Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,80

sworn Leah to secrecy until after the wedding.

“Okay,” Leah said slowly.

“I went down to the kitchen after dinner last night,” Bridget said, pulling a clump of wet mascara from her lashes. “I overheard your parents arguing.”

“About what?”

“Your father doesn’t want you getting involved with the winery—the wine and cheese class. He hates the whole idea. And your mother said since they’re losing it all anyway, why not try something new for a change.” Bridget began sobbing again. “So I went back upstairs to tell Asher, and he told me how with the winery sale they’ll probably be lucky just to break even. How they’ve been operating at a loss for years.”

Leah nodded. So now Bridget knew she hadn’t struck gold.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out this way. But better to know now, right? I mean, before this whole wedding thing went any further.”

Bridget looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What do you mean?”

“That it’s understandable if you don’t want to get married now. Considering . . .”

“Why wouldn’t I want to marry Asher? You mean, because of the money problems? I love him. I’m upset for him. Oh, forget it.”

“I’m sorry,” Leah said. “I just meant—”

“You know, Asher never wanted to work here. But he felt so much pressure. Your father forced him into this business, and now he’s going to be left with nothing. If they’d just let him choose his own path, he probably would have found something else to do a long time ago. He’s a Gemini, you know. What’s he supposed to do now?”

Leah blinked, stunned at the outburst.

For all these years, she’d resented Asher for being handed the job she’d wanted to have while he never seemed to care about it at all. Now, for the first time, she realized he was just as much a victim of their father’s stubborn, controlling ways as she was.

Her brother was suffering. Bridget was suffering. Her mother was suffering. And there was nothing Leah could do to change any of it. Well, maybe there was one thing she could do.

“Bridget,” she said, “would you like to join our book club?”

Part Three

Fruit Set

My biggest critics are the people who’ve never read me.

—Jackie Collins

Thirty-seven

In a scene straight out of Leah’s childhood memories, the book club assembled on the veranda as the day faded into twilight. Except this time, instead of standing on the sidelines and dreamily watching her mother and her friends, she was a part of it—along with her own daughter.

The air was damp with a fine mist, the sky streaked with gold. All around them, the click and hum of hidden insects, evidence that the vineyard was vibrantly alive.

All of Leah’s senses were heightened. She tasted the acidity of the wine, she smelled the nearby honeysuckle, she saw the sky changing color, and she was aware of every breath rising in her chest. She was reminded of when she was young and in love, the way that every moment was heavy with importance. In recent years, mindfulness had become a thing. But there had been a time when she didn’t have to try to be present; the present had claimed her, mind and body.

She missed feeling passion. In the two weeks since Steven again returned to the city, all of their conversations centered around the logistics of Bailey’s Blue. Still, she couldn’t complain; he was covering all the classes she’d scheduled before she knew she’d be away for the summer.

“We could cancel them,” she said. But that would be bad business. So she talked him through the itinerary.

Also, he was still pushing to find a new location, something she couldn’t deal with while she was preoccupied with the vineyard. They ended their calls with “I love you,” but the words felt rote. She meant them, and she knew he meant them, so why did they feel so hollow?

“I’m very pleased you two indulged me,” Vivian said, lighting citronella candles on the table. “So much to discuss,” she said, pulling a list of questions from her handbag.

“Wait, Mom. We have one more person joining us.”

In a prime example of the adage “It’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission,” she had not told her mother about inviting Bridget.

“Who?” Vivian said, just as Bridget appeared at the stairs.

“Did I miss anything?” she said, clopping over to the table in high heels. She wore a tank top with a bikini strap tied around her neck and tiny cutoff shorts. Sunglasses were perched on the top of her