Chapter 27
KARINA
We came home to the Bellanti estate this morning. The house looks even more like a castle on the inside than it does on the outside, and I felt like a princess walking into it.
Apparently we’d already missed the family’s usual breakfast time, so Marco had the kitchen staff prepare us a small feast, although I didn’t have much of an appetite just yet.
Then we went to Marco’s room. I figured that was code for more sex, but sadly it wasn’t—Marco was apologetic, but said he had a few important meetings lined up at the Bellanti offices, so I had the next few hours to wander around and familiarize myself with the estate.
His sister-in-law Frankie had gone shopping for me and left a bag of clothes and toiletries in Marco’s closet, just to tide me over until Marco has time to take me out to replenish my wardrobe.
I was beyond pleased to see she’d selected a few pairs of stretchy leggings and tank tops, smocked sundresses, some nice blouses, comfy pajamas, and sandals in a few different sizes to choose from.
Without knowing my size or my style, she’d somehow gotten me exactly what I needed.
But after I’d brushed my teeth and washed my face and put on one of the sundresses, I crawled into Marco’s bed for a little nap and ended up sleeping until after noon.
Which I guess I should have expected, since the one thing we didn’t do last night was sleep.
Not that I would have wanted it any other way.
Marco is amazing in bed, and I don’t think that just because I’m inexperienced.
He’s attentive to me, he’s excited when he figures out each new thing that I like, and when he asks questions with his mouth and his body and his cock, he pays close attention to my answers, both verbal and non.
He’s considerate. Skilled. Patient. Perfect.
I stretch my arms above my head and sit up. My body aches in the most delicious ways. I’m not sure when Marco’s getting back, and I don’t have a phone to text him and ask, but a few hours have passed, so I think it should be soon.
Since I have nothing to do but wait, I get up and explore Marco’s rooms a little more.
He has a massive suite with a separate TV room, a walk-in closet, a cavernous bedroom with gorgeous exposed beams in the ceiling and fancy remote-controlled blinds for the windows, and an en-suite bathroom that’s the size of my entire bedroom at my uncle’s house.
The luxurious marble tiled shower has multiple cascading waterfall showerheads and speakers in the walls.
Everything is done in modern neutral shades: charcoal, cool brown, tan, stone gray, linen.
Lots of wood, glass, and metal. It reminds me of a Restoration Hardware catalog.
I go to the TV room and spend some time in a club chair by the windows, staring out at the bright blue sky, the rustling oaks, the lush green hills of the Bellanti Vineyards.
This place is paradise. I’m just about to see if I can figure out how all the TV remotes work when there’s a knock on the door.
Marco wouldn’t knock on his own door, right? So who could that be?
Self-consciously patting at my hair and smoothing down my dress, I go to the door and pull it open.
The woman standing on the other side is a little bit older than me and effortlessly pretty, with long blonde hair and blue eyes and a very pregnant belly.
She has a big, steaming cup of coffee in one hand.
Smiling at me, she says, “I’m Frankie. Marco’s sister-in-law. Yours too now, right?”
My sister-in-law. That gives me an odd sensation. A good one. Marco had mentioned that he’d let Frankie in on our secret wedding. She’s looking at me now with open curiosity, and I’m sure she has a lot of questions. But she’s clearly too polite to voice them. At least, not yet.
I return her smile. “I’m Karina. Marco’s mentioned you—he said you were the genius of the family grapevines, actually.”
She smiles, clearly pleased at the compliment.
“Anyway,” I go on, “I was just waiting for Marco to get back from his meetings. He said I could explore the house, but it’s…a little intimidating.”
Frankie laughs. “Believe me, I know exactly what you mean. Which is why I came to see if you wanted me to give you the full tour.” She holds out the coffee to me.
“Not sure if you’re a coffee drinker, but I brought you a bit of a caffeine boost just in case.
Little oat milk, little sugar. It’s how I make mine. ”
“Oh wow, thank you so much,” I say, taking it and sipping it greedily. It’s just right. “And thanks for the clothes and the bathroom stuff. You’re a life saver. I’d love a tour.”
“Perfect.” She nods. “And you’re welcome. That dress looks great on you, by the way. I have two sisters, so I’m pretty good at shopping for other girls.”
