Page 22 of Talk Vino To Me
“I had to try, Dez.” Raj is still standing, but he’s bent, almost collapsed in on himself. “Music was my dream. I wanted to make it big, for you and your mom. I wanted you all to be proud of me.”
“We were proud of you. You just never realized it, because you weren’t proud of yourself.”
“When they let me go, I — I was too ashamed to come crawling back. So I stayed in LA, taking gigs with other bands, doing session work, and tours. I sent your mom all the money —”
“And of course, money makes it all better. That totally makes up for you abandoning your wife and child.” She sniffles again, voice clogged with tears. He reaches out, like he wants to comfort her. The glare she sends his way could melt steel.
“Baby girl, don’t be like this —”
“I hope it was worth it, Roger,” she interrupts. “I really do. And I hope you find some way to make your bar a success. If that’s with Ian, or not, that’s not my concern. But I will tell you: you hurt me more than I ever believed it was possible for a person to be hurt. And all your charming ways, all the money you sent, all the alleged desire for me to be proud of you... none of that makes up for it. So I’m done with you. Let me be. Don’t call, don’t write, don’t text, don’t email... just let me be.”
I want to stand up and applaud her. Instead, I step aside as she exits my office, head held high.
“Guess I really screwed the pooch here, didn’t I?” Raj says after a while. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m not. It makes me love her even more.”
“Love? Son, you can’t love her. She’s my kid, and I know she’s beautiful and brilliant like you wouldn’t believe, but you’ve only known her for a couple of months at best —”
“Don’t,” I say, channeling every ounce of my father’s aristocratic attitude. “Don’t call me son. And do not pretend that you know what is in my heart.”
I open the door of my office. “You’re hardly the example I would choose to draw on.”
“I know I fucked up, trying to get Daisy to talk to you on my behalf, but I’m asking for myself now. If you’d just see your way clear to...”
“Get out. And let me make this crystal clear. I won’t be helping you. Not with your bar, and not with Daisy. If she wants you back in her life someday, that’s between you two. But until then: if you bother her, or hurt her in any way, You’ll have no peace. No matter how much or how little money I have, I will use it to break you. Do you understand me?”
Raj stares at me for a long moment. I stare right back, never giving an inch. He gives me a brief nod before walking away.
I rejoin the festivities, mixing and mingling with the crowd of well-wishers and fans. Daisy is there, talking up the wine and the events we offer, as if nothing ever happened, but she’s always on the opposite side of the room. I need a moment alone with her. After all, I’ve told her estranged father that I’m in love with her. I’d better share the news with her as well.
But it seems as if the universe is conspiring to keep us apart. For the rest of the day, I attempt to get near Daisy, but I’m waylaid every time. It’s all for a good cause: we auction off several signed bottles, create dozens of posts on social media that get a shocking amount of traction in real time, and end the night with all of our vineyard tours and tastings booked out for a full three months.
None of that could’ve happened without Daisy. The woman is magnificent. The only reason this opening has gone as well as it has is because she spent the last few months encouraging me to lean into this. I’m not a wine expert; the only thing I brought to the table was the property and whatever bit of fame I have left from my days with Courage. I need to find her and tell her how much she means to me, both personally and professionally, and beg her to stay.
Four hours later, the opening is finally over. I’m utterly wiped and wired at the same time. Leaving the staff and Kel to wrap up, I grab one of the golf carts and drive back over to the house. I can’t wait to fall into bed. Hopefully with Daisy at my side.
“Dez?” I call out as soon as I hit the door. There’s no answer, but my heart skips several beats when I look down and see a pile of suitcases stacked in the foyer.
“Oh, no. Dez!” I practically run to her room.
She steps out of the doorway, having changed from her fancy skirt suit to jeans and an off the shoulder sweater. She looks perfect, as always.
“Is everything all right?” Concern tightens her brows. “What’s going on?”
Now that the moment is here, I’m tongue tied and twisted. I say the only thing I can think of.
“You — you’re leaving.”
She blinks, like she didn’t expect that choice to cause any concern. “My work is done. There’s not a reason for me to stay.”
“But I need you to.” I run a hand through my hair. “You can’t expect that a two month program is enough to keep me from being an arsehole. Surely I’ll relapse.”
“Are you planning on it?”
“Will you stay if I do?”
She starts to speak, but stops, then stops and starts again. She sits down on her bed, and pats the space next to her. I join her, leaving a few inches between us.