Chapter 17
Allegra
A s Clay peels out of the drive, tires squealing, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not okay. I’d jump in my car and follow him back to town so we can continue this discussion, but he’s been nothing but honest with me up until now, so it’s hard to justify that level of distrust.
“Just how long has this been going on?” Rosas asks, eyeing me with suspicion. But I’m still in a state of shock and can’t even begin to make up an answer.
I’m saved from trying when Bee runs up and tackle-hugs me crying, “I’m sorry. I overreacted yesterday. I didn’t mean any of the things I said!”
“No, I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Your wine—omigod! I never would have let that happen if I’d been paying attention—that’s all I meant when I said I was distracted!”
“Forget the wine; you could have died!”
Forget the wine? And that’s all it takes to start me crying too, both of us spouting nonsense like, “no, no, I’m fine,” and, “It doesn’t matter, I don’t care,” and, “please, don’t say that,” until Rosa’s voice breaks through all the noise. “Could we please stay on topic? This is important!”
Bee and I pull apart. But one look at Rosa’s face—eyes wet, lower lip trembling—has us both reaching out and dragging her into a three-way embrace. And I give up trying to interpret what any of us are saying.
But like I told Clay earlier, these downbursts don’t last very long. Soon we’re pulling apart and wiping our eyes. “Let’s go inside,” Bee suggests. “I need a drink.”
Rosa nods. “It’s early, but I think we all do.”
And I couldn’t agree more. “It’s wine o’clock somewhere.”
So, a short while later, we’re curled up in the living room with glasses of the Tempranillo that Vitto’s been secretly experimenting with. And shaking our heads at Geno’s stupidity in not allowing him more room for self-expression.
“Unfortunately, it’s not that uncommon,” Rosa says. “Jake’s friend Wade is facing the same problem at his place. “His dad won’t let go of the reins there, either.”
“Speaking of Jake, where is he?” I ask. I need to apologize to him, as well.
Rosa and Bee exchange worried looks. “Oh, um…”
“What?”
“He volunteered to give Nico a tour of the vineyards.”
“No!” I sit up so abruptly that my wine nearly spills. “Don’t let him anywhere near this place. The whole reason he married me was to get his hands on Caparelli. He’s a fucking leach!”
“Hah! So, you are married!” Bee says in triumphant tones.
I open my mouth to answer, but Rosa gets there first. “She says she’s not.”
“Divorced then?”
“I asked that, too. She said there wouldn’t have been enough time.”
Bee chews on her lip for a moment and then says, “Legs, is this why you stayed away all summer?”
My face heats up and I cover my eyes. I’m so overcome with embarrassment I can barely mumble, “Yes.”
“So, you’re in the process of getting divorced?” Rosa asks.
“No,” I tell her. “Like I keep trying to explain, I can’t get divorced because I was never actually married.”
“Which I still don’t understand.”
“Wait,” Bee says in muffled tones. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, eyes closed, head bowed, one hand placed reverently over her heart while a small, Mona Lisa, not-quite-a-smile glimmers on her lips. “I think I do.”
We wait, as requested, but when the silence drags on for several seconds, “Bee? What’re you doing?” Rosa asks.
“Shh. I’m having a moment.”
“What kind of moment?” I ask.
“A transcendent moment of peak, quintessential middle-childness.”
“Huh?”
“Normally, it makes me sad, being the invisible middle child all the time. But I’m just feeling so good about my life choices right now.”
Rosa and I share a look. “Well, that sounds rude,” she observes.
“Mm-hm. I totally agree.” Then I drain my glass and hold the empty out towards Rosa. She leans in and refills my glass and then tops up her own.
“So, how long do these transcendent moments generally last?” Rosa inquires after another moment.
“Not long,” Bee says as she opens her eyes and smiles benevolently on us both. “Sorry. Where were we?”
“I believe you said you knew what was going on?” Rosa says.
“Oh, yes.” Bee nods. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You both got secretly married and then had the marriages secretly annulled. And now, you and your spouses have all converged here at the same time. It’s like…what are the odds?”
“Whatever they are, it doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “Because that’s not what happened.”
Rosa agrees, “No, of course, it’s not. I did get married, but I only thought it got annulled.”
I nod. “Exactly. And I only thought I got married but couldn’t get it annulled.”
Rosa frowns. “Yeah, about that. I know how much you love keeping secrets, Legs,” she says as she pours more wine into Bee’s glass. “But you really need to explain yourself.”
“I think you owe us that much,” Bianca says.
