Chapter 3
Rosa
W hat. The. Fuck.
“Ex-husband,” I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one heard. Which is stupid because it’s not like anyone would be on the private road between our properties. Or, more accurately, my property and his family’s former property.
Either way, I know we’re alone.
We’re alone, for the first time since…well, since he actually was my husband.
Which Jake isn’t anymore. No matter what his drunk ass says.
“Ex,” I say again, taking a step back. “We got an annulment.”
“No, we didn’t.” He shrugs. “Still married.”
“We. Got. An. Annulment,” I enunciate, my breath sharp and shallow. “I signed the paperwork. The day Uncle Geno found out.”
Which was the day we got back with the marriage certificate. We were married for less time than it takes to say You did what on your high school graduation trip?
Britney Spears, eat your heart out.
But he’s shaking his head, his expression calm and almost—casual, if that makes sense. Like this is no big deal. “Nope, sorry. We’re still married.”
“You’re lying.”
He shrugs, empty beer bottles clinking together in the cardboard holder. “Suit yourself.”
“We’re not married .” That has to be true. It has to be.
“According to the state of Nevada, we are. And California doesn’t disagree.”
Ten years ago, I was supposed to be on my grad trip with a bunch of friends. Instead, Jake and I detoured to Las Vegas and got married in one of those cheesy wedding chapels.
None of our friends—or family—had a clue.
Until we got back and everything went to hell.
“There’s no way we’re still married.”
“There is. If the annulment paperwork was never filed.”
“But Uncle Geno…”
“Passed along the paperwork to me—yes, I know.” He scratches his neatly trimmed beard. That’s new. He barely had facial hair back in the day. “But did I file it? Nope.”
“You had to.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Of course you filed the paperwork,” I say, but even to my own ears it sounds shrill, shaky. Like I don’t really know if he would or not. “Uncle Geno…”
Jake takes a sip of his beer. “Geno had nothing to do with it. I mean, he tried . Told me I had to take care of it. But it wasn’t like he could force me.”
I whisper, “I signed the papers.”
“So did I. But then I just—couldn’t go through with it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He scoffs. “When? How? You were busy ignoring my phone calls and hiding in your room when I knocked on the door.”
I can feel my face flush. “I wasn’t hiding,” I say weakly. We both know it’s a lie.
Jake waves a hand like it’s all water under the bridge. “Whatever. My point still stands. I couldn’t tell you—because you wouldn’t talk to me.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone else?”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t anyone else’s business.”
My head spins. “We can’t be married.”
“Are you sure?”
The question hangs there, in the space between us, while my heartbeat speeds up and a bead of sweat trickles down my back.
I can’t deal with this right now on top of everything else imploding in my world.
“I didn’t want an annulment anyway.” He shrugs again. “Went to all that trouble to marry you. Seemed like a stupid idea to give up that quickly.”
I hold back a wince because that stiletto slips between my ribs with a twist. In the face of Uncle Geno’s rage and threats, eighteen-year-old me gave up almost immediately.Stepped back in line. Head down, mouth shut, like the good little Belmonte soldier I was raised to be.
While my best friend, first love, and apparently not-quite-so-ex-husband fled the scene of the crime.
“But you left,” I point out. “Isn’t that the definition of giving up?”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Here, now, under a bright California sun. While only one of us is sober.
Jake tilts his head, like he’s thinking about it. His features are soft, relaxed. It’s probably the alcohol.
I’m a little jealous. No, I’m a lot jealous. With this bombshell, God knows I could use something to drink right about now.He couldn’t have saved one of that six-pack for me?
He laughs, finally, and squints up at the sky. Have his eyes always been that shade of sapphire blue? “Amazing.”
“What’s amazing?” I say, even though I’m not totally sure I want to know what he’s referring to.
“Nothing.” He gestures widely. “Everything.”
I shake my head, pulse still hammering in my throat. “I can’t do this.”
“Yeah, that’s a surprise.”
The bitterness in his voice stops me in my tracks.
“Look, like it or not, you don’t have a lot of options right now. I’m here, I have the skills you need, and I’m willing to do it. So you need to decide if you can set aside your ego and accept my help.”
Jesus, he’s an arrogant son of a bitch.
He’s also right.
“I’ll…”
I can’t do this. I can’t .
“I’ll think about it.”
He nods, walking backward down the road, away from me. “Okay. Fair enough. I’ll be at the Orchard Heights Inn until tomorrow night. If I don’t hear from you by then, I’ll head out.”
“Head out where?”
