Chapter 2: Left Behind

Sera's POV

I woke up alone. For a split second, I forgot where I was. Then it all came rushing back—the wedding, the abandoned bride drama, and my brand new husband who'd basically ditched me to go handle his stepbrother's mess in Paris.

"Well, this is off to a great fucking start," I muttered to the empty room.

I threw on jeans and a sweater and decided to explore this place that was apparently my new home. If Étienne was going to be gone for months, I might as well figure out what the hell I was stuck with.

I wandered toward the sounds of activity, following a gravel path that led past perfectly manicured gardens and into what was clearly the working heart of the vineyard. The contrast was stark—one minute I'm looking at magazine-worthy landscaping, the next I'm surrounded by practical buildings and the smell of earth and machinery.

That's when I heard the voices.

Two men were working near a section of grapevines, their hands busy with pruning shears. I slowed down, not wanting to interrupt but curious about what life was actually like here.

"Étienne's off to Paris again?" The older of the two men was saying, his accent thick with years of working this land.

The younger guy sighed heavily. "Yeah. You know what that means."

"Little shit's caused trouble again, hasn't he?" The older man shook his head. "Poor bastard. Always cleaning up after that spoiled brat."

'Little shit'—had to be Lucien. And 'poor bastard' was obviously Étienne.

The younger worker continued, "Been going on for years now. Every time Lucien screws up, big brother rides to the rescue. Gets old, you know?"

"Family's funny like that," the older man said. "They'll baby the hell out of the younger one while the older one does all the real work."

I stepped closer, and both men looked up, their faces immediately shifting to polite but wary expressions.

"Oh! You must be the new missus," the older man said, straightening up. "Didn't expect to see you out here."

"Just exploring," I said, trying to sound casual. "I'm Seraphina. Sera."

"Welcome to Domaine Dubois, ma'am. I'm Marcel, been working this land for thirty years. This here's Thomas."

Thomas nodded respectfully. "Congratulations on your marriage, madame."

"Thanks." I smiled.

Marcel cleared his throat and picked up his pruning shears again. "Well, we should get back to work. Nice meeting you, madame."

They went back to their vines, effectively dismissing me. But I'd heard enough to confirm what I'd already suspected—Étienne was basically the family cleanup crew, and everyone knew it.

I kept walking, my mind churning. The workers respected Étienne, that much was clear. But there was also this underlying current of sympathy, like they felt bad for him. What kind of family dynamic created that?

The path wound through more vineyard rows, and I found myself walking among the grapevines, trying to process everything.

That's when I heard footsteps behind me.

"You look like you could use some company."

I turned to see a guy about my age leaning against a support post—and damn, he was easy on the eyes. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a grin that screamed trouble. He wore work clothes, but something about him felt too polished, like he was cosplaying a laborer.

"I'm Léo," he said, pushing off the post and strolling over. "I work here. And you must be the famous new wife everyone's buzzing about."

"Famous, huh?" I couldn't help smiling back. After two days of being persona non grata, it felt good to be seen. "I'm Seraphina. Sera."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman." His light French accent made it charming, not corny. "You seem a bit... lost?"

I laughed, but it came out bitter. "That's putting it mildly. I feel like an unwanted wedding gift everyone's too polite to regift."

"Ah." He nodded like he got it. "Family's been less than welcoming?"

"More like they've been pretending I don't exist." I kicked at a dirt clump. "Impressive, considering I'm married to the heir."

Something flickered in his eyes. "Étienne. He's... complicated."

"You know him well?"

"I've been around a while. Long enough to see how things tick." He gestured to the sprawling vines. "Want a tour? Might help you get a feel for the place."

I had nothing better going on, and he was treating me like a person. "Sure. Lead on."

As we walked, Léo dropped impressive knowledge on vineyard ops—which grapes grew where, pruning tricks, even specific production stats that seemed too insider for a basic worker.

"These vines are over a century old," he said, trailing a hand along a gnarled trunk. "The Dubois family swears by tradition—quality over quantity."

"You sound like you know the family business inside out for a... what exactly do you do here?"

He flashed that grin. "A bit of everything. You pick up a lot if you keep your eyes open."

We paused at an overlook with a killer view of the valley. The main house gleamed in the distance like a fairy-tale castle—gorgeous but untouchable.

"It's stunning," I admitted.

"It is. But looks can fool you, right?" His tone turned thoughtful. "This family's built something amazing, but there are cracks underneath."

I shot him a sideways glance. "Like what?"

"For starters, everyone fawns over Lucien because he's the charmer. But Étienne's the real backbone—keeping it all from falling apart."

That tracked with what I'd heard. "The workers respect him."

"They should. He's been carrying the family for years." Léo's voice softened, almost conspiratorial. "Between us, he deserves way better than what he's got."

His intensity made me study him closer. "You know a ton about family stuff for a vineyard guy."

"Like I said, eyes open." He turned on the charm again.

Léo stepped closer, close enough for me to catch his expensive cologne—definitely not standard-issue for a field hand.

"I should get back to work," he said. "But maybe I'll catch you tomorrow? I could show you more."

"I'd like that," I replied.

After he left, I lingered, gazing over the valley. For the first time since arriving, I didn't feel totally isolated. Someone had actually talked to me like I mattered.

But on the walk back to my cottage, doubts crept in. Léo's hands were soft when he'd steadied me over rough ground—no calluses, no grime under his nails. That watch, the cologne, his insider scoops...

Something about my new friend didn't add up.