Chapter 11
FRANKIE
On my way back to Vallejo, I try to figure out what to tell Rico to get out of this without losing half my life—and half the Abbott Winery—to him.
I need to convince him that a quick, painless divorce is the best thing for both of us.
A clean break, an amicable parting of ways.
We’ve grown apart, we have dissimilar aspirations, we’re different people now...
all the usual irreconcilable differences.
Thank God he doesn’t know about the winery stipulation my dad put into my marriage contract.
If Rico knew he was entitled to half the property, I’d never get rid of him.
I also need to figure out how to pay Dante back without…
fuck, how much do we even owe him? I’ve never seen a number, but knowing my father’s gambling habits, his debt to the Bellantis has to be seven figures or more.
I mean, surely I’m worth at least that much.
Even so, it makes me sick to know my father is capable of putting dollar signs over his daughters’ heads.
And sicker to know I’m only worth something to the wrong man.
Pulling into the shitty motel’s parking lot, I refocus on sorting through what I need to do now.
Obviously I still want a divorce, but what if Rico won’t agree to one?
On the other hand, staying married to Rico long term isn’t an option—not when he’s proven himself to be such a lowlife.
But in the meantime…I need to weigh all the pros and cons.
Ultimately, as much as I hate the idea of it, the least worst option might just be pretending to reconcile with Rico in order to keep the Abbott Winery in the family, rather than in Dante’s hands.
After all, my only hope of generating enough cash to clear my family’s debt to the Bellantis is the winery.
Is it possible to get the place operational again, back to the level it used to be?
There was a time when my parents made decent money.
The winery was prestigious, and Abbott wine sold very well.
Once my father stopped being able to fill purchase orders, though, everything had a domino effect.
Our reputation suffered, sales lagged, profits dried up.
The winery fell into disrepair. Without money to pay workers, the grapes weren’t harvested properly and the vines were allowed to overgrow.
Some of the buildings are in urgent need of maintenance as well.
But for the most part, I’d say most of the damages are fixable.
There is nothing catastrophically wrong with the winery that would prevent us from making wine again.
My heart begins to pound when I think about it.
Is it possible that Abbott wines could make a comeback?
Hell, maybe I can trick Rico into signing the winery back over to me.
Or I can conveniently “find” an old document specifying that neither Rico nor I are entitled to the others’ property in the event of a divorce.
Assuming that Rico doesn’t try to fight me in divorce court and just goes back to Italy, he’ll never find out.
Can you go to jail for falsifying a prenup?
I’ve never been one for manipulation, but it seems I’ve gotten pretty good at it, unintentionally.
Day by day I’m turning into less of the person I used to be and more into someone like Dante.
The only difference is that Dante is well versed in getting what he wants out of people through intimidation and persuasion, and he has Armani by his side to navigate—or circumnavigate—the legal system in order to back it all up.
I have no one to help guide me through this.
At least not in the way I’d need to if I want to get rid of Rico once and for all.
I guess it all comes down to this: I can’t risk splitting the business with him in court. It would inevitably result in a public sale, since I can’t afford to buy out his half of the winery—and thus I’d lose my chance to pay back Dante. So, Mrs. Rico Correa it is.
But the thought of going through the motions, even temporarily, turns my stomach. Reconciling with Rico means I’ll have to live with him, eat with him, sleep next to him in the same bed. He’s going to want…sex.
Oh. God.
Breathing slowly through my nose, I push away those thoughts and square my shoulders. One moment at a time. I need to stay focused on getting the winery back to work. I have to do this for my sisters. For Livvie.
I get out of Charlie’s car and walk toward Rico’s motel room, fighting the urge to run every step of the way. I don’t even get a chance to knock, though. The door flies open as soon as I’m outside and Rico stands there with both arms spread wide in greeting.
“Frankie!”
He pulls me in before I can recoil and kisses me on both cheeks. His hands cup my shoulders and he all but drags me across the threshold before kicking the door shut. I smell the dying fragrance of his antiperspirant as he wraps his body around me for a bear hug.
“I heard the good news!”
I have no idea what he’s talking about but I can’t stand here with him touching me a second longer. I shrug out of his grip and take a step back. “What good news?”
