Chapter 17
Rosa
I can’t believe I said that.
I don’t even want to deal with it myself, let alone get dragged into yet another conversation with Jake about our marriage and non-annulment.
So why would I all but tell him you fucked up everything —in front of witnesses?
Ugh.
And then there’s the visit from Officer Not-So-Friendly. What the hell was that about? Someone made a complaint about Caparelli?
As much as I hate to admit it, I wonder if Belmonte had something to do with it.
It’s almost too horrible to consider.
And it could have turned out so badly, too.
Thank God I’m as anal about paperwork as Jake made me out to be.
If there’s one thing I can take full pride in, it’s my ability to research. The rules and regulations surrounding winemaking in Oak Creek Canyon are complicated at best, arcane and indecipherable at worst. As soon as Allegra, Bianca, and I decided to take on our inheritance for real, I dove into the morass of requirements to make sure we had all our ducks in a row.
I filled out every document, paid every fee, kept copies of everything.
That was a very good call.
I’m still a little shaken, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Part of me wants to figure out what to do about Caparelli suddenly being targeted and how to prevent it from happening again.
Part of me wants to figure out what I’m going to do about my— hell —my husband.
Part of me wants to crawl into a barrel of wine and forget everything that’s happened since Nonna died.
But I don’t have the time—or the mental energy—to do any of those things, so instead I refile the paperwork I got out for the deputy, put a load of laundry in the washer, scrub the downstairs bathroom, and try not to think about anything for a while.
* * *
I’m remaking my bed with fresh sheets when I hear the door open downstairs. “Jake?” I call down. “Just you, or are Emi and Javier with you?”
“Just me,” he says, exhaustion coloring his voice. The sun is going down, and he’s been in the vines for a very long time today. Other than lunch and the interruption by Deputy Romero, I haven’t seen him all day.
“What are you in the mood for for dinner?” I shake the comforter and let it drift down onto the mattress. “Or should we just order a pizza?”
His heavy footsteps sound in the upstairs hall, and he pokes his head around my doorframe. “Pizza sounds amazing.”
“Sausage and green pepper?”
He nods. “And sun-dried tomatoes,” he adds.
That’s new. But it sounds good.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower.”
His hair is damp against his forehead, and a smudge of dirt runs across one cheek where he probably brushed something away with his work glove. His T-shirt is plastered against his chest, and I can see the edges of his six-pack through the light fabric.
I swallow and turn away, gritting my teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Okay. I’ll go ahead and order.”
He nods and heads into the bathroom, and I hear the door shut with a click. Moments later, the water turns on.
I shove the pillows back on the bed and hurry downstairs so I won’t end up standing in my room like a creeper, listening to him shower.
Earlier, I put together a list of items for us to talk about, business-wise, trying desperately to keep my focus on the winery and not all the other ways my life is imploding right now. Maybe if we keep our conversations professional and organized, the rest of our time together will be, too.
Item one: Timeline on harvest.
Item two: How long do we have the interns?
Item three: Any items needed in the next three weeks that I can order?
Item four: Why the hell Jake kept our non-annulment a secret all this time. What if I had wanted to get married to someone else?
Nope. Strike that. I’m not ready for that conversation yet.
By the time he comes downstairs, wearing gray sweatpants and a UC Napa T-shirt, the pizza is ordered and I’ve uncorked a Merlot from a nearby winery. I’m sipping my first glass, sitting at the kitchen table, and staring at the sheet of paper in front of me.
At least it keeps me from looking at him in those damn gray sweatpants. Almost impossible to resist.
Jake drops down into the seat across from me. Behind him, I can see the Caparelli sign he gave me a couple of days ago, and my stomach knots again at the knowledge that it really was an anniversary present.
Just think, if we hadn’t parted ways thanks to Uncle Geno’s interference, we could have celebrated that date every year. Together.
And now he’s here, temporarily, and our togetherness is just a—a mirage. A fantasy.
Isn’t it?
I take another big sip.
He pours some for himself and takes a taste, swirling the ruby liquid around in the stemless glass. Picking up the bottle, he looks at the label. His face brightens. “This is from Wade’s family winery! Not bad. I’ll have to let him know we enjoyed a bottle.”
“How is Wade doing these days?” I haven’t seen him in ages.
Jake leans back in his chair. “Pretty good. Still waiting for his dad to hand over the reins.”
If I wasn’t watching his face as closely as I am, I would have missed the way his mouth tightened over that sentence.
“It must be hard.”
I didn’t mean to say anything. I have a damn meeting agenda right in front of me to help me keep our conversation from getting too personal. But it slipped out anyway.
Why can’t I keep my distance from him?
Should I even try?
Jake sighs. “I’ve had time to get used to it.”
I tilt my head and look at him.
He laughs. “Okay, fine. I’ve had time to convince everyone around me that I’m okay with it.”
“When did you know?”
He looks down. “That they were going to have to sell? After the second round of chemo.” He lifts his glass in a mock salute. “All hail the American healthcare system.”
“Medical bills.” It’s not a question. They’re not the first family around here to lose their winery due to medical debt.
