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“Whatever I like,” she’d replied. “Would you like me to stay? That will only happen if you give me a job in the company.”
“Kendra. Sweetheart.” The unusual endearment had shocked them both, and her father had looked away. “I don’t see the company as a part of your future.”
She’d braced herself for the pain of that to swipe at her, but there had been nothing. As if she’d finally moved past it. “Then what does it matter where I choose to live?”
And that was how she’d found her way to her great-aunt’s lovely little cottage, suspended between the mountains and the sea. Nestled amid rolling vineyards on country roads, the cottage itself was a bookish girl’s dream. A few bright, happy rooms filled with books and art, paths through the fields to walk on, and more than a few trees with abundant shade if she wanted a break from the glorious Côte d’Azur sunshine.
She went down into Nice to do her shopping, and it was easy enough to drive down into Italy, or take the long train ride to Paris. She told herself it was the best few months of her life.
She wanted it to be. Desperately.
And if sometimes Kendra felt so melancholy that she almost got sick with it, she dismissed it as growing pains. She was lucky enough to be in the position to take a time-out to figure out what her life ought to be. Accordingly, she tried to imagine what her life would look like now if she took the family company off the table. If she stopped pushing so hard.
Maybe it was a good thing that she wasn’t working with her father and brother now that she’d lost a huge amount of her respect for them. But Kendra had always wanted to work. She had no interest in the kind of highly charged, gossip-soaked idleness her mother preferred—and no aptitude for it, if she was honest.
All the sorts of play jobs other women in her position had, she dismissed. Virtuous charities with flashy balls, prized internships only those with trust funds could afford to take, silly publicity positions that were usually about getting on the guest lists to highly photographed parties. None of that appealed to her. Kendra tried to encourage herself to think outside the box. She’d been so focused on getting into her father’s good graces that she’d never spent any time imagining what would happen if that...stopped mattering to her.
Because it didn’t. The further away she got from that night with Balthazar, the more angry she found herself.
Not at Tommy, who had never made a secret of who he was or pretended to be anything else. Not Balthazar, who was wholly and completely himself, always.
But at her father.
Her father, who had preferred that his daughter give herself to a man he considered an enemy than deal with Tommy’s behavior himself. Tommy had put the company, the family, and his own sister into peril—but that hadn’t inspired her father to handle him, once and for all. And at no time had Thomas Connolly thought,Maybe it would be smart to try out the one child whohasn’tcaused me problems.
Kendra was humiliated she hadn’t seen all of this before. It wasn’t as if anyone had hidden it. She’d simply seen what she’d wanted to see. She’d believed that if she worked hard enough, there was a way for her to take her rightful place at her father’s side. All she had to do was prove it.
Now she thought that if given the chance, she’d burn the whole Connolly family down. Great-Aunt Rosemary had clearly had the right idea.
A darling little cottage tucked away in the south of France was the perfect opportunity for Kendra to uncover her heretofore unknown artistic leanings, she’d figured. She kept a journal. She tried a bit of creative writing. She took a painting class. A pottery class. She tried to learn how to play piano.
But by the end of her second month in France, neck deep in all things Provençal, it was clear that Kendra had no aptitude whatsoever for anything creative.
Not even the faintest shred of it.
And that was how she’d found herself at one of the local wineries nestled away in a glorious, sweeping vineyard down the road from her cottage. The owners thought it would be helpful to have an American on hand for the summer to help with tourists, and Kendra quickly found that her real aptitude was in customer service, of all things.
Because she was fantastic at it. And more, enjoyed it.
It was a beautiful summer afternoon. The breeze was scented with lavender and the hint of earth. Groups of tasters and merrymakers had come to enjoy the vineyard and its offerings, some coming up from the crowded beaches along this magical stretch of coastline, some engaged in winery tours, and some on self-guided explorations of the area. They sat in merry little clusters at the tiled tables out beneath bright blue umbrellas and graceful trellises wrapped in jasmine and wisteria vines.
Kendra moved from table to table, making sure everyone had the food they’d ordered from the small kitchen or the sommelier’s attention. She got to use the French she’d taken in boarding school and college or her English, depending on the group. And maybe there was something wrong with her, she thought when she ducked back inside to see if the kitchen was ready with the charcuterie platters one of her groups had ordered. There had to be, because most people surely didn’t find it easier to know themselves while they were interacting with strangers. Or not know herself, perhaps. But feel at ease with herself all the same.
Because to all the customers sitting at these tables, she was nothing but an American girl on a lark. Enjoying herself abroad, perfectly carefree.
And the more they treated her that way, the more she believed it was the truth.
No Connolly family power struggles. No demands she marry a member of her mother’s yacht club, the red-shorts-wearing hedge fund brigade. No contending with Tommy and his latest fiasco.
Carefree feltgood.
Kendra had her back to the door when it opened again. She sang out a greeting in French as she picked up the two heavy plates of charcuterie that the chef arranged in glorious piles of the finest meats and cheeses, all arranged on their own private stones.
“Please take a menu and find a seat outside,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
She turned as she spoke, her happy carefree smile on her face.
But it was not a new group of tourists.