He smiles, slow and lazy. I ignore the spark of heat low in my belly at an expression I haven’t seen for ten long, lonely years.
“Wherever the wind takes me, darlin’.”
I watch him go, staring at the curve in the road long after he disappears from view.
* * *
By the time the sun sets, I’ve decided to take a page out of Jake’s book and get drunk.
On wine, though, not beer. I’m not a heathen .
I considered taking a bottle out of the wine rack at Caparelli and enjoying it (aka freaking out ) in solitude, but I decided this situation called for some company.
So I’m in the back corner of Wine O’Clock, waiting for Sasha to arrive. I haven’t sent her an SOS text in ages, so I know I won’t be waiting long.
Sure enough, the door opens just as the server sets down the bucket of ice and bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I ordered as soon as I set foot in the place. I wave, and Sasha’s face lights up, bright pink curls bouncing as she hurries to join me.
I like the new look; last time we met up, her hair was jet black with gold streaks, an homage to some sports team apparently. I think it was hockey playoff season, but who knows?
Clearly not me.
She tolerates my utter lack of knowledge surrounding any and all things sports related, thankfully.
“Rosa!” Sasha drops onto the bench seat next to me and plants a kiss on my cheek. I can’t help but laugh as I return the gesture with a cheek kiss of my own, scooching over to give her some room.
Ever since elementary school, Sasha’s infectious cheer has been one of my favorite things. And miracle of miracles, she cherishes our friendship just as much as I do. Even when I get in my head and end up being too busy to really nurture it.
What can I say? She’s my people. And I know just how lucky I am to have her.
“So, dish,” she says, uncorking the perfectly chilled bottle and pouring us generous glasses. “It’s a weeknight. I haven’t gotten an SOS on a weeknight for years. It’s gotta be something good!”
No beating around the bush for Sasha. I lift my glass in a silent toast and take a sip. It’s bright and crisp, and I nod my head approvingly. Bella Vines has another local winner.
“Well.” I take a long swallow, chasing it with a bite of cheese from the charcuterie plate I also ordered before she arrived. “Things have gotten…complicated.”
“Complicated.” She snorts and reaches across me for a cracker and some prosciutto. “You mean more complicated than taking on a neglected winery with exactly zero family support?”
“Hey, Allegra and Bianca are supportive,” I protest.
Sasha shakes her head and pops another bite into her mouth. “I don’t think you can count it as full support if it’s coming from separate time zones,” she argues, “but fine, whatever. Yes, you have that support, as limited as it may be.”
I drink a little more wine. She’s not wrong.
“But you didn’t SOS me to talk about your sisters.” She taps the table a couple of times with one neatly manicured nail. “Is it something with the winery? Problems with the new employee?”
I pick through the Marcona almonds and grab one so I don’t have to say anything for a minute. I chew, swallow, then admit, “He quit a couple days ago. So I’m back to me, myself, and I.”
“That bastard!” Sasha lifts her glass in a mocking toast. “To the trash taking itself out.”
I clink my glass with hers and shake my head. She’s more accurate than she knows.
“So what are you going to do?” She props one elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand, studying me. Her expression is concerned. And she doesn’t even know the half of it yet.
Speaking of which… “Well. I guess I’m not completely on my own,” I admit. I cut off a wedge of brie, put it on a cracker, and shove it into my mouth. Anything to avoid this part of the conversation.
Sasha turns sideways in the booth and lifts her knee up onto the big leather bench seat. She’s staring me directly in the face. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” she says, eyes narrowed.
Yeah, there is.
I can’t avoid this any longer. It’s the reason I sent her an SOS, after all. “Jake offered to help,” I mumble.
“What?”
“Jake,” I say a little louder. “Jake Wright. He offered to help.”
I’m fairly certain the rest of the bar can hear her gasp even over the jukebox. A couple heads turn, and I want to sink down under the booth. But when nothing happens immediately, people go back to their own conversations and ignore us. Thank goodness.
“Jake.” She sets her glass down on the table. “ Jake Jake? As in your ex?—”
I surge forward and place my hand over her mouth to stop her from finishing that sentence.
“Boyfriend?” I say, baring my teeth in the world’s fakest smile. Please, God, go with me on this, I think, eyes pleading for her to understand. “Yes, my ex- boyfriend Jake from next door is in town, and he offered to help me run the winery for now.”
I remove my hand from Sasha’s mouth and sit back in the booth, feeling drained. And I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. Best? Worst? Whatever.
Sasha grabs the bottle and tops off our glasses. She shoves mine into my hand and orders, “Details. Now.”
