Page 44 of The Vines Between Us
"With a girlfriend, I hope. Not that faggot from the neighbouring vineyard."
My grip tightened on the phone. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't lie to me, Alexandre. The village talks. Madame Fontaine mentioned seeing you two working together. Getting... close." The threat in his voice was unmistakable.
"It would break your mother's heart to know what you really are. Might break more than her heart, if you understand me."
I understood perfectly. The last time he'd "disciplined" my mother for my perceived failures, she'd worn long sleeves and hadn't ventured out of the house for weeks.
"There's nothing between Hugo and me."
"Good. Because if I hear otherwise, if I even suspect you're embarrassing this family with your perversions, your mother will pay the price. And you'll never see her again. Are we clear?"
"Yes, Papa."
The line went dead. My hands shook as I set down the phone.
I remained at the café long after the call ended, staring into my cold coffee. My phone buzzed with a text from Hugo—a single line about irrigation parts he'd ordered for Domaine Moreau that would arrive tomorrow. Professional. Distant. Nothing like the man who'd held me three nights ago.
I typed and deleted five different responses before settling on a simple "Thank you."
The bell above the café door jingled. I didn't look up until a shadow fell across my table and the scent of expensive cologne filled my nostrils.
"Monsieur Moreau." Étienne Rousseau stood there in his impeccable suit, not a hair out of place despite the afternoon heat. "What a fortunate coincidence."
I doubted there was anything coincidental about it. "Monsieur Rousseau."
"May I join you?" He didn't wait for an answer, sliding into the chair Madame Fontaine had vacated. He placed a leather portfolio on the table between us. "I was hoping we might continue our conversation."
"I believe we finished our conversation." I moved to stand.
"Before you go—" He opened the portfolio, revealing a stack of papers. "I've taken the liberty of preparing some documents I think you'll find illuminating."
Against my better judgment, I sank back into my chair.
"These are the current projections for Domaine Moreau's debt situation." He slid a spreadsheet across the table. "As you can see, even with aggressive cost-cutting and assuming perfect weather conditions, you're looking at five years minimum before breaking even. That's assuming the bank doesn't call in the loans sooner."
The numbers swam before my eyes—interest calculations, maintenance costs, projected yields all carefully documented. The red figures at the bottom of each column grew larger with each passing month.
"And this—" he produced another document "—is the official notice from Crédit Agricole regarding your grandfather's outstanding loans. They've been quite patient, but patience has limits."
I recognized the bank's letterhead, the formal language requesting immediate attention to the "urgent matter" of Henri's delinquent payments.
"How did you get this?" I asked, my mouth dry.
Rousseau's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I have excellent relationships with the financial institutions in this region. They understand the realities of the wine business better than most."
He laid out more papers—equipment maintenance reports, soil analyses, yield projections—each more damning than the last. The comprehensive nature of the information was unsettling.He'd compiled a more thorough assessment of Domaine Moreau's situation than I had managed in two weeks.
"I've also taken the liberty of updating our offer." He presented a contract with VitaVine's logo emblazoned across the top. "Twenty percent above market value, plus immediate debt clearance. That's five percent more than my previous offer."
I glanced at the figure. It was substantial—enough to clear Henri's debts and leave me with a comfortable sum. Enough to return to Paris without financial worry, to start fresh somewhere else.
"And what happens to Domaine Moreau afterward?"
"We would incorporate it into our Saint-Émilion holdings. Modernize the production facilities, update the branding. The Moreau name would continue, of course, as a premium label in our portfolio."
"And the local workers my grandfather employed? The vines?"
