Page 14 of The Spare

“You can thank Fire for that.” Holt Firestone is Sebastian’s personal trainer.

I rub the back of my head. “I think I’ll pass.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Sebastian walks to the center of the room, his expensive loafers clicking on the floorboards that desperately need a sand and seal. Might as well add that to the long list of ‘probably should, but can’t afford it’ items.

“How bad is it?” he asks, his voice dropping the polite façade as his eyes take in the leaking ceiling.

My gaze lands on a collection of shriveled, dead roses still sitting in a vase on the corner of the tasting bar. Good grief. How bad is it here that I didn’t even notice those ’til now?

“If I don’t make a profit this year, the commercial developers are going to have a field day,” I say, sitting back down on a barstool. It creaks ominously. “Sutter Creek could be the home of the latest townhome development.” I grimace at the thought.

Sebastian takes a seat next to me. His eyes seem tired. Is he not feeling well, or could the state of the winery be bothering him as much as it is me?

“I think our grandfather’s trust is complicated. I don’t know all of the details, but from what Mother shared, she thinks it’d make more sense to sell to a developer while they’re eager and cut our losses,” I grumble. But then again, there’s no trusting her rationale. Mother Dearest is probably shopping for overpriced shoes or designer bags with what she thinks she might acquire from the sale of this land as we speak.

This place means everything to me. I can’t bear the thought of letting my grandfather down like that. Looking down from heaven over another lot of identical homes placed within feet of one another. I’ll pour every last cent I have into Sutter Creek before I let that happen.

“You’ve spoken with her recently?”

“No.” I chuckle. “But she’s managed to interject her opinion every chance she’s had since Dad died. She’s more motivated to sell knowing she now inherits his portion as well as hers. Last I heard from Rosario, she’s in the south of France somewhere.”

“They can keep her,” Bas adds.

My parents inherited a portion of the vineyard from Pop when I was young. It was a thriving, successful business when they acquired it, but they treated it like a personal vault. They put in the bare minimum to warrant the luxury they collected on someone else’s back. They merely kept the engine running so they could continue their lifestyle of excess.

Sebastian was smart. He saw the writing on the wall and distanced himself, focusing on medical school. We haven’t been close in years. I’ll admit my jealousy over his accomplishments played a big part in that. It got tiresome watching as he acquired wealth and success while I clung to the failing dreams of my youth. Particularly when your own mother was the one making the comparisons.

But Sebastian’s the only real family I have left. Sure, Mom’s still lurking around. Like a roach. I have no doubt she’d stab either one of us in the back to pad her wallet.

My ridiculously wealthy brother could solve everything. If he invested in the winery, in essence he’d be a silent partner. And while I’d have to give that serious consideration before letting it go bankrupt, I refuse to let him take this dream if I can manage this without him.

I grew up in a home that was a masterclass in misery. My parents’ marriage was a ridiculous sham, a union cemented only on paper. It was a far cry from the loving relationship my childhood friend, Alexis Patterson, enjoyed. Having a front seat to witnessing her loving family only poured salt in the wound. Until that awful day, her mother and father perished in a plane crash returning from a medical mission trip. The only example of a real marriage I’d ever seen was snuffed out.

My father made no attempt to hide the fact that his “business trips” were unabashedly for the pursuit of other women. He’d return to screaming matches that echoed through the halls, where our mother would accuse him of hunting for “fresh meat” while he brushed her off.

I personally found going to school an escape. Though, to this day, I don’t know which was worse, the years of unapologetic cheating by my father, or the fact that my mother stayed through it all simply to ensure she had access to the largest amount of cash possible. Stellar role models I had. What’s worse, I can’t help but question my DNA.

Am I doomed to end up just like them?

My grandfather was smart enough to place legal stipulations on what they could do with the vineyard, but they still managed to skirt the letter of the law. While Sebastian chose to move on, I stayed close to my family for two reasons. One was the old adage about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. If there was any hope of keeping this place afloat, I had to be aware of their actions. But the primary reason was the deep admiration I felt for my grandfather.

I look up at a framed photo hanging on the wall by the picture window, half-hidden by a peeling piece of wallpaper. It’s me and Pop standing between the rows of Cabernet Franc. We both have dirt under our nails and smiles from an honest day’s work.

I spent every summer toiling alongside him. We’d take breaks, lying on our backs between the vines, staring at the clouds and daydreaming about the future of Sutter Creek. Joking about seeing someone famous on the cover of a magazine drinking a bottle of our wine. I’m certain he’s rolling over in his grave at what his beloved vineyard has become.

“I’ve heard a lot of rumors about the place over the years. Pop once told me you’d have access to everything once you turned forty,” Sebastian says, frowning. “But then again, I also heard there might be an out. Some type of marriage clause?”

A derisive snort escapes. “Ha. Right. Why on earth would he do that? He knows as well as anyone what a farce our parents’ marriage was. What would be the point in putting someone else through that?”

“I don’t know.” Bas scratches his chin. “Pop and Grams had a great marriage.”

My grandpa adored Grams. I think it’s part of the reason he was so invested in this vineyard. After she died, it was his sole focus. A healthy distraction.

“Well, I hope that it’s nothing but a rumor.”

“Marriage isn’t as bad as you’ve made it out to be.” My brother grins, sitting taller in his chair. The pride is radiating off of him in waves. Of course, this motherfucker would pick now, of all times, to gloat.

“Leave it to you to find the one woman worth putting a ring on it.”