Vintage Pride Read Online Free

met. Your instinct for knowing the precise moment the harvest will begin… It’s uncanny. But this year, I don’t feel your heart is in any of it. And we have a reputation to maintain, after all. One poor bottling could harm us for years.”
    Jean-Luc looked away, not wanting to meet his brother-in-law’s intense gaze. “What are you really trying to say?”
    “I know it has to do with the fact you’re still grieving for Benoît.”
    He bridled at the name. Why couldn’t Marcus see he didn’t want to talk about this? Not now, not ever. “And?”
    “Hey, everyone gets over these things at their own pace. We’re all aware of that and we’re not asking you to simply forget about him. But you’re not the first person to lose a mate in difficult circumstances.”
    Difficult? Jean-Luc almost snorted with derision. What could Marcus possibly know about the manner of Benoît’s death?
    It was close to two years now since that terrible night when his mate had been killed. Benoît had been driving back from having dinner with his parents at their home in É pernay, less than ten miles away from the château. The night had been stormy, the road dangerously wet, and he’d lost control of his car on a sharp bend. According to another driver who’d witnessed the accident and had stopped to call the emergency services, the vehicle had flipped over twice, coming to rest on its roof. Even though Benoît’s airbag had deployed, it hadn’t prevented him from breaking his neck in the crash. By the time help had reached him, it had been too late.
    The kindly female gendarme who’d come to pass on the news had assured Jean-Luc that Benoît would have died almost instantly, without suffering. But how could she possibly have known? No one could have any idea what his mate had experienced in those final few, terrifying moments.
    Guilt had gnawed at Jean-Luc ever since, sharp and exquisitely painful. Again and again he’d played the events of that night over in his mind. Benoît’s parents had asked him to come over to their house—they’d always been so welcoming, so accepting of the fact their youngest son was gay, rare as the trait was among shifters—but he’d cried off. Some of the vines were showing signs of bird’s-eye rot, with black, sunken lesions appearing on the leaves. If the disease spread to the grapes themselves, they would wither and die and the harvest would be ruined. Jean-Luc and his assistants had been working overtime to remove the damaged plants and prevent the rot affecting the neighboring healthy ones. Much as he loved spending an evening with Paul and Marie-France, he just hadn’t been able to spare the time to dine with them. There’d be plenty of other occasions, he’d assured them, not knowing how hollow those words would come to sound.
    If he’d only accepted that invitation, things would have turned out so differently. Benoît had always insisted on driving fast, recklessly, confident in his ability to handle the sporty red Alfa Romeo, no matter what the conditions. With the bad weather setting in, Jean-Luc would have urged him to show more caution. There wouldn’t have been a crash, and he and his beautiful Benoît would be sitting here now, laughing and joking over a couple of glasses of good Blanc de Noirs.
    In his darker moments, he contemplated a more chilling scenario. What if I was meant to die in that accident alongside Benoît? Every shifter believed in the immutable nature of destiny. They had no choice in the matter when it came to finding a mate, knowing the decision had already been made for them. Unconsciously or not, all their actions were shaped by that knowledge. Jean-Luc had more belief in the power of fate than most. Even when he’d realized, some time in his early teens, that boys interested him far more than girls did, he’d accepted this as part of the grand plan. He might have to search a little harder for the one who was meant to be his, but so be it. Now he