Prologue #2
“I think…I’ll have to talk to my sisters about it,” Rosa says, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Okay, good . We haven’t lost her…yet.
“But—”
“Yes,” another voice—Bianca—insists firmly. “We have to discuss our options. All of them.”
“Girls!” Geno snaps. “I must insist?—”
“Nope.” I say with a laugh that sounds only a little unhinged. “Pretty sure you don’t get to insist anything . Andiamo, sorelle mie let’s go discuss our options.”
“We’ll be in touch about the financials,” Rosa says, sounding confident, professional—like a badass, winery-owning boss!
The screen goes dark. None of us speak during the long, long walk to Rosa’s car. Until finally, both my sisters’ faces appear on the screen, looking different shades of stunned. And I can no longer contain myself. “I have just one thing to say,” I tell them as I raise my empty glass in a little toast. “Holy. Shit.”
“I know what we’ll do,” Nico says confidently. “We’ll get married. Tomorrow morning. First thing.”
My head is pillowed on my arms, and I don’t much feel like raising it off the table, but I open an eye and slant a gaze in his direction. “Huh? Wah?”
He’s smiling excitedly; that cute little dimple making an enticing appearance. “It’s genius, no? It solves everything.”
Okay, so…it’s late. Like, really late. Hours after my phone conference with my sisters ended with promises that we’d all keep our minds open, think about our options and talk again soon. The square is bustling with people and noise and, as with so many conversations between two people who are only partially fluent in each other’s native tongue, communication with Nico is occasionally problematic. So, I’m not sure I’ve heard him correctly.
No. Scratch that. I am sure. I couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly.
I sit up reluctantly, squinting a little as I attempt to bring his face into focus, and try again. “What did you say?”
My head is reeling. Not surprising really, since I’m more than a little drunk—as who wouldn’t be in my situation? It’s not every day that you learn you’ve inherited an award-winning winery. And yeah, okay; it’s a been a minute. Years, in fact. But so what? It still freaking counts, you know? Especially since— hello? —have I mentioned that it’s in freaking Napa ?
It’s also not every day that you’re forced to confront the fact that you’ve fucked up. Again. Royally. Unforgivably. That you’d waited too long to go home. That your Nonna is gone. That you didn’t get to say goodbye. That you’ll never get to say goodbye, or I’m sorry, or…or anything anymore! There’s no way to walk this back. Not now, not ever.
But all of that is very much beside the point.
“Marriage,” Nico says, enunciating clearly (yet, somehow, still giving total Princess Bride). “Will solve everything.”
“Bruh. D’you really think so?”
It’s not that I’m unilaterally opposed to the idea of fake marrying someone for the sake of a green card. Desperate times make for strange bedfellows, or however the saying goes. And I like Nico—I do. We’re colleagues, shipmates, fuckbuddies, friends. But I’d thought we both understood the strictly temporary nature of our situationship. We’re short timers. I don’t even think of him as my work husband! There’s not a chance in hell?—
“Hear me out,” Nico says smoothly disrupting the flow of my thoughts. “What’s the biggest problem you have right now? Your sisters, correct?”
“Uh…no? Whatever gave you that idea?” I mean, obviously, it had to be something I said. But I have sooo many problems right now. Rosa and Bianca barely make the list. “Honestly, I think my uncle’s a much bigger problem.”
Nico waves my objections away. “No, he’s not. You heard what that lawyer fellow said, the will is valid. There’s nothing your uncle can do to stop you inheriting.”
“Well. We’ll see about that.” I’m not at all certain that’s true. Experience has proved that betting against my uncle is never smart money. He has a history of causing problems—within the family and without. He’s wealthy, influential, and used to getting his own way. But that’s not what makes me frown. “Wait. How do you what my Nonna’s lawyer said? You weren’t here when I was talking to them, were you?”
“Your sisters are the real threat. If they decide to join forces against you, what will you do? They can outvote you anytime they want. And if you’re there on your own? Just think of the disadvantage you’ll be at, the precariousness of your position. They could gang up on you, pressure you into doing whatever they want. Ignore you. You know they won’t give your ideas the attention they deserve. I can tell from how you speak of them that they don’t respect you as they ought. They can’t possibly appreciate everything you bring to the table.”
Well. That part is true. Maybe it would have been different if I were just the baby of the family, but I’m also the black sheep, the slacker, the girl least likely to succeed. My sisters both chose the straight and narrow, college-classroom-to-corporate-office pipeline. Which—don’t get me wrong—is definitely the smart thing to do if you’ve got the brains, the grades, and the abilities to pull it off. Not to mention that it’s extremely useful (if not an actual requirement) if your end-goal is to make world-class wine or run a world-class winery. But I knew that was never going to work for me, so I took a different route. I focused on the hospitality aspect of the business and got my training on-the-job. And then kept the whole thing secret, for a variety of reasons.
“Of course they don’t appreciate it. But that’s not their fault; I never told either of them about my plans. They have no idea what I’ve been doing since I left home.”
Reasons. Like I said.