So I fill her in—on the surfer jerk bailing, on how I feel so over my head with everything, on how lonely it is at Caparelli by myself.
And how I stumbled across my ex on a walk this afternoon between the vineyards.
Full disclosure—Sasha is one of only two people who know Jake wasn’t just my boyfriend. I never said a word to my sisters or cousins or even Nonna. When we got back from Vegas, Nonna was in the hospital and the family was in an uproar over my “disappearance.” Geno was furious that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with me and heavily implied that my reckless choices were a big part of the reason Nonna was sick. If I’d been there, if I hadn’t turned off my phone, none of this would have happened.
Sasha told me from the start it was all bullshit, but I never fully believed it. I let my family down, and I’ve been making it up to them for the past ten years. And now the centerpiece of my worst mistake is back in town.
I do my best to change the subject, and after a while we move on to local gossip and the new show she keeps trying to get me to watch. But eventually we circle back, because Sasha isn’t one to let me drop the subject that easily.
It’s both my favorite and most frustrating thing about her.
“So you’re telling me”—Sasha gestures with her wineglass, and the golden liquid sloshes dangerously close to the rim—“Jake was just, what? Sitting there at Take Flight, waiting for you?”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head firmly. Or at least as firmly as I can at the moment. At some point, we moved on to our second bottle of wine and I’m feeling a little fuzzy. But not as fuzzy as Jake was this afternoon.
“Fuzzy?” Sasha stares at me. “What does that even mean?”
Did I say that out loud? Damn.
“Never mind. Jake…he wasn’t waiting for me. It was a pity party for one.” I feel a little bitchy for saying that, so I wrinkle my nose and start over. “He was saying goodbye to the family vineyard. And I don’t blame him. But, well, he was pretty drunk when I showed up. Which probably explains why he said what he said.” I scrape up the last of the brie with a cracker and pop it into my mouth.
“And what did he say, Clarice?” Sasha’s classic serial-killer imitation is truly awful, but we both crack up anyway.
When I finally catch my breath, I glance around. Nobody’s sitting near us, and the music is loud. This is what I sent the SOS for…might as well spill.
“He said we’re still married,” I grumble.
“He said what ?” Sasha stares at me, wide-eyed. “No. No way.”
“That’s what I said!” I’m indignant all over again. “He’s lying to me, Sasha. And I can’t figure out why.”
She pours the rest of the bottle into my glass, gesturing at me to drink up.
I don’t have to be asked twice. I know my way around a rideshare app.
“I mean, we got an annulment. I signed the paperwork and everything,” I say.
“I remember.” For a minute, we’re both lost in the memories of me sobbing into her comforter, hiding my broken heart in her bedroom so my family wouldn’t catch on. “And Geno gave them to Jake, right?”
“Yep.” I take another long swallow of wine. “And then Jake skipped town.”
Sasha leans back against the bench seat and tilts her head. “Did you ever get proof that the annulment went through?”
“I—” My mouth snaps shut for a minute. “I honestly have no idea.”
I don’t remember much about that summer, to be fair. Nonna was sick, my sisters were panicking, my uncle was expecting me to pick up the slack, and my boyfriend-slash-husband-slash-nothing had fucked off to parts unknown.
Not that I should have expected him to stick around after I let Geno tell him that I agreed our marriage was a mistake and we needed to get an annulment.
But.
It still hurt.
“What exactly did he say today?” Sasha’s eyes are way too sharp for someone who’s drunk as much wine as we have. “How did he explain it?”
I think back. “He said he wouldn’t be much of a husband if he didn’t help me out in my ‘time of need,’” I say, drawing air quotes with my fingers. “And that he never really wanted the annulment anyway, so he didn’t turn in the paperwork.”
“Damn.” She nods slowly. “Boy’s got game.”
“Sasha!” I smack her arm with the back of my hand. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Get it together.”
She laughs and takes another drink. Someone on the other side of the bar chooses a slow, romantic song on the jukebox, and the soft strains pick at something sensitive in me. It’s like when you’ve got a sore tooth and you just can’t keep from worrying at it with your tongue. You know it’s going to hurt, but you do it anyway.
Seeing him today, under the oak tree— our oak tree—was like that. Tugging at something painful that I’d thought was left in the past.
The last time I was under that tree, it had been with Jake. Ten years earlier, the morning I turned eighteen.
He’d stood there, shifting from foot to foot, nerves clear on his face. Then he’d handed me a velvet box in a birthday gift bag—and dropped to one knee.