“At least they had insurance. That paid for most of it. But even so, it wasn’t enough, especially after the fires a few years back. They didn’t have enough savings to make it through.”
“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” He props an elbow on the table. “At least mom is cancer-free now.”
“Thank God.”
“I just wish…” He sighs, his eyes going unfocused. “I wish it hadn’t come to that.”
“Me, too,” I whisper.
He shrugs. “It’s part of why I’m glad I’m here. If I can help prevent this from happening to you and your sisters, it’ll be worth it. I don’t want to see another family-owned winery sold off to some celebrity playing at winemaking.”
“Maybe he’s not so bad,” I offer, and he laughs, shaking his head.
“Wishful thinking.”
“I still haven’t met him. Have you?”
He nods. “A couple days ago, in fact. We…well, let’s just say we didn’t exactly hit it off.”
Of course they didn’t. I’m sure Jake has a lot of feelings about the guy who bought his parents’ winery, whether he deserves it or not.
“Still, probably best to give him a chance.”
“That’s so Rosa. Always seeing the best in people, regardless of the circumstances.” His lips quirk wryly. “Except maybe me.”
“Wait, what?”
“Lately it seems like all you can see is the worst in me.”
I open my mouth and close it again. What do I say to that?
Before I can formulate an answer, the doorbell rings, and I reach for my purse on the counter behind me.
But Jake pops up and holds up a hand. “Nope. I’ve got this one.” He strides out of the room and down the hall to the front door before I can protest. I can hear him charming the delivery person while I grab some plates from the cupboard, shaking my head.
“I was going to pay for that, you know,” I grumble as he brings the box into the kitchen and places it in the center of the table.
“And I beat you to it,” he says with a grin. “Come on, sit down. Can’t let it get cold.”
I open the box, letting the smell of our favorite pizza—plus sun-dried tomatoes—fill the room. Jake grabs a beer out of the fridge (“It goes better with pizza—don’t tell Wade.”) and puts two large slices on his plate. I take a big bite of my slice and groan as the taste fills my mouth. God, I love Divino Pizza.
When I look over, Jake is taking a long pull from his bottle and a muscle is jumping in his jaw.
“Everything okay?”
“Yup.” He shoves half a slice into his mouth and chews.
They must have worked their asses off this afternoon for him to be this hungry.
“So, we have a few things to talk about,” I say as I start on my second slice of pizza.
I take a pen and pull the list toward me.
“What are you doing?”
I shrug. “Just keeping track.” I tap the sheet of paper.
Jake starts choking on his pizza.
“Are you okay?” I jump out of my seat and round the table, ready to try out the Heimlich maneuver if necessary.
He coughs, waving me off as he clears his throat. “I’m fine,” he rasps. He takes another swig of beer and sets the bottle down on the table with a thump. “Are you actually telling me you created an agenda for dinner?”
I can feel heat crawling up my neck. “Um…sort of?” I drop back into my seat.
“That’s so you.” Jake shakes his head, laughing. “Everything itemized and organized and turned into a list.”
“Hey!” I wave the paper at him. “My organization and list-making saved us when that cop showed up today.”
He sobers. “Yeah, it did. Nice job.”
Slightly mollified, I slap the paper down and finish the last of my wine.
Without asking, he picks up the bottle and fills my glass again.
I don’t protest.
“Honestly, I just didn’t want to forget anything,” I tell him, nodding at the list in front of me. “There are a lot of moving parts.”
He nods. “Okay, hit me. What’s your first item ?”
He’s teasing me, but I ignore it and clear my throat. “What’s the timeline on prepping for harvest?”
* * *
I put the pizza box in the fridge, and Jake takes the rest of the wine out to the front porch. I’ve given up on hiding the fact that Jake is living here, so I follow him out and sit in the Adirondack chair where I can see the sun dipping below the horizon. We’re most of the way through my list-slash-agenda, and things are going well.
Of course, I have to blow things up. “So who do you think turned us in?”
Jake glances at me. “You know who.” His voice sounds—careful, like he’s afraid to say it out loud.
I can feel the tension between my shoulders. I don’t want to say it, either. I don’t want to make it real. “Maybe it’s just something that happens when you’re starting up,” I say, sounding more like a question than a statement. “Not that Caparelli hasn’t been around forever, but separating it from Belmonte kind of made it a new place.”
“Really?” His voice is dry. He’s looking forward, eyes shaded in the deepening twilight.
“It makes as much sense as anything else,” I try. Which it doesn’t, but I’m desperate to find a reason that isn’t the most obvious one. Because if it really is who I think it is…
I don’t know how I’ll bear it.
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Do you really think the athlete across the way got the same treatment?”
My stomach tightens. “Is it horrible if I say that I hope so?”
Jake shakes his head. “I get it. At least you wouldn’t be the only target if that was the case.”
“Exactly.” I lean forward and prop my elbows on my knees. My stomach is in knots.
Jake clears his throat and tips his head toward the piece of paper in my hand. “Okay. What’s next on the agenda?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s just a damn list, Jake.”
