Chapter 3 Two of Them
SERAFINA
The morning sun is already warm on my shoulders as I walk the grove lane toward the packing shed.
I saw Rafael leave while I was dressing, his figure disappearing down the path with the purposeful stride of someone who has somewhere important to be.
One of the kitchen staff told me there's a buyer meeting at the shed. I didn't ask permission to come. I grew up walking these groves. I know the land as well as anyone, and I have something useful to offer if anyone bothers to listen.
Yesterday's hurt still sits under my ribs, the workshop hour he forgot, the way he asked about Marisol's notes before he remembered his promise to me. I'm not here to chase another apology. I said what I needed to say.
But I'm also not going to sit in my workshop waiting for someone to remember I exist.
The orange blossoms are thicker here, the scent rising sweet and familiar as I pass between the trees. Workers wave as I go by, faces I've known for years, and I wave back without stopping. Near the shed, I move aside to let a loaded trolley pass, then follow it into the clearing.
The packing shed comes into view around the last bend, its wide doors open to the morning air.
I hear them before I see them.
Rafael's voice carries through the open doors of the packing shed, low and steady, the tone he uses when he's trying to convince someone of something. A second voice responds, unfamiliar, probably the buyer. Marisol answers a question, and I recognize the brisk voice she uses when she's working.
I stop at the edge of the clearing and watch through the doorway.
The shed is busy with the morning's work, crates stacked along the walls and workers moving between them with the easy efficiency of people who've done this a thousand times.
Rafael stands near the center with a man I don't recognize, gesturing toward a crate of fruit that's been opened for inspection.
Marisol is beside them with a clipboard, looking professional and prepared in a way that makes me suddenly aware of the faded linen trousers and walking boots I put on for the groves.
The buyer picks up an orange and turns it over, examining the skin. Rafael says something I can't hear, and the man laughs. Marisol writes something on her clipboard.
I wait at the doorway while the buyer finishes inspecting the crate. When he sets the fruit down, I step inside.
Rafael sees me first. His expression flickers through surprise and something else before settling into a careful smile.
"Sera." He waves me over without breaking his conversation with the buyer. "Come meet Signor Ferrante. He's come to look at this season's fruit."
I cross the shed floor, aware of the workers glancing at me as I pass. Most of them have known me since I was a child. One lifts a hand in greeting, and I return it.
"Signora Visconti." The buyer inclines his head politely. "Your husband speaks highly of the estate's quality. I'm beginning to see why."
"The fruit speaks for itself." I take the orange he's been examining and hold it up to the light. "This variety ripens late, but the flavor is worth the wait. My father's estate grows the same cultivar. We used to compete over whose trees produced the sweetest crop."
"And who won?" Signor Ferrante reaches for another orange, apparently willing to conduct a fresh trial.
"We declared it a tie every year." I set the orange back in the crate. "Neither family wanted to admit defeat at the dinner table."
Rafael almost smiles at that. He knows how fiercely our fathers used to argue over those tastings, each insisting the other had chosen the wrong fruit on purpose.
"Are you seeing the terrace grove while you're here?" I glance toward the open doors and the path beyond. "That's where these were picked. I'd be happy to join you and show you round."
"That's a kind offer." Signor Ferrante glances at Marisol, then at Rafael. "Though I don't want to take up too much of anyone's morning."
"We're arranging a longer visit for tomorrow." Rafael steps in smoothly. "Marisol has been putting it together with the grove workers."
"Then tomorrow would suit me." I turn toward Rafael. "I could show him the older terraces. There's room for another pair of boots, isn't there?"
"We'll sort it out before he comes." Marisol moves beside the crate, drawing the buyer's attention to a second variety. "We haven't finished choosing what to show him yet."
I look at Rafael. He's looking at the buyer, already moving on to the next point of discussion.
"I'll leave you to your tasting." I step clear of a worker carrying an empty crate. "It was nice to meet you, Signor Ferrante."
"The pleasure was mine." The buyer nods courteously, and I turn to leave.
Rafael catches my arm before I've taken three steps.
"Wait." He pulls me slightly aside, lowering his voice. "I didn't mean to cut you off. Your offer was generous."
"But unnecessary." I keep my own voice equally low. "I understand."