So, I tell them about the day after the will was read, and how Nico had convinced me to go to the Registry of Marriages with him and apply for a license. And how we were married a couple of days later by the captain of the cruise ship we were both working on.
“You worked on a cruise ship?” Rosa asked.
“Yes, but that’s not important right now.”
And I tell them about how we broke our contracts and quit our jobs, and then spent the next several weeks applying for Nico’s visa and assembling the stack of documents we would need to convince Immigration that we were actually a couple.
“And were you?” Bee asks.
“We were friends,” I tell her. And then shrug and add, “Well, at least I thought we were.”
I explain how we’d moved into an apartment together. And how I’d come home early one day and overheard him talking about how long we’d need to stay married before he could divorce me and take half of what I’d inherited. “So, you see, sometimes eavesdroppers do hear things to their advantage.”
“That rat bastard,” Rosa growls.
“Yeah, and you wanted to put him up here,” Bee reminds her.
“What? No. Please tell me he’s not staying here?” I beg.
My sisters shake their heads in tandem. “He’s not.”
“He already had a hotel, down at the Junction.”
“Off the Twelve. So, what happened next?”
“Well, next I called Mama and got a referral for the best divorce lawyer in Italy. On Sergio’s dime.”
My sisters exchange looks. “I feel like there’s a story there,” Rosa muses.
“Let me guess,” Bee says. “It’s ‘not important right now’?”
“Well, it’s not.”
“You said you couldn’t get the marriage annulled,” Rosa asks. “Why was that? It sounds like you would have had ample grounds?”
“You would think,” I agree. “But now all the work I’d put into proving that we actually were married was working against me.”
“Okay, so?”
So, I tell them about Romania—the ‘divorce tourism’ capital of the EU. How I holed up there and waited, taking occasional jobs to break the monotony and stave off boredom, until finally, “I guess hiring a stupidly expensive lawyer really does pay off. He dug up proof of Nico’s first marriage?—”
“Wait, are you saying he wasn’t divorced, either?” Rosa guesses.
“No, he was. But since he only got the idea to marry me after he listened in on the call about the will, he wasn’t prepared. He was in a hurry to marry me—before I came to my senses and changed my mind—but he didn’t have his divorce paperwork on hand, and there was no way to get it in time. So, he figured the best thing to do was to ignore the question altogether. Which, ultimately, is what invalidated the marriage. It was a lie of omission.”
“Okay, and?”
“And nothing; that was that. Since Gibraltar was now basically saying the marriage had never actually taken place, Romania couldn’t grant me a divorce to dissolve it. My lawyer wished me “ In bocca al lupo ,” and told me to go home and enjoy my life.
“And you really didn’t know?” Bee asks.
“What, that he’d been married before? Honestly, I have no idea. He might have mentioned it at some point. But, even if he had, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. As far as I knew, all being divorced meant was that he was free to marry.”
“No, I mean you had no idea he was just after your money?”
“I knew the marriage was transactional. But I thought all he wanted a green card.”
“And what were you supposed to be getting out of it?” Rosa asks.
“Oh, um…” Shit. ‘Protection against the two of you’ seems cruel and unnecessary, at this point. But once again I’m saved from answering an awkward question, this time by the arrival of Jake and Nico.
We hear the buzz of conversation in the hall, and then Jake’s voice calling, “Hey, Rosa?”
“In here!” she answers, flashing me a worried look.
And then there he is, flanked by Jake and Jansen (whom they apparently picked up, somewhere along the way). Nico Carvahlo is still as cute and charming as I remember him. I hate him on sight.
“Bellissima!” He smiles in greeting as he approaches me—arms wide, like he thinks I’m going to let him hug me. Please!
“Sfigato!” I sneer in response, basically calling him a loser. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m here as we planned,” he replies. “To join my beautiful wife and assist her in her new endeavors.”
“Save it,” I tell him. “I’ve already told my sisters everything.”
Nico’s smile seems to freeze. “As you know, my English is not always very good,” he protests. “So many voices make for confusion.”
Since we’re the only two speaking, I take that as a hint. I return his smile with an icy one of my own as I say, “Good idea. Let’s go outside.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, Nico,” I say as soon as the front door closes behind us. “What do you want?”
“Only what I’m entitled to under California law.”
“You mean half of my assets? That’s never gonna happen.”
“We’ll see.” He shrugs and says, “But why so cold? When I learned you’d broken off the divorce proceedings, I naturally assumed you had a change of heart.”
“I didn’t ‘break them off’ the court ruled that our marriage was invalid, making a divorce unnecessary.” Not to mention impossible.