“They’re never just damn lists , Rosa. You live your life by lists. Even when we eloped, you had to prepare a list first.” His voice is fond.
And he’s not wrong. I worked on that list for weeks—what our cover story should be, what we needed to bring, which chapels on the strip were more likely to marry two young people, one of whom had barely turned eighteen.
Who would be taking care of our responsibilities while we were gone.
I had it all planned out to the last detail. Except I hadn’t counted on Nonna having the heart attack that put her in the hospital while I was off in Vegas marrying Jake.
Jake reaches out a hand and covers mine, resting on the arm of my Adirondack chair. God, even that little touch feels so good. “There was nothing you could have done,” he murmurs, and I’d be startled at how well he can read my mind, except?—
It’s always been like that between us.
The hell of it is I was so happy —until we got home. We drove back from the airport together, holding hands on the bench seat of Jake’s pickup truck, and I remember looking at them tangled together, joy swelling in my chest. I had a simple gold band on my finger that we’d bought in a pawn shop off the strip right before the ceremony, and I watched the sun glint off it as we headed back to Oak Creek Canyon. I couldn’t wait to tell everyone.
And then we pulled up to Caparelli, and Uncle Geno was waiting in the entryway as I dragged my suitcase inside. He’d been going through Nonna’s papers, looking for her insurance information to bring to the hospital when he’d heard the truck pull up, and the fury in his eyes when he saw us made me take several steps back. I bumped into Jake, who put his hands on my shoulders and asked Uncle Geno what was going on.
It all tumbled out then, in a torrent of words I could barely track. How Nonna was sick, and Allegra and Bianca had tried to call me but I wasn’t answering, and they’d panicked. How Geno had tried to track me down on the grad trip only to discover that I’d bailed on it for parts unknown. How disappointed he was in me—for lying, for being so irresponsible, for not being there when they needed me.
And then he saw the ring, and everything went even more to hell.
“It was a nightmare,” I say softly.
“You know, if Geno knew I was here, he’d probably have a coronary,” Jake muses, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Remember how he ordered me off the property that day?”
I huff out a laugh. “I wonder if there’s a statute of limitations on something like that.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He leans back in his chair, looking out at the night sky. “It’s your property now. He doesn’t have a say on it anymore.”
Sometimes that’s hard to remember. I’ve spent so many years deferring to Geno and what he said, the idea of being solely responsible for what happens at Caparelli is a little frightening. So much responsibility on my shoulders.
And even scarier is how nice it is to have someone shoulder it with me. Especially when his time here is limited.
He’s done so much for me, for us, for Caparelli. Even when he had no reason to.
The least I can do is tell him I was wrong.
I take a deep breath and let it out. “Sasha and I didn’t go for coffee today. I mean, yes, we got coffee. But that’s not why we spent the morning together.”
He waits for a moment. “Okay,” he says carefully.
“We went to the courthouse.”
I glance over. He’s nodding but not looking at me.
“You were right.” I suck in another breath. “We’re still married.”
“Yep.” He doesn’t sound arrogant or gleeful or like he’s ready to do a victory dance.
He sounds sure. Solid. Calm.
Why wouldn’t he be? He’s had ten years to get used to the idea. I’ve had a couple of weeks.
And only a handful of hours since I confirmed his story.
I open my mouth, ready to ask him why he never filed the papers, but then I snap it shut. I’m afraid of what he’ll say.
Did he still want to be married to me?
Does he still want that now?
What do I want?
I want Jake. In my arms, in my bed.
I can admit that to myself. But something still holds me back from admitting it to him.
At this point, though, I’m not sure what. We’re married. We’re living in the same house. What would it hurt?
I’m so, so tempted.
“So what do we do now?” I ask him.
He laughs softly and shakes his head. Holding up the bottle, he says, “Finish the wine, for one.”
“Yeah, okay.” I hold out my glass for another pour, and he fills his own with the remainder.
He toasts me with an ironic quirk to his left eyebrow. “To the happy couple,” he murmurs and takes a long drink, keeping eye contact with me the whole time.
“Asshole,” I reply, drinking up as well.
He chokes on the wine, sputtering as he laughs. I grin into the glass in my hand.
That felt good.
“Holy shit, Rosa,” he says finally when he catches his breath. “I was not expecting that.”
“Gotta keep you on your toes,” I quip and set my glass down. When we both stop laughing, I sigh. “This is a mess.”
“Maybe.” He finishes the last of his wine and puts the glass on the little table between us. “But it doesn’t have to be.”
I look at him, confused, and he lifts one shoulder. “It’s been a mess for ten years, Rosa. We don’t have to fix it tonight. Maybe we shouldn’t even try.”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
He stands and holds out his hand. I place my palm in his, shivering a little at the heat that travels up my arm at that innocent touch. Tugging lightly, he pulls me to my feet. “I mean, why don’t we forget this mess, forget all the ins and outs of our tangled past, and focus on the here and now?”
“Here and now,” I repeat, swaying toward him just a little.
He nods. “And right here, right now, I’d like to kiss you. What do you think about that?”