“Thank you. I really did need this.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment and went inside. After a few minutes she followed. Raif was opening a bottle of wine at the kitchen counter.
“Want some?” he asked, holding up an empty glass.
“Yes, please.”
She watched as he poured the white wine, and accepted the glass when he handed it to her.
“Yours?” she asked.
“Of course. My grapes, Ethan’s brilliance.”
She smiled. “You make a good pair.”
“Just like our dads did before us.”
“Is your dad still hands-on in the vineyard?”
Raif took a sip of the wine and made a sound of appreciation. “Yeah, although he’s pulling back more these days. He and Mum are planning a tour of Alsace and Bordeaux next year. He’s been tied to the vineyard for most of his adult life. It’ll be good for them to explore a bit more, and I know they’ll love France.”
Shanal took a sip of her wine, savoring the flavor as it burst over her tongue. “This is from the vineyard by your house, isn’t it? The one that partially survived the big fire?”
The Masters family had been devastated just over thirty years ago, when bush fires had destroyed the family residence, Masters Rise, and almost all their vineyards. It had taken years for them to recover. Years and many hours of hard work and determination from a family that had pulled together, growing closer and more unified in the face of the tragedy. Now, they were successful and strong again, but the ruins of the old house still stood sentinel over the family property—a solemn reminder that everything could be snatched away in the blink of an eye.
“Certainly is,” Raif confirmed.
“Ethan was telling me that you’ve become a keen proponent of organic vineyard practices.”
He smiled at that—the first real smile she’d seen from him all day—and seemed to relax a bit. “It’s hard to break with the old ways, but I think in this case it’s worthwhile. It’s always been my aim to work toward making the vineyards as efficient as possible using sustainable processes.”
“Well, if this vintage is any example, you’re definitely on the right track.”
He held his glass up in a silent acknowledgment of her compliment. “Shall we take these outside? You’ll be warm enough if you put my jacket back on.”
Shanal followed his suggestion, and after putting on the jacket she’d discarded on the couch earlier, walked out onto the front deck and sat in one of the wicker easy chairs positioned there. The sun gave a final burst of golden color before disappearing. Darkness spread, heightening the sense of isolation she’d mentioned earlier. And yet even with the night’s noises beginning around them, she didn’t feel anxious or afraid. Raif’s solid presence beside her put paid to that, she realized. And no wonder she felt safe with him, given the way he’d helped and protected her today. She owed him, big time. Not many men would have done what he did.
She sighed and sipped her wine. The silence between them was companionable, but she felt compelled to say something about the way she’d absconded from her own wedding.
“I guess I owe you an explanation,” she started, turning to face Raif, who stared out into the darkness beside her.
* * *
“Nope.”
Raif had no need to know what had finally brought Shanal to her senses and sent her flying from the cathedral this morning. And frankly, the less time they spent talking about her would-be groom, the better Raif would feel.
“But I—”
“Look,” he interrupted. “Burton Rogers and I might have been at school together. We might even have resembled friends once upon a time, but we’re not now. To be honest, I’ve wondered more about your reasons for agreeing to marry him than I have about your reasons for running away. You don’t need to explain a thing.”
Shanal sat up a bit straighter in her chair. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“Don’t like him, don’t trust him.”
“That’s what you tried to talk to me about, back when we announced our engagement, wasn’t it?”
He drained his glass. “Another?” he asked, standing up and putting out his empty hand.
“No, thanks, I’m okay. In fact, I think that glass has completely gone to my head. I was too nervous to eat this morning and—”
“I’ll go warm up dinner. Mac left us a chicken casserole in the refrigerator. We’ll have to cook our own meals from tomorrow.”