He gives me an amusedly sly smile. “Oh Francesca, don’t tease me. I know you came here to tell me. We are co-owners of the Abbott Winery!”
“What—but how—who told you that?” I stutter. I’m stunned. How the fuck did he find out? I just found out, for Chrissakes.
“Facebook!” he says merrily.
“What?”
He takes me by the wrist and leads me to a seat at the single table in the room where his laptop sits open.
I watch him click a few things on the social networking site and then turn the screen my way so I can see the message he received through Facebook Messenger from Jessica Madsen.
Dante’s assistant sent Rico a fucking Facebook message?
Of fucking course she did.
“How do you know her?” I ask.
“We met at the Bellanti event,” Rico says with a smile. “She is the one who told me where to find you. I met many of your colleagues that night.”
I bite back my rage as I read the message she sent Rico, timestamped just after I left the Bellanti offices not even an hour ago.
“SO MANY CONGRATULATIONS to you and Frankie on your co-ownership of the Abbott Winery! The whole office just heard the happy news! The Bellanti Vineyards tasting room will miss her as an employee, of course, but we know you two have a bright future ahead!”
I try to school my features so he doesn’t see how this is affecting me, but I have a feeling I’m failing.
Of course Rico would have made connections with everybody at Bellanti.
He probably schmoozed his way around the whole event before he even bothered to ask about me.
I can only imagine how many names and contacts he collected from my coworkers.
Not to mention how many free glasses of wine he took advantage of.
That’s how Rico works. He worms his way into every part of your life with his good looks and his sweet words and that damned Italian accent.
Add in some well targeted compliments, some shared interests, a few bullshit stories that have you thinking you know him much better than you really do, and suddenly he’s your best friend, all in the blink of an eye.
Little do you suspect that the whole reason he works so hard getting to know you so fast isn’t because he’s genuinely interested in you. It’s because he’s trying to find your weaknesses so he can use them against you. To get what he wants.
“So, how much do you think we can get for it?” he says, snapping me out of my brooding.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“The winery! How much do you think it is worth? We will list it right away since we might have to wait for a buyer, and we will sell off all the equipment separately. Or we can cut up the land into cheaper parcels, I bet those will sell faster.” He’s pacing as he talks, full of energy and excitement over the fortune that just landed in his lap.
“Maybe we just auction it off to the highest bidder in a short sale, no? Even if we do not get what it is worth, we will still make millions. Just think, we can finally have enough money for that honeymoon, ha ha!”
The more he goes on, the more I realize that he doesn’t give a shit about me, or the winery, or anybody but himself.
“Oh, I met a real estate guy at the pressing event, too—a developer!” he adds, nodding to himself. “He said he was looking for land to build a new subdivision. We can make a killing selling to a developer like that. Maybe they will even name it after us. Correa Estates. Correa Ridge. Correa—”
“Rico, stop.” My face is hot, flushing with anger, and I get up from the chair and cross my arms over my chest. “What about my family? My older sister is an event planner for the winery right now, so where is she supposed to go? And my little sister keeps her horses at the Abbott stables. She rides there. We can’t just sell off the whole property out from under them. ”
He shakes his head with a patronizing smile. “Frankie. Millions of dollars can buy lots of new horses. And your family would not have to work! In fact, you will never have to worry your pretty little head about anything ever again. I will take care of everything for you.”
I know he’s lying. I’ve heard all this—or some version of this—before. And I recognize the gleam in his eye, too. It’s the exact same frenzied, half-manic gleam I saw the last day we were together back in Italy.
I’m struggling to keep my breathing even. I’m struggling even more not to let loose on him.
“Come on, Frankie.” He comes over and puts a placating hand on my shoulder, giving me that boyish look. The one that used to make me do anything for him. “I am your husband. I just want what is best for you, don’t you see that?”
There’s no doubt in my mind: Rico Correa is getting ready to cut and run. He’ll take whatever he can from me and then leave me in the dust. He doesn’t give a shit how things will turn out for me. He only cares about himself.
I shake his hand off and storm out without another word. He shouts at me to come back as I make my way across the parking lot, but I don’t turn around.
Once I’m back in the car, I peel out of there as fast as I can.
At least when Dante used me, he had the grace to tell me to my face.