Page 61 of The Vines Between Us
The way she said it—with a small, defiantsmile—made my heart ache for all the simple pleasures she'd denied herself to keep the peace.
"We'd love to," I said.
The bistro was exactly as she'd described—warm, intimate, with mismatched chairs and local art on the walls. We ordered wine, and my mother raised her glass.
"To new beginnings," she said.
Hugo and I echoed the toast. For a while, we ate and talked of inconsequential things—the unseasonable warmth, the quality of the wine, the pianist playing softly in the corner.
Then, as our plates were cleared, my mother set down her napkin with a decisive gesture.
"I'm going to Italy," she announced. "There's a little art school in Florence I've always dreamed of attending. I think it's time, don't you?"
I reached across and took her hand. "More than time, Maman."
She smiled, a real smile that reached her eyes. "And you two will be alright at the vineyard?"
Hugo and I exchanged a glance. "We will," I assured her.
"Good." She took a sip of her wine. "I've accepted an offer on the house—it's been standing for months. Pierre refused to even consider it, but I called the buyers yesterday and they're still interested. I never want to see that place again. The money will be more than enough for the art school and a small apartment in Florence."
"When will you go?" I asked.
"Next week, if all goes well with the paperwork." She looked almost girlish in her excitement. "I've already enrolled. Classes start in a fortnight."
We walked her back to her apartment after dinner. At the door, she embraced us both, holding on a moment longer than usual.
"Be happy," she whispered. "Both of you. Be so very happy."
That night, in the hotel room we shared, Hugo held me whileI finally grieved—not for my father, but for the years we'd lost, the fear that had shaped us, the love we'd been forced to hide.
"I want to take you to see the secret room, you still haven’t seen it,” I whispered against his chest. "Where Henri and Claude loved each other despite everything. I want to love you there, in the open, without hiding."
"We don't have to hide anymore," Hugo murmured, his lips against my hair. "Ever again."
And for the first time in my life, I believed it might be true.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ALEXANDRE
The day after returning from Lyon, I led Hugo through the vineyard toward the eastern cellar entrance. Morning light spilled across the vines, catching in his auburn hair, now tied back in a loose knot at his neck.
"Are you finally going to tell me where we're going?" Hugo asked, following close behind me.
"Patience," I replied, pulling out the ornate key I now kept on my person at all times. "I promised to show you the secret room, remember?"
His eyes lit up with understanding as we descended the cool stone steps into the main cellar, where oak barrels lined the walls, some dating back to Henri's early days.
"This way." I guided him toward the hidden panel that concealed Henri and Claude's sanctuary. Since discovering it, I'd cleaned the space, replaced the old lamp bulbs, and prepared something special for today—a testament to love that persisted despite everything.
Inside, I'd set up a small table with two special bottles and crystal glasses.
"What's this about?" Hugo asked, running his fingers along the spines of the record albums stacked beside the vintage player.
"I found something in Henri's private collection." I lifted the first bottle. "1983 Domaine Moreau, the year they created their first joint vintage." Then the second. "And 1983 Domaine Tremblay, from the same harvest."
Hugo's eyes widened. "I thought they only made one blend."
