Feels Like Home. Beth Andrews
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if they were discussing nothing more important—or interesting—than a round of golf.
Her grip on the lantern tightened. The corner of it dug into her ribs. He’d always treated her as if she was delicate. Someone best suited to look pretty on his arm. To be charming and sweet, and agree with him. To stand back and let him handle everything.
As her parents had taught her.
Just, she could admit—if only to herself—as she’d let him believe.
But she wasn’t that person anymore.
“Actually,” she said, “I’ve been working for World Class Weddings for the past five years.” And from the blank look he gave her, he had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s a wedding planning service in Charleston. One of the best.”
The sun streamed through the doorway, haloing Aidan in soft light. “And you decided to give that up to come work here?”
“I’m not giving anything up.” Which was one of the reasons she’d ultimately decided to accept Diane’s offer. “I’m excited to be here. To help build the special events side of your business from the start.” And then she’d go back to her job, back to her friends in Charleston.
“Unfortunately,” Aidan said—how she hated his sarcasm— “I don’t share your enthusiasm.”
“My enthusiasm for…?”
“Any of it.” His T-shirt pulled snug against his shoulders as his hands fisted beneath his crossed arms. “The winery hosting events, and mainly, you being anywhere near my family’s business.”
Though she told herself his opinions, his likes and dislikes, didn’t matter to her, not anymore, she was disappointed. “Oh. Well, maybe in time—”
“Time isn’t going to change my mind. And even if it could, it wouldn’t matter, because you won’t be here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me make it clear to you, then,” he said flatly. “You’re fired.”
YVONNE BLINKED. Blinked again. But when she spoke, her voice was as precise, as unfailingly polite, as always. “You can’t fire me.”
Aidan wanted to throw that damn chair through a window. “I can’t?” He smiled.
She hesitated, confusion clouding her brown eyes. “No. I have a contract.”
“A contract with the Diamond Dust?”
“Of course.” Yvonne tilted her head so that her blond hair fell over her shoulder. He didn’t doubt the move was practiced. Just as rehearsed as her placid expression and condescending tone. “Would you care to see it?”
Though his mother owned the business, Aidan was the one in charge. All contracts went through him first. Everything to do with what he still called his father’s winery—which, in a matter of months, would be his winery—went through Aidan first. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.” Except throwing her off his property for good.
“I left it in my car,” she said. She looked at him uncertainly. “If you’ll excuse me?”
And that’s when he realized she wasn’t being polite. She wanted him to move.
With a mocking bow, he took a deliberate step to the left, giving her plenty of space. “By all means. The last thing I’d want is to get in your way. Not when you have your heart set on leaving.”
Her step faltered. But then she continued on, her gait measured in her tight skirt. The sound of her high heels faded as she walked out the door.
But unlike her exit seven years ago, this time he was the one in control.
He followed her outside and watched as she crossed to her silver Lexus LS. She moved like the debutante she’d been—the sway of her hips subtle, her slim shoulders back. He watched as she slowly crossed the gravel driveway and opened her car door before sitting in the driver’s seat.
She was, as always, cool. Reserved.
Beautiful.
It’d been that beauty and her air of you can’t touch this that’d drawn him to her in the first place.
And he married her—loved her—despite her aloofness. He’d wanted to have children with her, have a life with her. Grow old with her.
But she’d left. And she had no right to come back.
The sweat had long since dried and cooled on his body as he stared over the car to the rolling hills surrounding his family’s property. Hard to believe not fifteen minutes ago it’d been just a normal Wednesday morning run. And then he’d reached the carriage house and discovered Yvonne digging through his father’s junk in that damn skirt and a short, snug jacket that emphasized her tiny waist.
He smirked. Once a beauty queen, always a beauty queen. Even in dust, grime and rodent droppings.
Yvonne climbed out of the car with a large manila envelope in her hand. By the time she reached him, his expression was once again carefully neutral, his shoulder relaxed.
She held out the envelope. “See for yourself.”
Aidan took it, not letting their fingers touch. He flipped it over. The shipping label was addressed to World Class Weddings, care of Ms. Yvonne Delisle.
She hadn’t kept his name.
He pulled out the sheaf of papers inside and quickly scanned them.
“Looks like a standard contract,” he said, forcing his tone to remain impassive. “Nothing that can’t be voided.”
She inhaled sharply. “I’ll sue.”
He almost laughed. “Drag your company, your family’s name, through the legal system?” Wouldn’t her father love that? And God knew, Yvonne didn’t do anything without her parents’ approval. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Aidan,” she said softly.
His blood heated. Underestimate her? He’d loved her. Given her everything he had.
“Don’t push me,” he warned gruffly. “I’m not one of those nice Southern boys your daddy handpicked for you.”
Although if she’d stuck with one of those pasty-faced men with old money and “the third” after their names, men who spent their days working for their fathers, their evenings at the club and their weekends with their mistresses, he’d have been better off.
“I’ll have to take my chances then,” she said.
“Why?”
After a moment, she shrugged. “I want this job.”
“And what daddy’s little princess wants, she gets. Isn’t that how it goes?”
“If it makes you feel better to believe that, go ahead.”
“You don’t know how much that means to me. Your permission.”
“Aidan, please,” she said, her voice washing over his cool skin like a warm shower, “I realize this came as a surprise to you, and I don’t know why your mother didn’t tell you about our agreement, but I was hoping we could get past our history.” She looked up at him from beneath her dark lashes. “I know it’ll be…awkward…at first and I realize you’re still angry with me—”
“I’m not,” he lied smoothly. A lie he wanted to believe. Because to be angry meant he still felt something for her.
Relieved, and she smiled as she laid her hand on his forearm. His breath lodged painfully in his lungs. His muscles tensed under her soft fingers. But he didn’t shake her off.
“Then you shouldn’t have any objection to me working at the Diamond Dust,” she said.
“I’m