Page 42 of The Vines Between Us
But I wouldn't follow in Claude's footsteps, waiting patiently for crumbs of affection. I deserved more. We both did.
If Alexandre wanted to break the cycle, he would have to be the one to do it. And I would be here, tending my vines, living my life. Not waiting, but open to possibility.
The choice was his.
Chapter Sixteen
ALEXANDRE
The next three days passed in a blur of isolation. I threw myself into work at Domaine Moreau, attacking the vines with secateurs like they'd personally offended me. My hands blistered, then calloused. Good. Physical pain was a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest.
I called Bertrand on the third day, desperate for a financial miracle. The numbers didn't add up. Even liquidating everything I owned wouldn't cover the debts.
"I need to speak with my CEO," I muttered, staring at the spreadsheets scattered across Henri's desk.
When Philippe answered, his voice carried that particular coolness reserved for disappointments.
"Another week? Alexandre, the board meeting is Tuesday."
I gripped the phone tighter. "I understand the timing is—"
"Catastrophic. The Thibault acquisition hinges on your presentation."
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken threats.
"I can prepare remotely," I offered, knowing itwas inadequate.
"Fine." The word fell like a stone. "But understand this changes things. Javier has expressed interest in your coveted director position."
My stomach clenched. Five years of sixty-hour weeks, sacrificing everything for that promotion.
"I appreciate your flexibility," I managed.
"Don't thank me yet. Take your time with your... vineyard situation. Just know there are long-term consequences."
After he hung up, I stared at the darkening window. Outside, the vines stood silhouetted against the dusk, unmoved by my career suicide. What was I doing here? And why did walking away feel impossible?
I avoided the village, ordering supplies by phone and arranging delivery rather than face the locals. But by the fourth day, I needed parts for the tractor that couldn't wait, forcing me into Saint-Émilion.
The moment I stepped into the hardware store, conversations quieted. Marcel, behind the counter, gave me a curt nod instead of his usual friendly greeting. I grabbed what I needed and approached the register.
"Haven't seen Hugo around your place lately," Marcel said, scanning my items with deliberate slowness.
"We're focusing on our own properties for now," I replied, keeping my voice neutral.
Marcel's eyebrows rose. "Funny. Before, you two were inseparable. Thought you were finally sorting things between you."
I handed over my credit card. "We're sorting the vineyards. That's all that matters."
"If you say so." He returned my card with a look that said he didn't believe me for a second.
Outside, I nearly collided with Madame Fontaine.
"Alexandre Moreau," she said, hands on her hips. "I was beginning to think you'd left town again without saying goodbye."
"Just busy with the vineyard."
"Too busy to come for coffee? Too busy to work with Hugo?" Her eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