"That's not what I meant." He glances back at the buyer, who is now examining another crate with Marisol's guidance. "You don't need to carry this stress, Sera. Let us get through the visit."
"I wasn't trying to take over." I pull my arm free gently. "I was trying to help."
"I know." Rafael steps aside as a trolley rattles between us and the crates. "But this is what Marisol does. She knows what buyers want to see. Let her handle the visit."
"I wasn't offering to negotiate the price." I wait for the trolley to pass before lowering my voice again. "I can walk beside someone and tell him about the trees without getting in her way."
"I didn't say you'd get in her way." He tries to catch my eye, but the buyer calls his name from behind him. "Leave it with Marisol for now. Please."
There was time for her to arrange the visit. There will be time for them to decide what to show him. Somehow, deciding whether I can join them is too much to ask.
"I should go." I step back again. "Good luck with the meeting."
"Sera." He reaches for me, but Signor Ferrante is asking something and Marisol is waving him back toward the conversation. He hesitates, caught between us.
"Go." I make the choice for him. "I'll see you later."
He returns to the buyer. I understand why he has to finish the meeting. I don't understand why he cannot make room for me in tomorrow's.
Marisol gives him her clipboard and says something before leaving him with Signor Ferrante. They move toward the far end of the shed where more crates are waiting. Then I turn and walk out into the sunlight.
I'm halfway across the clearing when Marisol catches up with me.
"Sera, wait." She falls into step beside me, her heels somehow managing the uneven ground. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." I keep walking. "I just wanted to see what was happening. Now I've seen it."
"You seemed upset in there." She matches my pace easily. "When we were talking about tomorrow."
"I was." I stop beside a tree so she has to stop, too. "I offered to join you tomorrow. Neither of you answered me."
"I have to check with Rafael." She picks a loose piece of bark from the tree beside us. "He has enough to think about without changing the plan every time someone offers to help."
"Someone?" I wait until she looks up from the bark. "It's me, Marisol. I'm asking to walk through the groves with my husband."
Marisol's expression shifts into something sympathetic. Concerned. The face of a friend who wants to help.
"And you'll still be his wife when this buyer goes home." She puts her hand on my arm, as if that should settle it. "You don't have to prove anything."
"I didn't think I was proving anything." I move my arm out from beneath her hand. "I thought I might be useful."
"Look." Marisol lowers her voice, glancing back toward the shed. "I know this has been hard on you. Rafael practically living in his study, the estate taking up all his attention. It's a lot for anyone to deal with."
"I'm dealing with it." I cross my arms. "I just thought I might be able to help."
"And that's sweet." She brushes the bark from her fingertips. "But honestly, Sera, the best thing you can do right now is let us handle the business stuff. Rafael needs to focus. He can't do that if he's worried about you feeling left out."
Sweet. She called my offer to help sweet.
"Then include me." I don't soften the words. She knows I grew up on the estate next door. She's eaten fruit from my father's groves at our table. "You keep talking as if I wandered in off the road."
"That's not what's happening." Her sympathy doesn't waver, but something flickers behind it. "He just needs me for the business stuff right now. Don't read too much into it."
Don't read too much into it. Like I'm imagining the way she's always there, always essential, always the one he turns to when something matters.
"I'm going into town." I move away from the tree. "I need to pick up some supplies."
"Supplies?" She tilts her head. "For your perfume stuff?"
My perfume stuff. She used to ask for a bottle before I'd even finished a trial blend.
"For my work." I take my car keys from my pocket. I have no intention of standing here defending that, too.
"That's great." Marisol's smile returns, bright and encouraging. "It's good that you have a hobby to keep you busy. Rafael worries about you being bored up in that workshop all alone."
Has he said that to her? Yesterday he forgot to visit my workshop, and now they're discussing whether it keeps me entertained. I will ask him myself. I don't want another answer filtered through Marisol.
"I'll see you later." I turn and start walking again.
"Sera." Marisol raises her voice as the distance between us widens. "I'm glad we talked. I know things feel hard right now, but it'll get better. You just have to be patient."
I don't turn around. I don't trust what my face might show if I do.
I walk back to the house for my bag. By the time I reach the drive, I've decided I'm having lunch in town, too.
***
The town is twenty minutes away by car, a collection of old stone buildings clustered around a central square.