I’m startled to realize how much I like Frankie, even though we’ve just met.
She walks me the full length of the second floor, showing off sumptuous guest rooms and powder rooms and linen closets and a library and a home theater.
I know I’m going to lose track of the doors until I become more familiar with the house, but at the end of the west wing is Armani’s suite of rooms, so I make sure to pay extra close attention to where I am so that I don’t accidentally enter any of the private, off-limits areas.
The first floor has the dining room, the kitchens, another library, a few home offices, a formal living room and a more casual den, a front parlor room off the main hall.
My head is spinning with just how massive this place is.
All the floors are marble, and the woodwork is exquisite.
My uncle’s mansion was always imposing to me, but this place is even bigger and more luxurious, with gorgeous mountain views out of every window and not a single neighboring house in sight.
There must be at least seven thousand square feet of living space in this house, but it’s not just big, it feels…
spacious. Like the very air is different here somehow, lighter, more breathable.
By the time Frankie is leading me out to the pool in the back of the house, I’ve counted at least seven bathrooms. We also ran into a handful of domestic workers going about their business with smiles on their faces, inquiring if we needed anything—so different from my uncle’s scowling guards and frowning household staff.
I spend the entire tour wide-eyed and gasping, oohing and ahhing.
This must be how Little Orphan Annie felt moving into Daddy Warbucks’ mansion.
Finally, Frankie asks if I’d like to visit the tasting room.
“I’m partial to it, since I oversee operations,” she says proudly. “We’re doing some interior work on it right now, so there won’t be any guests inside. I’d love to show it off.”
“Of course! I’ve only seen the pavilion outside, at the party a few weeks ago,” I say, but then I pause, suddenly uncertain. “Oh, except…I’m afraid I don’t have anything proper to wear, and I haven’t done my hair or makeup. Should we raincheck?”
I don’t want to make any mistakes; I don’t want to embarrass Marco if I screw up.
She waves a hand. “You’re fine. No need to be dressed up. Besides, I’m the boss, right?”
I can’t tell if she’s just trying to make me feel better. “Can I ask you, then…as a general rule, are the women of the house expected to dress formally during the day, or just at meals?”
Frankie smiles kindly and slips her arm through mine, giving me a gentle tug out the door and onto the path leading to the tasting room.
“As a general rule, the women of this house are expected to decide for themselves what to wear. My little sister Livvie is usually partial to sweaty jodhpurs and ponytails, if that’s any indication of how formal we are. ”
“Oh.” My cheeks flush hot with mortification. As much as I’ve longed for autonomy, now that I have it, I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.
“Here, look. She loves horses. They’re her whole life.”
Frankie taps around on her phone as we walk and then shows me the screen.
A very pretty, very wholesome-looking teenage girl with pale blonde hair and a happy, dimpled grin has her head on a man’s shoulder.
The sun glares from behind them, partially obscuring the man’s face and torso.
Something about him strikes me. He’s familiar. But I can’t put my finger on why.
We arrive at the tasting room. Inside, the walls are a gorgeous, whitewashed brick, the dark wood bar top polished to a soft gleam.
Some workers on ladders are installing new light fixtures—modern, sleek, industrial—from the high ceiling.
One wall is completely given over to rows of Bellanti wines, and there’s a huge stone fireplace with comfortable chairs all around it.
“This place looks fantastic,” I tell Frankie.
“Oh, this is just the start! Wait till it’s done,” she says.
“The bar will be wrapped in aged brass with a gorgeous patina, and half of these tall bistro tables will be replaced with intimate seating areas separated by bookshelves and dividers. And I’ll be placing tons of colorful vintage Moroccan rugs and cut glass votive holders all around, just to give the room a pop of unexpected funkiness.
Most of the tasting rooms in Napa are identical—upscale, but cold and contemporary, like hotel lobbies.
I want ours to be more like…your favorite bar-slash-coffeehouse. ”
“I get it,” I say, nodding. “It’s going to be amazing.”
“Thanks. Oh hey, Candi’s here!” Frankie points across the room and waves. “She’s one of our distributors—and also a personal friend. Which is how she knew to find me here.”