by Mia Sheridan
"Yes, well, of course." My face was throbbing with heat. "Give it to me." He didn't.
"Pro: He's an ass, but his actual ass is easy on the eyes." He lowered the paper and looked at me over it. "You like my ass, little witch? You should have told me. I warned you not to develop feelings for me. But I suppose it's okay to admire my ass, if you do in fact find me . . . appealing." He smirked. "You're only human after all," he said, scratching his chin as if in thought. "Are witches human? Hmm . . ." He looked back to the paper.
"You . . ." I sputtered, unable to think of how to finish that sentence, flailing my arms in utter helplessness, seething with rage. He seemed to enjoy deliberately arousing my anger. I wanted to wipe the arrogant look off his stupid, handsome features.
"Con: He's a pompous dragon," Grayson read calmly.
"Proven fact," I growled.
"Pro: He needs me." Grayson's eyes darted to mine, darkening.
"Correction—I need your money."
Well, he wouldn't get it now! He had crossed the line. I'd never give this dragon a damned thing. I looked around the room wildly for something to wound him with, spotting a bottle of wine sitting far back on a buffet next to a door that presumably led to a cellar. I ran over to it, grabbed it and went to throw it at him.
"No!" he yelled, a note of panic in his voice that stopped me in my tracks.
"Kira," he dropped the list and put his hands up in a pose of surrender, "that bottle of wine is irreplaceable." He bent slowly to pick up my list and rose just as slowly, holding it out to me. "Trade," he said, moving cautiously in my direction as if I were an untamed animal.
I looked down at the bottle in my hands. Something French. When I looked back up at Grayson, his face was white. "This one?" I asked innocently, switching it to my other hand with a little toss. A choked sound came from his throat. "This one right here? Irreplaceable?" Surely he was exaggerating. Otherwise, why would it be sitting out on a buffet in the living room? Still, it obviously meant a lot to him. He went to move toward me again.
"Stop where you are," I commanded. He did. I raised my chin. "Apologize to me for your extreme rudeness and . . ." I waved the bottle of wine around, trying to come up with the words for what he'd done to me and my pride. That same choked sound came out of Grayson's throat, his eyes tracking the bottle.
"Yes, yes, I apologize. I was just having some fun with you. I didn't mean any harm. I swear it. Come here and give me the bottle of wine, Kira."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "No."
He blinked. "No?"
"I won't come to you. You come to me."
Something flashed in his eyes, but he carefully checked his expression as his eyes landed on the bottle in my hands again. "Meet me in the middle."
I thought about challenging that. After all, I was the one clearly in control now, but I decided the middle was adequate. "Okay. Quick swap."
He nodded once and I went to move toward him. Hmm. I'd enjoy seeing that look of helpless panic in his eyes and hearing that odd choking sound come from his throat one last time. Intending on passing the bottle from my left hand to my right, I swung my left arm out in a wide arc and reached forward with my right to grab it, keeping eye contact with The Dragon, a small smirk on my lips. The sound of shattering glass rang out loudly in the silent room and I froze, sucking in a breath, time seeming to slow as I looked to my left where I had forgotten stood a large stone pillar. I'd raised my arm and smashed it right into the unforgiving rock. I swallowed thickly, watching what looked like blood drip down the stone into a growing puddle on the floor. A gasping sound came from the doorway and I whipped my head in the direction of the small noise. Walter stood there, his mouth hung open, his complexion a ghastly white.
"I had just gone to get the key to the wine cellar," he said, his voice a choked whisper. "I'm sorry, sir." Oh, God.
I looked down to the broken neck of the bottle in my hand and then slowly, very slowly up at Grayson. He was seething with what looked to be barely controlled fury. "It wasn't your fault, Walter. You may go," he said, his voice full of deadly calm.
There was a pause. "Yes, sir," I heard Walter say, then he quickly walked away.
I blinked, my hand letting go of the broken bottleneck as it, too, shattered on the floor. I stood glued to the spot as Grayson slowly made his way to me. I could practically feel the fiery rage emanating from him. When he got to me, he moved in close, taking his fingers and tilting my chin up to him. A muscle twitched in his jaw—a small warning. I stood straighter, meeting his eyes. "That bottle of wine," Grayson gritted out, "was my father's pride and joy. He spent years trying to obtain it. When he finally did, he wept. He wept, Kira. Tears of joy over that bottle you just smashed out of spite."