“That may be true, but by the time they figure it out—if they even bother trying—it might be too late. You might have lost your inheritance. What if they decide to give in to your uncle’s wishes?”
“Ugh,” I groan. “I don’t want to think about this anymore.” I reach for the wine bottle, only to discover that it’s empty. Just as well, I suppose. But then Nico flags down a passing server and orders another. And I know I should stop him, but I’ve passed the point of rational thought and have no fucks left to give.
More wine? Sure. Bring it on.
“I know my sisters,” I say, returning to the subject because now that the lid’s been torn off the box, my worries and fears are all tumbling out. “They’d never do that.”
But wouldn’t they? When I spoke with them earlier, Rosa seemed daunted by the prospect of our going it alone, which is reasonable, considering she’s the only one currently at ground zero. While Bianca seemed reluctant to leave her cushy job in Argentina—helping to make wine for an already established (and currently award-winning) high-end winery—to head up what’s basically a struggling start-up. And I can’t blame them.
But that’s just another reason that I need to get home as soon as possible.
“Your grandmother left that winery to you , Allegra.” Nico’s voice is gentle as he fills my glass yet again with more of the sparkling Blanc de Blanc Cava blend that we’ve been enjoying for several hours too long if the tears of remorse and self-pity that have started to flood my eyes are anything to go by. He sounds sweet and caring and kind—and I’ve always been a sucker for anyone who takes my side in a fight. It’s not like there have been a lot of them.
“She left it to the three of us,” I correct, in an attempt to be fair. And, even more, in an attempt to sound like I don’t really care. My voice has started to sound wobbly, and I hate that. The only thing worse than feeling vulnerable is appearing vulnerable.
“It’s your legacy. You owe it to yourself—you owe it to her —to fight for it.”
“Why are we talking about this? You don’t know anything about my family. I’m not at war with my sisters. And it’s their legacy too. They have just as much of a right to decide what happens to it as I do.”
Which is the real fucking problem, isn’t it? That worries me far more than I thought it would. I’d assumed they’d be as excited as I was. I’d assumed they also remembered Nonna talking about it. Nico smirks as he tops off our glasses—like he knows what I’m thinking. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how you were the only one who wasn’t surprised by the bequest? Why do you suppose your grandmother never mentioned it to anyone else?”
I scowl at him. “Nico—what the hell? That was a private conversation. You had no fucking business listening in. Do I do that to you?”
In point of fact, I absolutely would, if the situation arose. Eavesdropping is a necessary life skill.
“A private conversation held at high volume in a very public place,” he replies with a shrug. “It’s hardly my fault that I overheard you. I’m sure half the city knows of it by now. Not that anyone cares, of course.”
“It sounds like you care,” I tell him.
“ Così così ,” he says with a flip of his hand. “I do and I don’t. You’re my friend, so obviously I care what happens to you. But beyond that, it’s nothing to do with me. I just thought we might be able to help each other out. But if you’re not interested in what I have to say…”
“I know how it would help you out,” I tell him—pulling no punches in true in vino veritas fashion. “But I don’t see how our getting married would do anything to improve my situation.”
“But of course it would! It would even the odds. Two of them, two of us; they’d have to at least listen to what you have to say. They’d have to take you seriously, to treat you like a grown-up, rather than a spoiled child.”
“Maybe,” I say, although I’m pretty sure he’s wrong. Our family roles were cemented in place years ago—right along with our nicknames. I’m not sure there’s anything that would set us free of them. Aside from power tools and explosives. “But my sisters were already teenagers when we were left in my grandmother’s care. So of course, I spent more time with her than they did. If she spoke more about her plans for the winery to me than to them, or if they don’t remember it as clearly as I do, that’s only natural.” Or maybe they’d written it off as one more empty promise. Mama taught us all about those.
Nico starts talking again and I’m sort of listening. But the wine is dulling my thought processes and, honestly? I’ve got more pressing concerns.
What will it be like to return home after all this time? And can I even call it that, now that Nonna’s gone? Without the one person who loved and supported me unconditionally, it’s just a house. ‘Home is the place where, if you have to go there, they have to take you in.’ Someone said that; I have no idea who it was. But they’re wrong. I already tested out that theory. I’d just turned eighteen when I’d shown up on Mama’s doorstep and…well, it sucked. Which is what makes Nico’s plan so tempting.
In fact, the more I think about going home with a husband and a plan , the more I like it. It’s a little like that scene from Pride and Prejudice, you know? The one where Lydia insists on going ahead of Jane because she’s a married lady and Jane isn’t?
And yes; I know , all right? Lydia was an idiot—the liveliest, loneliest, youngest sister of them all. But that doesn’t mean that Jane and Elizabeth hadn’t spent years disrespecting her, or that her whole family hadn’t viewed her as nothing more than an empty-headed party girl her whole life long. Just sayin’
Still, I know better than to make any life-altering decisions while drunk. It never works out. I’ve tested that theory, too. So, I’mma take everything under advisement, for now. I’m sure Jimmy would approve of that strategy. And I’ll wait until morning before I attempt to reach a conclusion. Probably.