The morning fog was just beginning to lift from the vineyard when Devon and Bryson made their way back toward the main house, boots squishing in the wet grass. They'd spent the better part of an hour walking the blocks, checking sugar levels, and discussing harvest timing—the kind of routine that grounded Devon in the rhythm of the seasons and the predictability of the vines.
"So, how are the proposal plans coming?" Devon asked.
"What proposal?" Bryson kept his gaze focused on the ground, his one hand stuffed in his pocket, his other gripping his coffee mug.
"The marriage one, you idiot."
Bryson groaned. "I've watched a million proposals online to get ideas, and all they do is remind me that Riley's been everywhere. Done everything. And there's no way I'll be able to impress her. I'm just going to make an ass out of myself."
Devon looped an arm over his little brother's shoulder, who happened to have two inches on him. "Man, watching you grovel at her feet, begging her to move in with you, is making an ass out of yourself. I don't think you can make it worse."
"You're a jerk." Bryson flung Devon's arm off and gave him a good shove.
"Nothing new there." Devon chuckled. "Have you asked our sisters?"
"Good Lord, no." Bryson shook his head. "Ashley will suggest a romantic candlelit dinner with roses at some fancy restaurant. That's not my Riley. And Hasley, she'll offer some grand gesture that includes skydiving—because she once saw someone else do it. Like I'm gonna jump out of a perfectly good airplane."
"But Riley would."
Bryson snorted. "She already has."
"So, why don't you just go buy a ring and ask her under that tree where you carved your names?" Devon pointed toward the old oak visible from the path.
"I've thought of that." Bryson nodded. "You don't think it's too... boring?"
"You two have done everything but have sex under that damn tree. Your first kiss. You asked her to prom. Hell, I even think you broke up once under that thing. It's perfect."
"You might be right."
"I know I am," Devon said.
"Devon. Bryson.” Walter's voice boomed from the porch, carrying an urgency that made both brothers stop dead in their tracks. "I need you in the den. Now." He turned, the door slamming shut behind him.
"What do you think that's all about?" Devon asked.
"No idea, but the last time he summoned anyone like that was when my ex-wife decided she thought it would be fun to rearrange the living room."
"Bro, she didn't rearrange it. She bought new furniture and was trying to donate Grandma's antique desk." Devon smacked his forehead. "What did you see in her?"
"I couldn't tell you. It was temporary insanity."
Devon kicked off his boots and washed his hands at the kitchen sink. His brother followed suit.
They found their father pacing behind the old desk their mom had put in the den near the leather sofa while Riley sat in one of the matching chairs, tablet in hand, and a scowl that could have curdled milk darkening her features.
"What's wrong?" Devon asked, but the knot forming in his stomach suggested he already knew it had something to do with Emery.
The last forty-eight hours had been relatively calm. But still, she'd been keeping her distance since Winston had shown up, and Devon figured she was planning her escape.
Riley turned the tablet toward them without a word. The headline hit Devon like a physical blow:"Scandal-Plagued Wine Expert Finds Refuge at Stone Bridge Winery—But at What Cost?"
"Jesus," Bryson breathed, leaning over Devon's shoulder to read.
The article was thorough in the way that only malicious journalism could be. It recapped Emery's career, the Pemberton authentication scandal, and her subsequent blacklisting from major auction houses. But it didn't stop there. Devon's jaw clenched as he read about Emery's father—a former insurance investigator who'd been forced to quietly resign after accusations of accepting bribes to overlook fraudulent claims. The charges had never been proven, but the implication was clear: questionable ethics ran in the family.
"This is character assassination," Devon said, his voice tight with anger.
"Keep reading," Riley said grimly.
