Page 59 of The Vines Between Us
I took his hand, marveling at how perfectly it fit in mine, how natural the contact felt. Hugo drew me closer, his free hand coming up to brush away tears I hadn't realized were falling.
"I love you," I said, the words I'd held back for fourteen years finally breaking free. "I never stopped."
"I know," Hugo whispered against my lips. "I've been waiting for you to remember."
For the first time in my life, the future felt like a choice rather than a trap. My father's voice was silent. My mother was safe. And Hugo—Hugo was here, offering to learn alongside me.
"Yes," I whispered as his lips found mine. "Together."
Chapter Twenty-One
ALEXANDRE
Three days later, Hugo and I boarded the early morning TGV to Lyon for the funeral. The countryside blurred past the window as we sat side by side, our fingers loosely intertwined on the armrest between us.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hugo asked, his voice low enough that other passengers couldn't hear. "No one would blame you for staying away."
I shook my head, watching vineyards give way to industrial outskirts. "I need to see it end. To know it's really over."
The train rocked gently as we curved around a bend. Hugo squeezed my hand. "I'll be right beside you the whole time."
"Thank you," I whispered. "For coming with me. For... everything."
We arrived in Lyon by mid-morning. The city of my childhood nightmares looked different somehow—less oppressive, as if my father's death had lifted a shadow from the architecture itself.
The funeral home was quiet when we arrived, an hour before the service. My mother had arranged for me to have a privatemoment with the body. Hugo waited in the hallway while I entered the viewing room alone.
My father looked smaller in death than he had in life. The casket was open, his face waxy and unfamiliar in repose. The hands that had struck my mother, that had beaten me bloody when he'd caught me with Hugo that last summer, were folded peacefully over his chest.
I stood there for a long moment, waiting for the fear to rise. It didn't come.
Instead, a wave of pure, molten rage crashed through me, so intense my vision blurred at the edges.
"You bastard," I hissed, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "You miserable, pathetic bastard."
My whole body trembled. Thirty-two years of suppressed fury surged up from somewhere deep inside me.
"Do you know what you took from us? From Mother? From me?" My voice rose despite my efforts to control it. "Every summer when I left for Henri's, I prayed you'd be dead when I came back. Every. Single. Summer."
I leaned over the casket, close enough to see the mortician's makeup covering the broken capillaries of a lifetime alcoholic.
"You made her life hell. You made my life hell. And for what? To feel powerful? To prove you were a man?" I laughed, a harsh sound in the quiet room. "You were never half the man Henri was. Never half the man Hugo is."
I placed my palms flat on the edge of the casket, lowering my voice to a whisper.
"Hugo and I are together now. We're going to build something beautiful at the vineyard. We're going to be happy—so goddamn happy it would make you sick. And Mother? She's free. She's finally free of you."
I straightened up, suddenly calm.
"I don't forgive you. I will never forgive you. But you don't matter anymore. You're nothing now."
I turned and walked out without looking back.
Hugo was waiting, concern etched across his face. "Are you alright?"
"Better than I expected," I said, and meant it.
HUGO
