jobs at a time, just to keep a roof over my head, food on my plate, and a path to an education—it all feels like a blur now. I fought my way through college—not the kind of elite school Ryan sent Emma to, not for undergraduate work, but good enough. In the end, I earned a scholarship to and my MBA from Columbia. That last year, I landed a job at a real estate company, starting at the bottom as an office assistant. I worked my ass off, climbing step by step, learning every single detail of the business until I made it to broker. I earned every inch of my success. No handouts. No shortcuts. Just me.

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