“Again; we shall see. It’s true that, in my excitement, I may not have filled out our marriage documents correctly. Perhaps I missed seeing the question about prior relationships? I’m hoping your immigration officers will be more sympathetic. We make a very convincing couple, do we not? Everyone says so. We even argue like we’re married.”
Shame lodges like a stone in my gut. He’s not wrong. Even before the whole will business, our friends used to tease us about our bickering.
“Just go away,” I tell him. “You’re wasting your time. No one wants you here.”
“But that’s not true, is it? Your charming sister has offered to make me dinner.”
“That was before she knew what you were. The only way that’ll happen now is if the recipe were copied straight from the Borgia family cookbook.”
Nico laughs. “Ah, Allegra. I have missed you.”
“Well, I haven’t missed you. So, get the hell out of here, and don’t come back.”
“I understand. You’re overwrought. You’re not thinking clearly. I’ll give you some time to reflect on the situation. Au revoir, bella, I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grouse. “And I’ll make sure that you don’t.”
But my threats are empty, and we both know it.
I watch from the porch until he leaves—to make sure that he does. But when I turn back towards the house, I realize there’s no way I can face my family right now. So, I ease open the door, as silently as I can and slip inside. I can hear the murmur of conversation—talking about me, no doubt. But, for once, I don’t want to know what they’re saying.
I find my purse, still hanging from the hook by the door where I left it, and slip back outside.
Once I’m in my car, I plug my phone into the charger so I can send a quick text. “I’m sorry,” I tell my sisters. “I need a little time alone. I’ll be back later.”
At least this time, they can’t accuse me of disappearing without a word.
Clay
This time, I’m really not expecting the knock at my door.
“What do you want, Legs?” I say, even as I pull the door open, and let her in. “This isn’t a good time.”
“I just wanted to make sure that we’re okay,” she tells me. And between the pain on her face, the uncertainty lurking in her eyes—yeah, it’s a fucking time warp. A redo of the night before. And I can’t help but laugh.
“Okay? Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course, we are.” But then reality crashes in and I shake my head. “No, actually, we’re not. You need to leave.”
“But- but why? What did I do?” She looks so honestly shocked that it actually steadies me. Because she can’t possibly be this clueless, right? It has to be an act.
“I don’t fuck with married women,” I tell her. “I know I haven’t exactly provided you with a lot of evidence of it, but I really do have a conscience and a code of ethics. You’ve been stomping all over them, and it has to stop.”
“Omigod,” she groans, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes. “Not this again!”
My mouth falls open and I stare at her for what feels like several seconds. “Excuse me?” I mean, I probably should have guessed that someone with her background wouldn’t have much use for anyone else’s morals, but really?
“What?” She looks confused for an instant then, “Oh! No, I didn’t mean you. I meant that I already went through all of this with my sisters, that’s all.”
And with that she launches into this long-ass story, all about falsehoods and deceit, and people fucking each other over for the sake of a few hundred acres of dirt. And it’s so far removed from my own reality that I can’t even begin to relate.
“I’m not sure why you thought any of that would help,” I tell her when she’s finally done.
“I don’t know that I did. I was mostly trying to explain that I’m not married. Didn’t you say that was a problem?”
“But you thought you were—right?”
“Well, yes; six months ago, immediately after the wedding. But it was never legal, so…”
“Who cares about the legalities?” I say, almost yelling in frustration.
Her eyes widen in alarm. “Uh…you do? Most of the time? What’s going on?”
I wish to God I knew. I feel like I’m stumbling through the dark, disoriented by all the unfamiliar noises. I take a breath and my lungs seize up. “Do not make this about me,” I gasp.
“Okay, but listen,” she says as she starts to pace. “It shouldn’t matter what I thought, right? Because ignorance of the law is not a…something, something. Defense against it? I dunno.”
“That is not the flex you think it is,” I tell her. “All that means is that you’re still responsible for the consequences of your actions, whether or not you were aware of them going in.”
“Oh.” She stops pacing then, looking startled and so dismayed that, fuck me, I really want to believe that this is just a stellar performance. “Couldn’t it just be that I made a mistake?”
“Sure. You mean like with your tattoo, or driving without a license?”
“Okay, yes, all right?” Her face flushed red, she scowls at me. “I don’t know why you’re being like this, but fine. Maybe I had too much to drink, and I thought it would be fun to get a tattoo. And when he handed me a mirror and asked me to check the stencil, maybe my hair was in the way, and I didn’t notice the big, honking ‘W’ at the front of the word. Lock me up.”