I shook my head, trying desperately not to flinch. "It was an accident. It was just . . . sitting there . . ." I hated the catch in my voice as my words faded away.
He let go of my chin, his midnight eyes still staring down at me intently. "Two o'clock," he said, finally. "Meet me here tomorrow at two o'clock."
Two o'clock? What was two o'clock? I couldn't remember. Oh, God, we were getting married. I almost told him it was off. I opened my mouth to say the words, but they didn't come out. Clearly he was going through with it now to punish me—or at the very least to recoup the cost of that "irreplaceable" bottle of wine.
With those words, Grayson went striding out of the living room. I stood there for a few minutes, finally walking on wobbly legs over to where he'd dropped my childish list. I picked it up and walked to the kitchen where Charlotte was wiping down the counter, the sweet smell of cinnamon and apples wafting in the air. She glanced at me with a clearly nervous look and then glanced away. "He's not a bad man, Kira."
I swallowed. "I . . ." I shook my head, beginning again. "I'm sure he's not always, but I have a way of . . . bringing out the very worst in men."
"I'm sure that's not true."
I shrugged. It really was. It really, really was. Bile rose in my throat. I thought I might be sick, but I managed to swallow it down.
"And perhaps it's more them than you, my dear. Perhaps it will take a very special man to um . . ."
"Handle me?" I laughed, a small sound that held little amusement.
"Love you," she corrected. I wasn’t sure I should take that as a compliment, except for the fact that Charlotte was smiling warmly at me.
Love. Fierce longing rose in my chest. For just once to be cherished. I sighed. "In any case, my arrangement with Grayson has nothing to do with love. And it doesn't matter anyway. I won't follow through. It was a terrible idea from the very beginning." I turned to Charlotte who was watching her hand move the sponge over the counters, a thoughtful look on her face. "That wine, Charlotte, was it really irreplaceable? Did his father really search for it for years . . ." I fought the urge to cry.
Charlotte was quiet for a moment, seeming to make a decision. She put the sponge on the sink and came around the counter to sit next to me on a bar stool. She took my hands in hers, a look of sympathy in her eyes. "He'll likely never tell you himself and so I'm going to let you in on something about Grayson and his father, Kira. I don't like to gossip, but maybe knowing some of Grayson's background will help you understand why he's so hell-bent on bringing this damn winery back." She pursed her lips for a second, but then her expression cleared. Damn winery? This was her home, too. Didn't she love it here? "Grayson and his father, Ford Hawthorn, did not have a good relationship." She shook her head sadly. "The reasons were many and perhaps Grayson will share those with you someday, but suffice it to say he was never made to feel like he belonged in this home—either by his father or his stepmother. They . . . misguidedly blamed him for things a child should never be blamed for. They treated him wretchedly—excluded him, each trying to convince the other they hated him more." A look of raw sadness filled her expression. "Grayson tried so hard, all his life, he . . . well, it didn't matter. Nothing he did was deemed good enough." She shook her head. "Later, after
he got arrested . . ." She grabbed a tissue off the counter and dabbed at her nose. "His father never visited him, not even once. Ford found out he had cancer while Grayson was away, and he perished quickly. Or at least it seemed that way. When Grayson returned home, he found out his father had left this vineyard to him, a business that had begun failing as soon as Ford found out he was ill. He left the money to his wife and Grayson's brother, Shane, but he left the vineyard to Grayson." Something went skittering across her features, but it was gone before I could try to read it. "Grayson vowed that day he would bring the vineyard back, not for himself, but for the father who had shunned him his whole life and, in the end, left him this place as a final peace offering. Grayson felt Ford had entrusted him with his most beloved possession because he’d finally believed him worthy. Worthy of reviving it, worthy of running it. And Grayson will do practically anything to prove his father wasn't mistaken in that belief."
I sagged back on the bar stool. That was a lot. "Even though his father treated him so terribly before that?"
