Bitter Wine, Sweet Kiss

Name: Bitter Wine, Sweet Kiss
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Romance | Completed

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In the quiet vineyards of Tuscany, where sunsets painted the hills in amber and gold, lived Elena, a fiery winemaker with a heart bruised by betrayal. She had once been in love - wildly, recklessly - with Marco, a charming writer who promised her forever but disappeared without a word five years ago. Now, Elena poured all her emotions into her wine. Each bottle was a memory sealed with pain and fermented with longing. Then one summer evening, Marco returned....know what happens between them!!

Betrayal First love

Chapter 5 The Vineyard Doesn't Forget

07-07 10:12

Chapter 1 The Taste of Ashes and Honey

The clink of glass echoed through the vineyard as Elena uncorked a new bottle. The scent of aged Merlot filled the cellar-oak, berries, and bitterness. She poured a glass, not for tasting, but for courage.

The past had returned with the shape of a man and the eyes of a ghost.

Marco stood just outside the cellar doors, framed by moonlight and the storm's afterglow. His shirt clung to him, damp from rain or sweat, and his presence-uninvited-filled the space like a forgotten song.

"You've aged," Elena said, her voice sharp but low. "But your lies must still be fresh."

He didn't flinch. "I deserve that."

"No, you deserve the silence you left me in."

She brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his chest. It was supposed to be a cold move, a deliberate snub. But she felt the heat rise under her skin-anger or longing, she wasn't sure.

"I never stopped thinking about you," he said, following.

"Then you should've written a damn poem about it," she snapped.

"I did," Marco replied quietly, pulling a weathered notebook from his coat. "Hundreds."

Elena's hands trembled, but she didn't take the notebook. She stepped back, wine glass still in hand, watching him like one might a wildfire-dangerous, consuming, beautiful.

He closed the distance.

"Elena, I came back because I realized something," he said. "I could spend the rest of my life writing words that never mean as much as you do."

She laughed, but it caught in her throat. "And you think words will fix this?"

"No. But maybe this will."

He reached out, his fingers brushing hers. Her breath caught. The air between them shifted. Her resistance wavered under the weight of old longing and unspoken pain.

She set the glass down.

And then, without permission but not without warning, she kissed him.

It was not a soft kiss-it was a collision. Of hate and hunger. Of memory and need.

He pulled her closer, one hand tangled in her damp curls, the other gripping her waist like he was afraid she'd vanish again. She melted into him for a moment, then broke away, breathless.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "But do you still love me?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she took his hand and led him into the house, where the fire was still warm, and the storm outside had turned to a hush.