Chapter Four: A Rose Among Thorns

Lucy awoke to the sound of birdsong drifting through the open shutters. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then she saw the high-beamed ceiling, the breeze fluttering the linen curtains, and remembered: the vineyard, Gabriel, the dinner they’d shared, and the way he had looked at her just before walking away.

He didn’t hate her. That should’ve made things easier. But it only deepened the ache in her chest.

After breakfast, she wandered into the rose garden she’d glimpsed the day before. It sat behind the main house, shielded by a stone wall draped in ivy. The roses were in full bloom velvety reds, blush pinks, and ivory whites each bush carefully pruned, lovingly tended.

She wasn’t alone.

Gabriel knelt near a white rose bush, pruning shears in hand. He didn’t look up as she approached.

"You take care of these yourself?"

"They were my mother’s," he said. "I keep them alive. That’s all."

She stepped closer. "They’re beautiful."

He clipped a dead bloom with care. "Beauty often grows beside pain."

Lucy reached out and touched a pale petal. "Like us."

Gabriel looked at her then. For once, his gaze wasn’t guarded. It was open, raw. "Maybe."

She sat beside him on the low bench. The air smelled of roses and something older earth, memory, loss.

"Did you love her?" she asked quietly.

"My mother? Yes. She wasn’t perfect, but she was kind. She used to say, ‘Love is the only thing you give away that still belongs to you.’"

Lucy smiled faintly. "She sounds like someone I would’ve liked."

"She would’ve liked you, too."

The words felt like a blessing.

Later, Lucy found herself exploring the wine cellar, guided by Elena. It stretched deep beneath the house, lined with ancient barrels and iron gates. Dust hung in the air like time.

"Señor Fernandez does not come here often," Elena said, unlocking a small door. "Only when something troubles him."

Lucy stepped inside.

It was a private tasting room. Old photographs lined the wall black and white snapshots of Gabriel’s family. She recognized him as a young boy, standing beside a graceful woman with sad eyes.

His mother.

In the far corner, a journal rested on a pedestal. She opened it, fingertips brushing the delicate paper. Inside were notes written in Gabriel’s precise hand wine harvests, personal reflections, and one entry that stopped her breath:

Sometimes I wonder if love is a wound we agree to carry. Maybe it’s worth it, even if it never fully heals. Maybe pain is the tax we pay for connection.

She closed the journal and pressed her hand to her heart. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of things he hadn’t said.

That evening, Gabriel invited her to a wine tasting event held on the estate’s western terrace. Guests were arriving from neighboring vineyards, dressed in fine linen and silk, all smiles and soft whispers.

Lucy wore a gown of pale gold, her hair swept back. She felt like someone new—less invisible, more herself.

Gabriel stood beside her, hand lightly at her back. For the first time, she saw how others looked at him with respect, curiosity, fear. He didn’t command attention. He absorbed it.

She whispered, "Do you ever get tired of pretending?"

He didn’t look at her. "I stopped pretending years ago. Now I just endure."

But when his eyes finally met hers, there was no pretense in them. Only truth.

They tasted wines from the vineyard, each vintage older than the last. Lucy listened, asked questions, even made the crowd laugh once when she mistook a Merlot for a Syrah.

Gabriel didn’t correct her. He smiled. A real one.

"You’re not what they expected," he said under his breath.

"Neither are you."

As the night wore on, the guests thinned. Stars spilled across the sky like diamonds. Gabriel and Lucy walked along the vine rows, candlelight flickering behind them.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asked. "Marrying me?"

He stopped walking. "I regret the reasons. Not the outcome."

She turned to him, searching his face. "Do you mean that?"

He took a step closer. "I mean that… every time you laugh, I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for years and only now remembered how to exhale."

The tears came quickly. She didn’t expect them. She tried to turn away, but Gabriel caught her hand.

"I was angry when this began," he said. "At your father. At your sister. At myself. But not you. Never you."

"Then why did you shut me out?"

His grip tightened. "Because I was afraid. Of what I might feel. Of how badly I wanted to believe you were different."

She stepped into him. Close enough that the space between them disappeared.

"I am different," she whispered. "But I’m also scared. They used me, Gabriel. My own family. I don’t even know who I am without their lies."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Then let’s find out who you are. Together."

She closed her eyes. Let the tears fall. And when he kissed her soft, tentative, reverent it wasn’t about passion.

It was about promise.

Much later, back in her room, Lucy stood at the window, looking out over the moonlit vines. The stars blurred through her tears, but she didn’t feel lost anymore.

For the first time in her life, someone had seen her.

Not the substitute. Not the sacrifice. Not the shame.

Just Lucy.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to begin again.