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“No,” I concede. “I wouldn’t. I need to go deal with him. And it won’t take long.”
He considers me for several moments before releasing my knees, he’s still holding. “I’m here if you need me.”
Has anyone I wanted to say those words ever said them to me? “Thank you.”
I stand and turn toward the door, and sure enough, there stands Bill Winter, and I swear seeing him, with his likeness to my father, turns my knees to rubber. But it also angers me, and my spine straightens. I start walking, crossing the small space to meet him at the archway that is the entrance to the restaurant. “What are you doing here, Bill?” I ask, my voice sharp despite my low tone.
Towering over me by a good foot, he stares down at me, his blue eyes so like my father’s it hurts to look at him. “How are you, Faith?”
“What are you doing here, Bill?” I repeat.
“I’m your only living family. I’m checking on my niece.”
“You’re my blood but not my family. My father would not want you here.”
“Your father and I made peace before he died.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say, rejecting what would add another irrational personal decision to my father’s track record.
“We did, but regardless,” he says. “I owe him. And that means protecting you. The bank called me. I understand there are financial issues. Let me help.”
I am appalled and shocked that the bank went to Bill. “I don’t want or need your help, and if I did, my father would roll over in his grave if I took it.”
“I told you. We came to terms before he died.”
“I don’t believe you, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
Nick steps to my side, his hand settling possessively at my back, his presence drawing Bill’s immediate attention. “Bill Winter.” My uncle introduces himself. “And you are?”
“Faith’s loyal servant,” Nick assures him. “And everyone else’s nightmare. The name is Nick Rogers.” He doesn’t extend his hand, nor does Bill extend his own.
Bill’s eyes narrow at the name. “I’ve heard you’re a real bastard.”
“And here I thought I got rid of my nice-guy reputation. I understand you’re leaving. We’ll walk you out.”
Bill gives a smirk that almost borders on amused, then looks at me. “I’m staying at the cottage. I’ll be close if you need me.” He turns and walks away.
Nick flags Sheila. “Make sure he leaves, and if he doesn’t, call Faith.” I nod my approval to Sheila, and Nick turns to me. “Where can we talk?”
“This way,” I say, motioning us into the hallway that leads nowhere but an exit door, and the minute we’re there, Nick’s hands are on my hips.
“What cottage?”
“He owns a property up the road, but he’s rarely here, and when he is, I don’t see him. He says the bank called him about the default. Can they do that?”
“Context is everything, and he holds the family name. Does he want the winery?”
“He’s a billionaire, Nick. He doesn’t want or need this place.”
“Then why was he here?”
“To help, he said. Basically, to repent for his sins.”
Nick’s energy sharpens. “What sins, Faith?”
“He’s the reason I stayed in L.A. after my graduation. He’s also one of the reasons I don’t believe in happily ever after and therefore make such a good fuck buddy. He slept with my mother. She got mad at him and, to get back at him, told my father, who predictably forgave her but not his brother. And that was it for me. I was out of here.”
I blink, and Nick’s hands are on my face, his big body pinning me against the wall. “Don’t do that,” he says for the second time since we arrived. “Don’t decide what we are or are not based on that man or anyone else. We decide otherwise, or they win and we’re weak. We are not weak.”
