Page 45 of Blush
The baron, not being a patient man, determined that the fastest and most efficient way to get his wife a winery would be to pair up with an established vineyard. His proposal was thus: a joint venture with Leonard, fifty-fifty, with small production of just five thousand cases. Both the Hollander and the de Villard names would be on the label. They would look for a parcel of land to start a new vineyard, but in the meantime, Hollander Estates would provide the grapes and make the wine for the joint venture until the new winery could provide for itself.
Now, all these years later, Vivian could still remember the sense of excitement on that trip, the belief that finally, after all the years ofstruggling to get their vineyard off the ground, things were going to change.
And change they did.
Vivian looked out at the field, but there was no sign of Leah. She picked up the copy ofChancesand carried it back to the house. Maybe reading a few pages before bed wasn’t the worst idea in the world.
Leah followed Javier as he traversed the property heading toward Field House.
If Mateo was looking for another job, Javier had to know about the sale. She just hoped her father had ultimately done the right thing and told him directly—that Javier hadn’t found out from someone else first. Either way, she owed him an apology.
“Javier—do you have a minute?” she called out.
He stopped walking and waited for her to catch up with him.
“Has my father spoken to you about what’s going on?” she said.
“Yes. Your mother must be very sad.”
Her stomach churned. How very typical of Javier to be thinking of others even when his own livelihood and home were in jeopardy.
“It’s a shock,” Leah said. “But she’ll adjust. I’m concerned about you, though. And I have to apologize: Mateo asked me the other day if my father was selling the winery and... I lied. I said I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Javier shook his head. “He shouldn’t have asked you. It’s not your place to tell.”
“No—no. He had every right to ask. I just wish there was something I could do. But I can’t imagine that the new owners wouldn’t keep you on. Aside from my father, you’re the backbone of this place. And now with Mateo managing operations...”
“Your father said not to count on it.”
Leah felt stricken. As for Javier, she didn’t know if it was the eveningdarkness—shadows falling across his brow—or just end-of-the-day fatigue, but he looked years older than the man she had greeted in the field when she first arrived. It was hard to reconcile the man standing before her with the boy of her girlhood dreams.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
He glanced back toward Field House.
“It’s late,” he said.
“Of course—I don’t mean to keep you.”
“Leah, if there’s anything you can do,” he said. She looked into his troubled dark eyes, the eyes that used to light up her day when she was a girl. She was painfully aware that he’d been at the vineyard for nearly her entire life.
“I’m going to try. I promise.”
She watched him disappear into the night, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and go back to the house. She didn’t want to face her empty bedroom—nor did she want to face the fact that Steven was right: although she’d stayed behind to “help,” she was powerless.
Twenty-five
It was the first darkly overcast day since she arrived at the vineyard. Sadie settled on the veranda, waiting for the rain to come. Watching a storm shower the vines was always dramatic and lovely, even at the expense of a summer day.
She opened her phone and cued up the reading app she’d downloaded the night before. She’d never owned an e-reader and generally thought it was crazy to read on a phone, but she was curious about the book her mother was so obsessed with. And she didn’t want to be seen reading it. So far,Chanceswas the saga of an oversexed gangster with an empire in jeopardy and a rebellious daughter named Lucky.
“That’s the problem with your generation: you’re always staring at a screen,” Leonard said, appearing behind her.
She immediately put down her phone.
Her grandfather had always been an almost unreal figure to her, the stuff of legend. The living room was filled with framed photos of her grandfather with statesmen and celebrities. Her mother had told her, many different times, in different ways, the story of how Leonard Hollander, the son of immigrants, had built his fortune. People looked at the winery now, when the North Fork had over fifty robust wineries, and it seemed like Hollander Estates was a no-brainer. But back in the day, Leonard had been a visionary.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “When your grandmother was your age, she was knee-deep in soil, out in the fields, every day starting at dawn.”
