* * *
CHRISTINE COULDN’T SLEEP that night. She didn’t believe that Slade was suicidal. She believed he was having trouble letting go of the guilt and the anger.
But that didn’t stop a quiet voice in her head that kept repeating, What if you’re wrong?
She’d wanted to stay with him until he believed he was worthy of love—hers, his daughters’, his friends’. But Nate had convinced her that Slade wouldn’t accept her love until he’d accepted the past as part of who he was.
What if she went to sleep and Slade tried something? What if Nate sent her a text message during the night that she was needed at Slade’s and she didn’t hear it? What if this crazy plan they’d come up with to help Slade heal didn’t work?
Slade had been humiliated in front of his closest friends and a good portion of the small town. He’d let his daughters go without putting up a fight. He’d lied to her about what happened all those years ago.
Lied.
About something so important it shaped who he was today. How could Christine ever trust him again?
She wanted to erase Evy’s words, because they’d created doubt where she’d had none before about Slade and his suicide attempt, and more importantly about the strength of the bond between them. She wanted to be with him, holding him and reassuring him things would be all right.
But he had to face this on his own. And come out stronger for it. Or they had no future.
At dawn, she dragged herself out of bed. She went into the garage and took out one of the high-heeled, red sequined ruby slippers. She put it on her window sill. It was a statement, of sorts, that only Slade would understand. She loved her shoes and wasn’t giving them up. It was her equivalent of leaving the light on until he came home.
At work, she had several messages in her inbox requesting help getting in touch with Slade.
The sharks were circling, trying to find him, trying to find the partnership’s weak spot. Who knew what they’d do with the information that he had a doozy of a weakness?
She had several serious texts, plus one voice mail from her father—all with the same message. It’s time to bail.
She ignored the queries, ignored her father, and tried to book some meetings, review her schedule, process invoices. She was going to change the course of Alexander history and stay when things looked grim. Her decision went against the high standards of quality her family held so dear.
She wanted to do the right thing for herself and for the people she’d made a promise to by taking this job—people like Phil and Old Man Takata, like Mayor Larry and Nana. Like Flynn, Will, and, of course, Slade. She was choosing to be loyal and fight for a quality wine to be made here, even if she fought with new owners.
Flynn and Will had reassured her they weren’t selling. She was embarrassed to admit that she had more readily believed them than when Slade tried to tell her the same thing.
Nate sent out a group text in the morning: Didn’t go upstairs at all.
Meaning Slade hadn’t ended the hold his father had over him.
Her cell phone vibrated. It was a text from Grace: Back in New York. Tell Dad we love him.
Grace wouldn’t let her mother brainwash her that easily again. There was still time for Slade to salvage his relationship with his daughters.