My breath had caught in my throat, every atom of my being screaming yes before he’d even had a chance to get the question out.
It hadn’t been an engagement ring. No, that would have caused too many questions, too much suspicion. Instead, he’d given me a thin gold necklace, with a rose pendant on it. A pretty, romantic gift that I could wear every day without anyone questioning it.
Only the two of us knew we’d made a promise that day, one that we fulfilled only a few months later in Vegas.
And when I’d handed the necklace and my wedding band to Sasha and begged her to take them back to Jake, I’d sent a good portion of my heart with her that day as well.
Even today, ten years later, I still catch myself reaching for the rose pendant that hasn’t been around my neck for years.
I sigh and drink some more wine.
Sasha is watching me, and I can tell she’s going to hit me with some hard truths. It’s what I love about her, as much as I hate it, too.
“Look, Rosa, I’m gonna be real with you. This may actually be a good thing.”
“A good thing.” I go over our conversation in my head. “Which part?”
“All of it. So you have a husband. Maybe it’s time you deal with it head on.”
“I do not have a husband.”
“The last person to have the annulment papers seems to think so.” She shrugs and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Rosa, what’s the worst that can happen?”
I can think of a dozen different outcomes—none of them good. “Accepting Jake’s offer is the absolute last thing I should do,” I say. “We’ve got too much history between us.”
“Maybe that’s why it could work,” she muses. “He knows you, Rosa. And he knows his shit.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “How do you even know that? He’s been gone since high school.”
“Well.” She finishes the last of her wine. “One of us needed to keep tabs on him. Just in case.”
I’m reminded again of why she’s my best friend. And why she drives me crazy, just a little bit.
“I’ve spent the last ten years trying to forget him,” I admit softly.
Sasha rolls her eyes. “And that’s worked so well,” she mocks. “Besides, what else are you going to do? Go back to Geno and admit defeat?”
I can’t do that. But without Jake’s help, there’s no way I can keep this vineyard alive long enough to fulfill Nonna’s final wishes—or prove that I’m not a terminal screwup.
There’s no one else I can turn to right now. Yeah, I know, family sticks together and helps out and all those clichés. But Bianca is in Argentina and Allegra is in Europe somewhere, and God knows we haven’t been able to depend on Mama in years. And if Geno gets his hands on Caparelli, even if it’s technically just to “help out,” it’ll be absorbed back into Belmonte so fast my head will spin. His version of teamwork only extends in one direction.
And I can’t let that happen.
Caparelli meant something to Nonna. She left it to me—to us—for a reason. If I give up now, I’ll be giving up Nonna’s dream.
She believed in me. I owe it to her to believe in myself, too.
Even if it’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
And that’s before my current conundrum raised his far-too-attractive head.
“Jake’s probably my only option,” I admit grudgingly.
“That’s the spirit,” she crows, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Now, give me the good stuff.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What good stuff? A potential husband appearing out of the mists of time isn’t enough for you?”
She waves a hand in front of her dismissively. “Whatever. Is he still hot?”
“Sasha!”
“Seriously. If you’re gonna work with your estranged husband”—she ignores my strangled yelp—“he’d better be at least a seven on a scale of one to ten.”
I hang my head. “Nine,” I mutter.
“Damn, girl. Give me the deets!”
I sigh. “He’s grown up—that’s for sure.”
“Is he taller? I bet he’s taller. And has he filled out a little? He was kinda scrawny in high school.”
“Sasha!”
She throws back the last of her wine. “Sorry not sorry,” she says. “But he was.”
Okay, she’s not wrong about that, either.
“Yeah. He’s”—I gesture with my hands—“broader. In the shoulders.”
Sasha nods, hums a little appreciatively.
“And.”
“And?”
“He has a beard.” I squeeze my eyes shut as she gasps.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. What kind of beard? Is he all scruffy mountain man? Artful stubble? Please tell me he’s not a no-mustache beardy.”
I shake my head. “Nope, neatly trimmed beard and mustache. It looks…good.” That’s an understatement. He looks hot.
Which is yet another reason I shouldn’t be doing this.
I ask her the question I still haven’t answered for myself. “Should I accept Jake’s offer?”
Sasha smiles gently at me, switching from gossip to emotional support in a heartbeat. “Yeah, Rosa, I think you should. It’s the right thing to do. For Caparelli, for your sisters, and most of all, for yourself.”
Later, when she’s poured me into the Uber and I’m leaning sideways in the back seat, I wonder what she means by that.
But it’s probably safer not to think about it too much.