Page 74 of The Vines Between Us
I looked up, vision blurred with tears. Hugo stood motionless, one hand covering his mouth.
"They knew," he whispered. "Somehow, they knew we would need this."
"They knew we would find each other again," I added, my voice breaking.
We spent the next hours cataloging our discovery. The collection included over two hundred bottles of investment-grade wines from the 1960s through the 1990s—conservatively worth well over €2.5 million. The experimental vines represented something potentially even more valuable—proprietary grape varieties specifically developed for changing climate conditions.
"This changes everything," Hugo said as we climbed the stairs back to the main cellar. "We can meet the bank's demands and still have capital to invest in the domaine."
"And we have a unique selling proposition for the future," I added. "Climate-adapted vines with Saint-Émilion terroir—that's something VitaVine can't replicate with their industrial methods."
Above us, the press continued its rhythmic work, but now each squeeze represented not just desperate hope but tangible future. The pickers had gone home, promising to return at dawn. Madame Fontaine remained, stubbornly feeding clusters into the press despite her obvious exhaustion.
"Go home," I told her gently. "We've found a solution."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What kind of solution?"
Hugo smiled. "The kind our grandfathers planned for us, one that has been decades in the making."
The next morning, I placed calls to three of the most respected wine appraisers in Bordeaux. By afternoon, they arrived at Domaine Moreau, skeptical but intrigued by my vague description of a "significant discovery." Their expressions as they entered the hidden cellar were worth every moment of our struggle.
"This is extraordinary," the eldest appraiser murmured, reverently examining a 1968 bottle. "Museum-quality provenance, perfect storage conditions."
"And you say these experimental varietals are already planted?" another asked, studying the documentation.
Hugo nodded. "We verified this morning. The vines are there, exactly as described—thirty-year-old plantings that have never been harvested commercially."
By evening, we had preliminary valuation documents and three competing offers to broker the sale of select bottles to collectors. The appraisers agreed to absolute confidentiality—this kind of discovery would create a sensation in the wine world, but we needed to control the timing.
In the kitchen that night, Hugo and I sat with Marcel and Madame Fontaine, explaining our discovery and planning our next steps.
"We'll sell only what we need to clear the debts," I explained. "The rest we'll release strategically over years."
"And the experimental vines?" Marcel asked.
Hugo smiled. "We'll propagate them immediately, starting with test plots at all four remaining Alliance vineyards. If they perform as the documentation suggests, we'll have a tremendous advantage."
"They were thinking of us," I said quietly. "All those years, working in secret, they were building something to protect us."
Madame Fontaine reached across the table and patted my hand. "Of course they were, mon cher. That's what love does—it prepares the way for those who come after."
Later that night, Hugo and I returned to the sanctuary, this time with a bottle of our early-pressed juice—fermentation just begun, cloudy and imperfect, but alive with promise.
"To Henri and Claude," Hugo said, raising his glass. "For loving each other enough to plan decades ahead."
"And to us," I added, "for being stubborn enough to find each other again."
We sat in the chairs where our grandfathers had spent countless hidden hours, surrounded by the evidence of their foresight and devotion. The weight of the past days—the desperation, the frantic work, the fear of losing everything—began to lift.
"Do you think they knew, even back then?" Hugo asked softly. "About us, I mean. That we would fall in love too?"
I considered this, remembering how Henri would watch us during those teenage summers, a certain knowing sadness in his eyes.
"I think they hoped," I said finally. "They created all this, this sanctuary, these reserves, these special vines—not just as a contingency plan for the vineyards, but as a bridge across time. Their way of giving us what they couldn't have."
"The freedom to be together openly," Hugo murmured.
"And the means to make it work." I reached for his hand. "They couldn't change their time, but they could help shape ours."
