"She came to me, Thallos." Silas's voice hardened. "She approached me. Started asking questions about you, about your past, about what you were really like behind the charm. And yes—I told her things. Things that were true. That you'd never committed to anyone. That you ran when things got difficult. That underneath all that magnetic appeal was a man who didn't know how to love anyone but himself."
"You seduced her."
"I gave her what she was looking for. An excuse to leave you before you left her." Silas picked up his wine glass again, taking a long drink. "But you're right about one thing. I did it partly out of jealousy. I'd spent my entire life being the competent one, the reliable one, the one who worked twice as hard for half the recognition. And you just—existed. Smiled and charmed yourway through everything while I ground myself to dust trying to earn what you were given freely."
The confession hung between them, ugly and honest.
He felt some of his anger drain away, replaced by something more complicated. "I never asked for any of it. The gifts, the attention—I didn't want them."
"I know that now." Silas's voice was quieter. "I've had five years to think about it. Five years of running the business Father always intended for you, of being the 'good son' who stayed, and realizing that none of it made me happy. I got everything I thought I wanted, and it meant nothing."
"So what? You came here to apologize?"
"I came here to—" Silas broke off, frustration crossing his features. "I don't know what I came here for. To see you. To understand how you could walk away from everything and seem… content. To figure out if there was any path back to being brothers instead of enemies."
He was quiet for a long moment, processing. The rage that had driven him here had faded to something more complicated—a tangle of resentment and understanding and the faint, persistent ache of missing someone he'd once considered his closest friend.
They'd been close, once. Before the rivalry had poisoned everything. Before they'd both become too proud to admit they were hurting.
"I'm not the same person I was five years ago," he said finally. "I'd like to think I've learned a few things. About running away. About what actually matters."
"The florist."
"Marigold. Yes. And this place—the vineyard, the town, the people here. They see me differently than people back home ever did. They don't care about the family name or the magic or any of it. They just… like me. For who I am."
"And who is that?"
The question should have been mocking. It wasn't.
He considered. "Someone who's trying to be worthy of being chosen. Not because I'm charming or attractive or any of the surface things—but because I actually show up. Because I stay when things get hard instead of running."
Silas was quiet for a long time, his dark eyes fixed on some middle distance.
"I've never had that," he said finally. "Someone who chose me just for me. Everything I've ever had, I had to take or earn or prove I deserved. And even then—" He laughed bitterly. "Even then, it never felt like enough."
"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you can't earn being loved. You just have to let it happen."
"Spoken like someone who's been loved too easily."
"Or like someone who finally figured out that the hard way doesn't always work." He moved closer, though he still kept some distance between them. "What do you want, Silas? Really. You said you're planning to stay for a while. What does that mean?"
His brother's expression flickered—surprise, maybe, at being asked directly. "I don't know. I took a leave from the business. Told Father I needed time to think. This seemed as good a place as any to do that thinking."
"And you're not here to—" He hesitated. "To interfere with my life again?"
"Would you believe me if I said no?"
"I don't know. Would you?"
Silas actually smiled at that, a ghost of the sardonic humor that had once made them partners in mischief rather than rivals. "Probably not. I have a history of making promises I don't keep."
"Then don't make promises. Just—" He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly exhausted. "Don't touch her. Don't try to poison what we have. Whatever you're working through, leave Marigold out of it."
"I had no intention of?—"
"Yes, you did. Tonight, in the grove—you were testing her. Seeing if she could be turned against me, the way Jen was."
Silas didn't deny it. "Old habits."
