Page 31

Across the aisle, the classmates closest to us immediately begin to snicker.

“Mr. Lee, Miss Patterson, is there something interesting to share with the rest of the class?” Mr. Harrison interjects from the podium, glaring over his spectacles.

“No, Mr. Harrison,” I mutter, my face burning as I turn back around in my seat and bury my head in my textbook. Ugh. Why was he always messing with me? I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest tight with a humiliating mix of anger and lingering heartbreak. It’s bad enough that he’d severed every tie between us and now treated me like some stranger. Now, on top of it, I have to survive his constant, infuriating taunts. All while my own traitorous heart keeps reacting to him.

I didn’t know why he hated me so much. What had I done? But as the Pop Rocks keep snapping behind me, I know one thing for certain. Surviving Sam Lee is going to be the hardest exam I’ll ever have to pass.

I manage to roll my eyes, shaking my head in utter disgust. I refuse to turn back toward him, instead remaining fixed on the blackboard. I force my posture ramrod straight, determined to ignore him and give Mr. Harrison my undivided attention.

Then, a few minutes later, I feel a sharp tug at the back of my head. Before I can react, Sam’s fingers slip smoothly through my hair, pulling the elastic tie right off the tail of my braid. I could feel the woven strands loosen immediately, falling apart down my spine in a messy cascade.

How old are we? Five?

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from spinning around and slapping him. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this by a long shot. It’s practically his favorite game. Over the last two months alone, I’d been forced to buy two brand-new sets of hair accessories to replace all the clips, ribbons, and elastics he’d stolen right off my head in class or sneaking up behind me in the hallway.

And given that he hadn’t suddenly taken to wearing his dark, curly hair long, it was clearly just to mess with me. He probably had a little trophy pile of my hair ties sitting in the bottom of his locker, just waiting to be used as ammo the next time he decided to ruin my day.

I grab the loose ends of my hair, hastily twisting them together to keep them off my neck, and squeezed my eyes shut against the prickle of hot, frustrated tears. I’m NOT going to let him see me break. Not today.

Not ever.

Chapter Fifteen

Sam

I’m sitting at the corner table at Luigi’s, the same spot where I watched Lexi wither under the weight of a no-show date a few days ago. I’ve checked my watch six times in the last ten minutes. The brilliant red roses, a bouquet so large it looks like a crime scene, are tucked onto the empty chair beside me, partially hidden by the tablecloth.

When the bell above the door chimes, the air leaves my lungs. Lexi walks in, her expression a mask of powerful control. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt and a charcoal silk blouse that make her look like a supermodel. Or a storm cloud. But against the gray top, her gorgeous blonde hair and deep blue eyes pop. Her confidence is just as alluring as always. She’s strong, capable, with a body created to torment me.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Unlike the last time she was here, she appears dressed for business. While I’m here wearing my heart on my sleeve. She sits down, her eyes scanning the table, then my face, with clinical detachment. “You have twenty minutes, Sam,” she says, skipping the pleasantries. “I have surgery in the morning and very little patience for whatever game this is.” She waggles her index finger back and forth between us.

As tempting as it is to revert to my old ways, I don’t lead with a joke. Instead, I lean forward and lay it all out. The cold, hard legal reality Aaron Sterling handed me this morning.

“I know you probably think it’s too little, too late, but I’ve been trying to pull Sutter Creek from the brink. Bankruptcy is nearly certain if I can’t find a way to restore the place. My parents practically liquidated it after Pop died. And while I haven’t made good financial choices either, I’ve honestly sunk every remaining dime I have left into it. But it’s not enough.”

My head falls at the admission. And here I thought asking her to marry me would be the scariest part. Laying my failures at her feet is almost worse. Will there ever be a day I can win this woman’s respect again? Or will she be tied to the town joke for the next year, champing at the bit to sign the divorce papers?

“I met with my lawyer this morning. While well-meaning, my grandfather’s trust is a trap, Lexi,” I continue, my voice low. “If I stay single, I get twenty-five million at forty. That sounds like a lot, but by then, Sutter Creek will be a parking lot covered in condominiums. My mother and the developers will have picked the bones clean by that time. I’m certain of it.”

I see her flicker of surprise, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“The only way to save the vineyard, to keep the land in the family, is a marriage clause. If I marry and stay married for exactly one year, the trust releases fifty million dollars. But the vineyard has to be profitable by at least a dollar.”

Alexis stares at me wide-eyed.

“This won’t be easy. If I can’t prove the marriage is real, or if the business fails, I lose everything. Including Sutter Creek. If I don’t marry, the remaining seventy-five million will be dispersed to my mother and Sebastian. Twenty-five to the billionaire.” I roll my eyes. “And fifty million to my mother. Anything left will be donated to various charities.”

Lexi continues to stare wordlessly. I’m tempted to check for a pulse until she finally blinks those long dark lashes.

“My heartless, greedy mother is basically incentivized to watch me drown.”

Lexi leans back, her expression unreadable. “So, wait. You want me to be the life jacket?” She points at herself. Well, duh. I mean, did she think I’d be telling her if I planned to ask someone else?

My mouth is dry. I take a fortifying sip of my water before I continue, inching closer in my seat. I’m tempted to reach for her hands in earnest, but I’m afraid she’ll slap the shit out of me. “I’m asking for one year,” I beg, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. “I don’t want the money for myself. Every cent of that fifty million is going back into the soil, the equipment, and the debt my parents racked up. Well, minus whatever agreed-upon amount would entice someone to go through this with me. I just need to get through three hundred and sixty-five days without my mother proving the union is a sham until I can get things turned around on my own.”

I take a breath, watching her hands. They’re still. While mine are shaking like leaves in a windstorm. “I know I’ve been an asshole.”