"She's good," Trigg says smoothly, his thumb stroking a small circle against my leg through the fabric of my dress. A gentle warning that I am decidedly not good.
The dinner has been pleasant—almost too pleasant. Surface conversations about the vineyard, the merger, Spain's wine country, Santiago's trip to Seville. Nothing about the photograph in the study. Nothing about my mother. Nothing about the fact that I'm sitting across from family I never knew I had while my father kept them hidden like a dirty secret.
Why?The question circles my mind on repeat, fueled by wine, confusion, and hurt. Why would he do this? What reason could he possibly have for cutting Dar out of our lives? For cutting me off from the only connection I have left to my mother? I feel a million different things and can't settle on one.
I reach for my wine glass again, but Trigg's hand intercepts mine, his fingers threading through mine instead. When I glance at him, there's a question in his eyes.You okay?I'm not, but I nod anyway.
Then Dar's eyes settle on mine across the table, and the pleasant buzz of conversation around us seems to fade. She sets down her fork with a deliberate care that makes my stomach clench.
"Maybe we should have started the evening with this," she says, her voice quiet but clear enough to cut through the ambient noise. "But honestly, I didn't know how." Her gaze holds mine, and I see something there, recognition, uncertainty, maybe even hope. "It's not every day a niece you've never met walks through your front door."
The table goes silent. My heart hammers in my chest, and I'm suddenly, painfully sober despite the wine coursing through my system. This is it. The moment I've been dreading and desperately needing all night.
"I..." My voice comes out rough. I clear my throat and try again. "I didn't know you existed until yesterday."
The confession hangs in the air between us, raw and honest and devastating, before I force myself to straighten in my chair. "We understand if you no longer want to partner with Hale Ranch. We didn't come here to deceive you."
Dar holds my gaze, silent and assessing. "I believe that's true," she says finally. Then she pauses, her fingers tracing the stem of her wine glass. "But I can't say the same is true for me."
Beside me, Trigg goes very still. Under the table, his grip on my hand tightens.
"What does that mean?" his voice cuts through the silence, sharp and demanding.
Santiago clears his throat, drawing our attention. "What my wife means to say is she was well aware that Hale Ranch bordered Fairfield. It's not a coincidence that we took an interest in partnering when we heard through the grapevine that you were looking to diversify, no?"
I feel the blood drain from my face.
"How could you have known I was married to Trigg?" Confusion bleeds into my voice as I try to make sense of the timeline. "The partnership discussions started before..." I stop myself before I say too much.
"She didn't." Trigg's voice is calm, measured, his eyes focused on Dar as if he's already worked everything out. "She didn't know we were married. That part is truly the coincidence." He leans back slightly, though his hand remains locked with mine. "She wanted to partner with me so she would have a reason to come to Bardstown. A reason to accidentally run into Warrick or maybe even you."
The table falls silent again, and I watch Dar's face carefully. She doesn't deny it.
"Is that true?" I ask, though I already know the answer from the way she's looking at me.
Dar sets down her wine glass with care. "I've never spoken to Warrick. Not once." Her voice is steady, but there's an undercurrent of old pain there. "Your mother was the one who sent me that picture." She pauses, her eyes meeting mine. "She was searching for his family, not him. She was so excited when she found us. Warrick wasn't. The last time I spoke to your mother, she told me he would come around. That he just needed time." Her voice drops. "But then I stopped hearing from her too."
My chest constricts, the wine turning sour in my stomach because I know exactly why she stopped hearing from my mother.
"Maya passed away shortly after that picture was taken," Trigger speaks for me.
"Yes," Santiago says quietly, his accent softening with sympathy. "After months went by with no response to any of our exchanges, I did a little digging and found her obituary online."
The silence that follows is suffocating even though we're outside. Around us, the Spanish countryside stretches into darkness, the ranch below barely visible now except for scattered lights dotting the landscape like fallen stars. The terrace where we sit is lit by warm string lights that cast everything in a golden glow, intimate and almost romantic if not for the weight of what's being said. A warm breeze carries the scent of fresh dirt, rustling through the olive trees that frame the stone terrace. I can hear the low calls of cattle settling for the night, a sound that should be comforting and familiar, but instead feels like it belongs to someone else's life.
"Listen," Dar finally says, her voice stronger now, steadier. "I know your trip was supposed to wrap up tomorrow. Tonight was supposed to be spent discussing terms over a meal and drinks,and we can still do that if that's what the two of you want." She pauses, looking directly at me. "But if you can, we'd like it if you could stay through the weekend."
The request hangs in the air between us, weighted with possibility.
"It would give us some time," she continues, "not just to speak as partners, but as family. If you're open to it, Asha, I'd like to get to know you as my niece."
I try to speak but can't get words past the lump in my throat.
"Can you give us a minute?" Trigg asks, feeling the tension coiled tightly in my hand.
Dar nods, understanding in her eyes. "Of course. Take all the time you need."
She and Santiago rise from the table, and Rohan follows their lead. For a long moment, I just sit there, trying to hold myself together. My breathing is coming too fast, too shallow, and there's a pressure building in my chest that feels like it might crack my ribs.