“Jesus, Legs. This is not about your tattoo!”
“Then why did you bring it up?”
“Because what I’m trying to say is that this is a pattern with you. When you keep making the same kind of mistake, again and again?—”
“But it’s not! I got the tattoo because I wanted one—plain and simple. I married Nico for a lot of reasons, mostly because I was upset. My grandmother had just died. I was hurting, and scared, and not thinking clearly. And it just felt so good, in that moment, to have someone who was on my side. It never occurred to me that he only wanted to get his hands on my winery. I thought he was marrying me for a green card!”
“Annnnd we’re done. That’s all it needed.”
“What? Why? People get married for all sorts of reasons, don’t they? In fact, I’d argue that most marriages are transactional. Why should one be different from another?”
“Because what you’re calling a transaction, is fraud. And that’s a bridge too far.”
“But you just said?—”
“Stop it! It’s like you don’t take anything seriously, like it’s all a big joke to you. And I just can’t deal with it anymore! I don’t know where I stand on anything, right now; it’s like there’s nothing but shifting sand beneath my feet. Do you know how much I hate that feeling?”
“Okay yes, I’ve made mistakes. My crappy tattoo, driving without a license—you’re right about all of that. But I don’t think it’s fair to say that I don’t take things seriously or accept responsibility when I mess up. And this thing with Nico, I am dealing with it, okay? That’s practically all I’ve done for six months. I’m trying, Clay; I really am. I’m trying so hard to turn my life around, and get myself back on track, to make my grandmother proud, and to earn my sisters’ respect. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“What about me?”
“What about you? Do you really think I don’t want your respect, too? Do you think it’s not killing me, having to stand here and listen to you explain all the ways in which I don’t measure up to your impossible standards? You really don’t need to keep hammering it home. I’ve been letting people down my whole life, so I’m very familiar with the process at this point.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, is that all I am to you—one of the mistakes of your past, something that you want to make amends for? Or is it even worse than that; was I danger to you—to your sisters and your winery? Was I just another threat that had to be neutralized? Is that why you were sleeping with me?”
“You are not seriously asking me that.”
“You used your stepsister’s fiancé to take her off the board because you perceived her as a threat to your mother.”
“Omigod, that’s what you got from that story? Great.”
“And you were willing to marry that dickwad so you could hold your own sisters hostage. So, it’s not really a stretch, is it? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Protect the bottom line?”
“That’s it. I’m outta here.”
As she turns towards the door, my protective instincts belatedly kick in. It’s my fault that she’s upset, and I cannot send her out into the night like this. “Okay, wait. Hold on a minute. Stop.”
“What is it now?” Her arms are wrapped around herself, so tightly—as though that’s the only thing that’s holding her together.
“You’re upset,” I say, trying to soothe her—badly and, again, belatedly. “Why don’t we…sit for a minute. Or, just, I don’t know…wait until you’re calmer? You shouldn’t be driving right now; it isn’t safe.”
She shakes her head, eyeing me pityingly. “You know what’s sad, Clay? Once I would have thought you meant that. That you were actually concerned about my safety. Just like I believed that my uncle had my best interests at heart when he orchestrated my reunion with my mother. Or—ooh, here’s a good one. Once upon a time, I thought Nico was a friend who would never dream of betraying me. Now I know better.”
“Yeah? So, what do you think you know about me?”
“I think your primary concern right now is how my driving might reflect on you. If I get into an accident when I leave here, it’s possible someone might claim it’s your fault; that you shouldn’t have let me leave, that you should have stopped me somehow.”
“That’s not?—”
“But you know what? You can fuck all the way off, because I’m done with that bullshit.”
“Legs!”
“No! No, Clay, you do not get to call me that anymore. I told you, way back at the start, that’s something my friends call me. And we are not friends.”
“But—”
“Do you have grounds to stop me? No, you do not.” Raising a hand, she begins ticking the points off, finger by finger. “I’m not drunk. I have no violations. My paperwork’s in order. My car’s not unsafe. So, the only way you’re going to keep me from driving right now, Deputy, is if you arrest me.”
“I’m not gonna arrest you.”
“Good. Because don’t think for a minute that I wouldn’t have shown up in court to contest the ticket, or that I wouldn’t’ve been happy to explain to the judge exactly why I was upset with you in the first place. And while I’m on the subject, don’t you dare even think about using any of this as an excuse to come after my sisters for some imaginary infraction. Because that’s one thing you should know about me by now. I protect what’s mine. And that might not be you anymore, Clay Romero, but it will always be them.”