Charlotte nodded. "I believe because his father treated him so terribly before that. To Grayson, redeeming this vineyard means redeeming his own value."
I nodded slowly, biting my lip, thinking about how much Grayson Hawthorn and I had in common. Both raised by fathers who never thought we were enough.
"Thank you, Charlotte. I understand him a little better now. And I can relate." I pressed my lips together in thought. "I'd even think maybe we could be friends except that . . . he thinks I'm a witch, and I'm still pretty sure he's a dragon. At least when it comes to me."
She laughed, apparently finding that amusing.
"Why did you tell me all that, Charlotte?" I asked, tilting my head in question.
She grasped my hands again. "I think you can see people in a different light when you understand their motivations. And perhaps you think you bring out the worst in Grayson, but since you came into his life, even though it's been such a short time, he's been more alive than in the entire year he's been home . . . even if that's translated into lots of fire breathing." She squeezed my hands tightly again. "I believe that's a good thing. Grayson can be arrogant—due to his looks largely. But inside, his hurt runs very deep." She looked sad for a moment, but then smiled at me. I couldn't help smiling back. There was something so wonderfully comforting about Charlotte. "Here, let me cut you a big slice of cinnamon apple cake straight from the oven," she said as she stood.
"And by the way, my dear," Charlotte said, resting her hand on mine on the counter, a glint in her eyes, "forget the prince and princess. I always imagined the real story was between the witch and the dragon." Her musical laughter rang through the kitchen.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kira
I hadn't envisioned my wedding day quite like this. I'd awoken alone, taken a frigid shower, and then quickly left the Hawthorn property for downtown Napa to buy something to wear. But once I'd started browsing in a few shops, I'd realized how ridiculous it was. Why did I need a new outfit? And what did one wear to say false wedding vows to the man they were marrying for money? The man who most likely hated me after what had happened the day before. I took a deep breath. Still, I was going to go through with it. I’d made up my mind as I lay in bed the night before, thinking about my own reasons for needing the money Gram had left me, and thinking about Grayson's reasons as well. I couldn't help feeling like we had even more in common than either of us knew. And perhaps we'd never know the full extent, but somewhere deep down, I felt a sort of peace about sharing the money with him, dragon or not.
I finally picked out a semi-casual, white lace sundress and a pair of silvery-blue strappy sandals. It wasn't fancy, but at least I'd look like I'd put some effort into looking like a bride to the people at the clerk's office. It's all about show, I thought sadly.
As I drove back to Hawthorn Vineyard, a memory suddenly came into my mind. When I was seven or eight, I'd found my gram's collection of catalogues and old magazines. One of them had bridal gowns in it so I'd cut out all my choices for an entire wedding party, and glued them to a piece of cardboard. I'd spent hours going through each book, picking out flowers, and cakes, and whatever else I could find that added to my vision. When I'd proudly shown my gram, she had gushed over it, of course, as my gram tended to do, but then she'd asked me why there was no father of the bride. "Oh," I'd said, "he was working. He couldn't make it." My gram had looked at me so sadly and then hugged me tightly. "You are going to be the most beautiful bride, my love," she'd said, "and your groom is going to love you to pieces."
I felt a lump form in my chest. "Oh, Gram, I'm so sorry about this," I whispered into the silence of my car.
Just as I was finishing getting dressed, I heard a soft knock on my cottage door and startled slightly, wondering if Grayson had come to get me rather than meeting at the house where we’d planned. Or maybe he was coming to call it off? My heart took up an erratic beat as I called, "Come in."
A moment later I heard Charlotte's sing-song voice call out hello and I relaxed my shoulders. She smiled as she entered my room. "Oh my, you look lovely, my dear."
I gave her a small smile, fidgeting slightly. I hardly wanted her to make this seem as if it was in any way a real wedding day. It would only add to my shame.
"I brought you a little something for good luck," she said, holding open her palm to show a small, silver and crystal pin in the shape of a rose.
"Oh, no, Charlotte. I couldn't. This marriage doesn't require any luck. We already set it up to fail," I said, my cheeks heating.
"Well, then, it's good luck for you," she said. "Please, let me. My mother gave this to me on my wedding day and I don't have a daughter to give it to, nor will I have any granddaughters. It would mean the world to me if you would accept it."
