“I’m not a threat to you,” Griffin said quietly. “I know my place.”
“Since when?”
Griffin ignored the verbal jab. “I also know my way around a construction site and have a sense of the history of the vineyard. Mom wants it to be right, and I owe it to her.”
“I’m the vice president—”
“Of marketing,” Griffin interrupted.
Trevor narrowed his eyes. It was no secret his dream in life was to run Harvest Vineyards. Both of them had grown up working the land and learning the ins and outs of the wine-making process. As Griffin grew older, the animosity between him and his father had grown until the two hundred acres they owned felt like a cage, the home he’d lived in since he was born, a prison.
“Dad wouldn’t have wanted this,” Trevor said harshly. “After what you did...”
“Not his decision to make any longer.”
Their father had died four years ago when the private plane he’d chartered crashed just after takeoff. The accident had been a shock to them all, and a huge blow to their mother. But Jana took her role as president of the board as seriously as if she’d been born into the family.
Griffin had come back for the funeral and stayed for the family meeting his mother insisted on presiding over the morning after the service. He knew Trevor had expected to be named CEO but instead Jana had offered the position to their longtime employee, Marcus Sanchez.
“I still should have been told.”
“And you still need to tell Mom about why Maggie walked away,” Griffin countered, unwilling to debate his worthiness to return to the vineyard with his younger brother.
Trevor studied him for a long moment, then flashed a sanctimonious grin. “You won’t stick, Grif. You never do.”
Fists tightly clenched, Griffin watched his brother walk out of the room. How could he argue when the desire to climb into his SUV and drive away made his skin itch like a junkie looking for his next fix?
He wasn’t meant for Stonecreek. He’d been a different person here, a punk kid he didn’t like very much. But he also had no idea how to be anyone else when faced with his past.
So where did that leave him?
He sure as hell wished he knew.
“Do you hate me?”
Maggie paused in the act of folding the last of the tablecloths that would have been used at her reception. It was nearly eleven at night, and the Miriam Inn’s ballroom was dark other than one dim bulb glowing in the entry, where Brenna Apria stood, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Does it matter?” Maggie asked, then placed the tablecloth on top of the pile with more force than necessary. Nancy Schulman, who managed events at the inn, had called her earlier to report that Trevor’s mom and grandma had descended on the venue and were scooping up the vases of flowers that Maggie and her bridesmaids had arranged and placed around the room the previous day.
The Spencers owned the inn and event center, and Maggie had recommended Nancy for the manager position after a nasty divorce nine months ago. Maggie appreciated that the woman still felt some loyalty, when Grammy had made it clear in a barrage of texts and voice mails throughout the day that everyone else thought Maggie was either crazy or downright cruel to have left poor, sweet, upstanding Trevor Stone at the altar.
Maggie hated to admit how much it hurt that people who’d known her since she was in diapers could turn on her so quickly, but she wouldn’t let it show. That was something she’d learned from her mother, who’d put on a brave front even when ovarian cancer ravaged her, metastasizing throughout her body.
She’d told Nancy to let the Stone women take whatever they wanted and that she’d clean up the rest after. Then she’d called the florist, the DJ and the photographer to personally apologize and assure them she’d pay each of their bills in full.
Even knowing they were getting their money, none of the vendors had been happy. Working the Spencer-Stone wedding was more than a regular job. The two families were practically royalty in the growing town, and Harvest Vineyards was quickly gaining a national reputation for its wine.
But the loss of visibility and free marketing couldn’t be helped. At least not by Maggie. It was rapidly dawning on her exactly what she’d done with her promise to Trevor about keeping the real reason she’d walked away a secret.
Now the woman she’d considered her best friend, who’d known about Trevor’s cheating, was standing here looking for what? Forgiveness? Absolution?
Maggie was fresh out of both.
“It matters. You’re my best friend.” Brenna walked forward, in and out of shadows, but Maggie could see how miserable she looked. Her dark eyes were red, her high cheekbones stained with the tracks of dried tears. Maggie didn’t care. Her own face was puffy from crying and even now, when she thought she had no more tears to shed, she could feel moisture prick the corners of her eyes.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. “How long have you known?”
“Trevor promised he’d change,” Brenna insisted instead of answering the question, then broke off at the glare Maggie sent her. “That it was a onetime lapse in judgment. I wanted to believe him, and I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
“That backfired,” Maggie muttered.
“You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“I am,” Brenna whispered.
Maggie grabbed the tablecloths and shoved them into a cardboard box. “You were aware my fiancé was cheating and didn’t tell me. I caught him swapping spit with another woman minutes before the wedding, and you weren’t even shocked. Did you know about Julia?”
Brenna’s full lips pressed into a thin line. “I thought it had ended, but they were flirty at your engagement party. I asked Trevor about it, and he said I was overreacting. He told me I’d ruin both of your lives if I said anything.”
“Don’t you think it would have been worse if I’d ended up married to a cheater?”
“He told me—”
“You must know you have terrible judgment when it comes to men,” Maggie said through clenched teeth, unable to stop herself, even though she knew the comment was hurtful.
Brenna grimaced. “I know.” She picked up a stack of napkins and thrust them toward Maggie. “You can hit me if you want, like Griffin did with Trevor. I deserve it as much as him.”
Maggie stilled as unease snaked along her spine. She hadn’t admitted anything to Griffin, so it was difficult to imagine him defending her to his brother. And yet... “What do you mean Griffin hit Trevor?”
“Decked him in front of the pulpit. Mrs. Davis was standing just a few feet away. She said Griffin looked like he wanted to kill Trevor but only threw one punch. Apparently, Trevor has a nasty shiner.”
“Have you seen him?”
Brenna shook her head. “I also didn’t realize Griffin was back in town. I thought he said he wasn’t coming to the wedding.”
“He had a change of plans,” Maggie told her.
“You talked to him?” Brenna’s brows shot up.
“As I was leaving the church,” Maggie said with a nod. “He ended up giving me a ride home.”
Brenna’s sharp intake of breath was audible in