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Tears burn in my eyes as I drive back to the estate, but I refuse to let them fall. I don’t deserve to cry. I’m never going to change, am I? Every time I show signs of being a decent human being, my true nature has to rear its ugly head again.
I can still see Ian’s face in my mind. Still see his eyes full of anger and disappointment. Somehow in the past two months he’s convinced himself that I have the ability to change. To learn from my mistakes and become the girl he always thought I was. The girl that never really existed in the first place.
It’s past ten o’clock by the time I reach the estate, and though I know I should go to bed, there’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep. So instead of going back to my room, I head across the lawn toward the tasting room and vineyards.
Obviously, by now most of the employees have either left or gone back to their rooms for the night. But a place like this never really sleeps (and honestly, if it were physically possible, I’m sure Mr. Haymore would work through the night every night), so I have to be careful, even at this hour.
Apparently, though, even at my stealthiest, I still manage to draw the attention of one of the roaming security guards. A flashlight beam hits me in the face.
“Need something, miss?” he says.
I blink into the light. I can’t see the guard in the shadows, but as Mr. Haymore’s gopher, my face is pretty recognizable around here, even after a week.
“I’m on an errand for Mr. Haymore,” I say, raising an arm to shield my face from the light and praying my eyes aren’t puffy from unshed tears. When all else fails, mention the name of my stuffy old boss. No one really wants to cross him, not when he’s as stressed as he is this week.
“Ah, Ms. Thomas,” says the guard, lowering his beam. “Mr. Haymore sent you out here at this hour?”
“Well, technically the errand’s for Mr. Carolson.” The lie comes easily to my lips. “Apparently he and his wife have a special night planned and requested a very specific bottle of wine.”
It’s a risk, but it pays off. The guard nods, understanding.
“Go right ahead then. Sorry to bother you.”
“You were just doing your job.” I flash him my best smile.
The guard gives me a little wave and continues on his way, and I hurry on to the tasting room.
The building is locked, of course, but another perk to being Mr. Haymore’s assistant is that I have a whole ring full of keys. I run enough errands that it’s necessary for me to have quick and easy access to most places on the premises. It takes me a few minutes to find the right key in the dark, but finally I’m rewarded with a click and I’m able to open the door.
I almost flick on the light when I get inside, but I decide against it at the last minute. The fewer people who know I’m in here, the better. Instead, I make my way across the room by touch, keeping one hand against the wall as I circle around to the cellar door.
There’s no way to avoid the automatic lights turning on as I descend into the cellar, but at least no one outside can see those. Once my feet hit the fancy slate floor at the bottom, I head straight to the back. To the rack where my favorite bottle with the gold label sits, just waiting for me.
I pick up the bottle, bracing myself for a new rush of emotion, but nothing happens. Maybe I’ve had enough of feelings for the night. The hollowness takes root in my belly again, and it’s hard to feel anything at all when I look down at the bottle. Still, I came all the way out here, so I’m going to take this baby no matter what. On a whim, I stop and grab another bottle, too. I don’t normally drink wine, so I don’t know how much it takes to get me good and drunk, and I want to make sure I have enough.
I consider just taking the wine back to my room, but being cooped up in that depressing little dorm doesn’t sound like a good idea right now. Instead, I head around the back of the house. Toward the hedge maze.
Even in the dark, I know my way through the labyrinth. I don’t want to go all the way to the center of the maze—just that favorite little nook of mine. A quiet place where I can curl up with this wine and shut out the rest of the world and just think. I clutch the wine bottles to my chest. The glass is cool against the bare skin above the neckline of my shirt, but the air is warm—though far less sticky than it normally is this time of year. I glance up at the sky, at the twinkling stars and the bright, round moon.
It doesn’t take me long to get to my secret spot. The nook is bathed in darkness and shadow, so I move carefully, my hand grasping for the bench I know is here against the branches somewhere. And then my foot hits something—something large and squishy but unquestionably solid—and I fall face-first into the darkness.
And land on something undeniably alive.
I jerk back, the wine bottles clanking against each other as I try to scramble to my feet again. The thing that tripped me moves and lets out a groan.
“Seriously?” it says. “I was just getting relaxed.”
I peer into the darkness. That voice sounds familiar. “Ward?”
There are scuffling sounds as he sits up. “Little Miss Assistant? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
Oh, God. He’s the last person I need to see right now. How the heck does he know about my spot? Part of me wants to turn and high-tail it out of here, but I’m not about to let someone chase me back to my dorm. This is my spot.
“What are you doing out here?” I say. How did you find this place? is the real question, but I’m not allowed to ask that.
He gives a little chuckle. “I could ask the same of you.”
“I asked first.”
“And you use clichés to argue. Not very effective.”
Too bad he can’t see me roll my eyes in the darkness. But it’s already clear that he’s not going to give up his claim very easily.
Why is that a bad thing? a tiny voice in my head whispers. At least you won’t be alone out here, right? I quickly push that thought away. As… diverting as his presence might be, I have some things I need to sort out—and Casanova’s not going to be any help in that area.
I sit down next to him on the grass, making it clear that I intend on staying. He sighs, either because he realizes there’s no getting rid of me or because he knows that I’m not going to let him dodge my question about why he’s here.
“I just needed to get away from things for a while,” he says. “Away from all the noise.”
I frown. “Are you living on the estate?” I thought the construction crews and other day laborers commuted to and from Barberville every day. They’d only reserved a handful of rooms in the house for employees—and they went to those, like me, who were basically “on call” for a good part of the week.