"I really couldn't," I squeaked, trying not to tear up.
"How about just for today?" She smiled hopefully. "You can give it back if you want." She clapped her hands. "Oh, that's even better. Something borrowed."
I let out a laugh on a breath. "Okay. Only if you'll let me return it."
"Here," she said, leaning in and pinning it to the bodice of my dress. She leaned away and smiled gently. "Lovely."
Not able to help it, I threw my arms around Charlotte, inhaling the calming scent of talcum powder. She laughed a sweet sound and hugged me back. "Now then," she said gently.
At two o'clock I walked up to the main house where Grayson was leaning casually against the stone front. He was wearing a pair of khakis and a blue, button-down shirt. I tried not to note how strikingly handsome he was—it served no good purpose. When he heard me approaching, he looked up and I caught a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, and then it was gone.
"Ready?" he said simply, making no comment about how I looked. I nodded.
Neither of us spoke for the first five minutes of the ride in his truck. I finally turned to him and his gaze was on my bare legs. I crossed them and his eyes flew to mine. He clenched his jaw. Did he think my outfit was too casual?
"Grayson, I'm . . . I'm sorry about your father's bottle of wine."
His shoulders seemed to release just a bit as he stared out the front windshield. "It wasn't entirely your fault. You couldn't have known that such a valuable bottle of wine would be sitting in the living room. And I did push you to that point, I admit. I'm not innocent for teasing you about your . . . list. I'm sorry, too."
I exhaled even as I felt my cheeks flush at the mention of my list. "We're even, then?"
He gave me a slight smile. "Even. Especially considering you're paying me back for it today." He turned his face to me and gave me a devilish smile that made my heart stutter in my chest. But then it gentled and I saw he was making a joke.
"Ready to pledge forever? Or at least twelve months?" he asked, eyeing me sideways.
I laughed a nervous laugh. "As ready as I'll ever be, I figure. This isn't exactly how I pictured my wedding day."
"No? Pictured the big w
hite dress and all the crème de la crème of society in attendance?" His eyes lingered on me for a second.
It was true. When I'd been engaged to Cooper, that had been what I’d envisioned for my wedding, mostly because that was what my father and Cooper had envisioned. But that had never been my dream. I had just been trying so hard to please them both.
I smiled, but it felt sad on my own lips. "I suppose." I wasn't going to go into all that with Grayson, especially not right now. His eyes searched my face for a few quick moments, but then he looked back to the road, not saying anything.
The mood between us was still slightly tense after that and neither of us spoke, each busy with our own thoughts. Although Grayson had said I was forgiven about the wine, he still seemed a little tense, if the tick in his jaw was any indication each time he looked at me. Ah well, after today, we'd avoid each other. I'd offered my apologies and he'd accepted. If he still harbored a general hostility, it made no difference to me whatsoever. I bit down on my lip until it hurt, trying to distract myself from any thought at all. I didn't want to think about this. I didn't want to consider what I was really doing.
When we arrived at the Napa County Clerk's Office a few minutes later, we both went to get out of the truck, when the sky suddenly opened up and started pouring rain. We quickly closed our doors, scooting back inside.
Grayson chuckled. "The fates are against us."
I gave a small laugh, too. "Apparently. Although I've heard that rain is good luck on a wedding day."
"Only people who get rain on their wedding day say that to make themselves feel lucky. We're going to have to make a run for it."
"Okay. On the count of three," I said, cracking the door. We both jumped out and ran, me squealing as we ran for the building. He grabbed my hand halfway between the car and the office, and his deep laughter rose above the pounding sound of the downpour. For just a moment in time, we were just a boy and a girl, running and laughing in the rain on our wedding day. The moment was sudden, dreamlike, but when we burst into the lobby, we both blinked at each other and I knew he'd felt it, too. The spell was broken, the strange moment ending abruptly as we looked around at people now watching us. There were two other couples obviously there to get married, both holding hands, both looking serene and happy, both looking like it was the happiest day of their lives. It made me intensely aware of what we were about to do. By the look on Grayson's face, he was thinking the same thing.