Chapter 7
FRANKIE
Rico watches me from the doorway as I get in my Jag and speed out of the lot. I swear I can feel his eyes on me until I get on the highway, and only then do I slow down so I can think.
I’m relieved that Rico’s touch brought out no reaction in me.
In fact, it makes me happy to know that the hold he had on me is gone.
Of my two husbands, Dante is clearly the better choice.
Not just because he’s rich and successful—but because even if he doesn’t like me, or understand me, he’s never abandoned me.
Well, at least not until he thought I betrayed him. Which, I didn’t. Well, but I kinda did. Fuck, I can’t keep anything straight in my head right now. Not telling him about Rico was a form of betrayal. There, I’m owning it.
I never imagined the day I said “I do” to Dante that I would come to respect him the way that I do.
I don’t agree with everything he does, and frankly his attitude drives me insane.
The constant tug-of-war between us has become so routine that I suppose I’m used to it, but I have to admit… I also enjoy the challenge of it.
Regardless of recent developments, the fact is that when Dante and I are together, we bring out the best in each other. Professionally and personally. At least, that’s the image I have of our relationship in my mind. When I think of it that way, I believe it. I truly do.
I snap out of my whirlwind of thoughts just as I’m passing the Alvarezes’ fruit stand.
On autopilot, I turn onto the gravel driveway and park my car outside the building.
Delores is wiping down tables with a cloth, and she glances up as I pull in.
A smile brightens her friendly face and she holds her arms out to me for a hug as I get out of the car.
Without me even saying anything, Delores pulls back and nods to herself knowingly.
“Whatever the problem is,” she says, “you, my dear, need to feel useful again.”
With that, she disappears inside the stand and then comes back a moment later to throw an apron over my head and shove a basket of freshly harvested corn into my arms.
“Come,” she commands, leading me into the building’s back kitchen.
We wash up first at the large stainless steel sink and then settle ourselves on two chairs that face each other, a wastebasket between us on the floor. Then, together, we strip handfuls of pale cornsilk from the ears and into the trash, careful to leave the green husks intact.
“Busy hands quiet the mind,” Delores tells me sagely.
I grin. “Or maybe this is just your way of conning me into some free labor.”
Silence falls between us as we work, but I know not speaking is her way of easing me into conversation.
She never presses. She is a master at waiting, at patience, at always being ready to listen.
There’s never been a time in my life that I haven’t spoken to Delores about my problems. Even so, I wonder what she’ll think of me when I spill my guts about Rico.
“I got married when I was in Italy,” I say as I work. “I guess it was a secret up till now.”
Out of the corner of my eye I watch her, assessing for any reaction. But in true Delores fashion she just continues with the task at hand, her expression open and nonjudgmental.
“It all happened so fast; I never thought it through,” I go on.
“I thought I was in love. And I thought he loved me. But he ditched me on our honeymoon, and I never saw him again. Except then out of nowhere he showed up at Bellanti Vineyards the other night, to crash our press event. Dante kicked me out.”
That elicits a frown. “Where are you staying?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I moved into the guesthouse. Maybe permanently, I don’t know.”
I huff out a short laugh and rip into another cob. Delores just nods, her concerns about me allayed for the moment.
Haltingly, and then all in a rush, I talk about my love and fear of Dante, my constant worries about Livvie, and basically what a complete dumpster fire my life is right now.
I leave nothing out. My knuckles began to ache from the constant grip and pull of the silk, and I almost sigh in relief to find the basket is empty.
I go to the sink and rinse my hands off beneath cool, soothing water, still talking.
When I’m finally done, I look over at Delores expectantly.
She’s taken out a large wooden bowl and is mixing spices together in it to make her signature blend.
I get the butter and two knives, setting them on the table in preparation to dress the corn.
Dropping into my chair again, I stab a knife into the block of butter.
“So?” I prod. “What do I do?”
The older woman puts the bowl on the table and sits back down, nodding slowly. Finally, she says, “One question: Do you love Dante or Rico?”
“Dante,” I answer at once. “But I shouldn’t. I know that. I mean—I married him for practical reasons. To save my family’s winery and protect Livvie. Charlie and I are pretty sure he intended to marry her off instead if I didn’t go through with the wedding. I couldn’t let—”
“You married this Rico for love. And you married Dante for practicality. But it seems that things have turned on their heads,” Delores states, cutting to the heart of the matter per usual. “You love Dante. Fight for him.”
Right. As if it’s that easy.
I fall silent again as we begin dressing each ear of corn with pats of butter and her spice mixture. Then we tie them up with hemp twine. I brood, not sure what to say or what to think.
Finally, I set my knife down. “Okay, how? How do I fight for him?”
“Girl, you got the nicest set of titties I’ve ever seen. Use ‘em!”
My eyes go wide, a laugh bubbling out of me in disbelief. “Delores Alvarez! You’re terrible.”
We have a good laugh, but once we’ve calmed down, she gets serious again.
“Frankie, I saw how he looked at you at the pressing event. The whole night, you could just see how much he adores you. He barely took his eyes off you.”
That has me smiling, but then I remember that he only felt that way for half the night. Before Rico’s arrival changed everything. It seems our performance for the rest of the evening was enough to fool everyone—even Delores. My confidence starts to erode again.
I leave the fruit stand with a bundle of elote to take home, a thank you from Delores for my help.
As I drive the short distance back to the Bellanti estate, I form a plan.
I’ll go straight to the guesthouse and put on the purple dress that I swore never to wear again—the one that Dante loves so much.
I know how good it looked on me and I need every advantage here.
I’ll wear my hair down the way he likes.
Then I’ll go over to the main house and explain everything, tell him I’m divorcing Rico immediately.
I make a list in my head of all the ways that Dante and I are better together than apart.
Of the value we add to each other’s lives.
I can’t be punished for a simple mistake on my part, can I?
Plus, I’m a middle child, a natural diplomat—and I’m supremely comfortable in a peacekeeping role.
I’ve had years of experience talking my way out of things.
I’ll make him understand that I made a poor decision, yes, but that it doesn’t have to affect us going forward.
I shower, shave, use body scrub until my skin feels like silk, lotion every inch I can reach, and basically use every trick I know to make my body soft, smooth, and touchable. Then I dress and do my hair, blow-drying it into soft waves that tumble over my shoulders.
Making my way confidently toward the main house, I see Dante standing out on his bedroom balcony, surveying his dominion like the friggin’ Lion King.
There’s no way he can miss me walking down the gravel drive from his vantage point, but his granite face is inscrutable at this distance.
When I get to the front door, I’m surprised to find it already open for me. I step inside and slip out of my heels. Then, taking a deep breath, I tread quietly upstairs.
This is going to work. I just know it. I’m ready to unleash all of my feminine energy and love onto him. He’ll recognize my sincerity and be open to talking things through.
I feel a flicker of happiness, of hope, as I enter his bedroom and stride across the carpet. Through the French doors leading to the balcony, one of them half open, I have a perfect view of him. I slowly walk closer, mentally willing him to turn around and look at me. But he doesn’t.
My self-confidence begins to waver.
I pull the door open wider and then cross the threshold onto the balcony. He’s so close…right there by the railing. My nerves well up and try to get the best of me, but I swallow them down.
I’m doing this for us. I hold my shoulders high and smooth back my hair with one hand. He finally turns to face me, our eyes locking. I’m wearing my biggest, warmest smile. But it quickly fades as my hope drops to my feet.
Dante’s face is completely devoid of feeling.