I laughed under my breath. “Fucking hell.”
Aurélie shifted in my lap, sitting up straighter—and fuck me, yeah, that made me a little feral. Her ass rocked against my dick with no idea what she was doing to me. Or maybe she did.
“We’re close. I think we’re close.”
Her voice pitched higher with excitement, that breathy blend of wonder and knowledge that always turned me inside out. The kind of voice she used when she was teaching someone about a vintage or reading contracts like it was second nature. I’d heard her sound like that in press conferences and paddock meetings, but nothing compared to this. This was pure joy. Pure Auri.
The SUV rounded another bend and slowed as the gravel drive came into view. The estate sat halfway up a sun-drenched slope, rows of mature grapevines unfurling down the hillside like green velvet. Olive trees framed the vineyard like sentries—old and gnarled, with metallic-looking green leaves catching the light. Beyond them, the sea glittered under a sky so blue it looked painted.
“Oh,” Aurélie breathed, practically bouncing as she pointed. “Oh, Callum. Look at those vines. They’re mature. That’s at least twenty years of rootstock. And the pruning technique? Look at the structure! And those olive trees. God, this grove must beancient. Regarde ces troncs—ils ont vu passer des siècles—” She stopped short, eyes wide, shaking again.
I curled a hand around her waist, steadying her. “Breathe, Auri.”
“I am breathing,” she said, eyes sparkling, looking more green than golden in this light. That almost never happened. “I’m just inhaling vineyard porn.”
I snorted. “Vineyard porn.”
The vehicle slowed to a stop near a white stone building shaded by wisteria and terracotta tiles. Aurélie slid off my lap and sprang out first, skipping a few steps ahead before I even had the door fully open. I climbed out behind her just in time to hear a thud and a muffled groan. Ivy and Marco tumbled out of the back seat with the grace of baby giraffes in designer sunglasses. Kimi clumsily climbed over the back seat, half-falling on Lucy in the process.
“Oh my God, get off me!” she shrieked, laughing.
Kimi chuckled, grabbing her by the hips to haul her out of the car like she weighed nothing. Lucy went bright red in the face but didn’t stop grinning.
I caught up to Aurélie just as the door to the main building opened. A woman stepped out, auburn curls wild around her face. She wore a long white, flowy skirt and a cropped pink shirt. Her features were striking—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, a faint scar above one brow. And she carried herself like the only peace she needed was in the land that surrounded her.
Her voice was smooth, low, and unbothered, thick with a French accent. “I’d know that face and head of hair anywhere. Aurélie Dubois, am I hallucinating or are you actually on my land?”
“Colette?” Aurélie gasped, already breaking into a run.
The woman, Colette, laughed, bracing herself as Aurélie flung her arms around her.
“You’re kidding,” I said, catching up. “You know her?”
“I amnotkidding,” Aurélie said breathlessly, turning to us with stars in her eyes. “This is Colette Beauchamp. She used to head up Clos du Lierre in Alsace. She won back-to-back golds at theVin de Prestigein 2019 and 2020. She’s a legend.”
“Retired legend,” Colette corrected with a shrug and a crooked grin. “Or… displaced.”
“What the hell are you doing in Milos?” Ivy asked, voice laced with intrigue.
Her smile softened. “It started as buying time and peace. I came here one day on a whim. I needed to get away, needed to breathe. Met the owner’s daughter by accident. The father had just passed, and this place was about to rot.”
She gestured out toward the expanse of land—olive trees on one side, grapevines on the other, the rows split neatly but unevenly, like the land itself had been torn in two.
“The daughter had grown up on the olive grove side. She knew that world. But she didn’t know how to tend to grapes—no pruning, no fertilization cycles, no canopy management. Half the vines were overrun with mildew and fruit rot. The estate was tied up in probate, and in this market?” She gave a light, pointed snort. “No buyers. No offers. No hope. And I…”
She trailed off for a second, lifting a shoulder as she met Aurélie’s eyes. “I needed a reason to leave France. So I packed up my life. My dog. My favorite casks. And I came here.”
Her gaze flicked back to the hills, softening with something I couldn’t quite place. “Haven’t regretted it once. Even on the days I’m homesick or when I’m on my knees begging the olive trees not to die. They’re like my children now, and I’m a very reluctant mother.”
Something flickered in her eyes—haunted but proud. Worn, but radiant. I filed it away for later, curiosity already winding through me as Aurélie clutched Colette’s forearm with a white-knuckled grip of reverence.
“But enough about me,” Colette said, turning to me with an assessing glance and offering a firm handshake. “This must be the famous Callum Fraser. I saw your crash in Montreal. Your girl nearly took out a few stewards.”
“She did a lot more than that, too,” Marco teased, reaching out to ruffle Aurélie’s hair.
She swatted at him. “Stop!” Then flattened her palm over her head with fake composure.
Colette barked a laugh. “She’s fucking brilliant. Always has been.”
