Epilogue
Allegra
SOME MONTHS LATER…
“ I t’s another beautiful day in wine country,” I read from the latest article that supposedly mentions Caparelli somewhere in its uber-flowery depths. “Where every day is another glass of endless possibilities and… Omigod, what is this crap?” I glare at my screen. “When do we get to the part about the winery? What are they even trying to say?”
Clay, who’s been shadowing my footsteps a little more closely than usual, shoots me a glance from his place on the hammock. “What’s the matter, babe? You’re not usually this jumpy. Is this still grand, pre-re-opening celebration jitters, or is there something else bothering you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit reluctantly. “I might be a little nervous.”
“No reason to be.” He smiles bracingly. “You’ve got this. There are only two things you have to do today, stand beside your sisters and smile.”
“I know. It just feels weird.”
I’ve been surprisingly happy, these last few months, flitting around the edges of my sisters’ lives, staying in my lane, accepting my limited responsibilities. The feeling that I have to fight all the time for the recognition and attention I deserve—gah!—that’s mostly gone now, and I don’t miss the pressure of it at all.
Still. The lead up to today’s re-opening has been hard. To be shunted aside (not just today, but all the time lately). To not be allowed to involve myself in any of the preparations. To not even be consulted on the super-secret name change…
And why is that, by the way? Are they that afraid that I’ll screw things up again? That I’ll pitch a fit if it turns out they’ve chosen something stupid? Or maybe that I’ll leak the new name to the news? Which…why does it even have to be a secret?
And now, to top it off, I’m expected to stand there—on a stage (they say it isn’t, but I know better). To smile and pretend, to act like Caparelli is still partly mine, when in reality it’s not?
I suppose this is how Jake must feel all the time. Except that it really isn’t. He’s said it himself. Even if his family had managed to hold on to Take Flight, he still would have had to decide which winery he wanted to live on. And I held my tongue when he said it, and didn’t point out that he and Rosa could easily have joined the two wineries together and run them as one. But now Bee’s moved in with Jansen, so in a way, it’s like she and Jake have simply swapped houses, and no one’s lost anything. No one but me.
An alarm starts to ring on Clay’s phone, spiking my nerves. “We could just not go,” I suggest. “Who’s even gonna notice?”
“Well, your sisters, for two.”
“Ah, they’ll be fine. We could go back to your apartment and tell everyone we lost track of time.”
“ Our apartment,” he corrects. “And no, we’re not gonna do that either. C’mon.” He holds out a hand. “We gotta go.”
Reluctantly, I take his hand, and we wander back up the path. “Thank you, by the way,” I murmur softly.
“For what?” he asks looking all at once wary. “What is it you think I did?”
“For taking time off so you could be here today.”
At that he laughs. “You’re kidding, right? Not that I wouldn’t want to be here for you, but they pretty much had to give me the time off for this. It would’ve been a conflict of interest if I were here today in an official capacity.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” I protest. “Because I just work here now. It’s actually got nothing to do with either one of us.”
His lips roll in and he shakes his head, but before I can tell him that no amount of head shaking will change those facts, my sisters converge upon us.
“Oh, good; there you are,” Rosa sighs in relief. “I was starting to worry.”
“About what?” I reply, eyeing her sharply, feeling a stab of guilt. “Where’d you think I’d gone?”
“Thank you, Clay,” Bee interrupts brightly as she steps forward. She slips her arm through mine and begins to draw me away. “We can take it from here.”
She looks super excited, and I transfer my frown from Rosa’s face to hers. “Okay. What’s going on? You look like you know something?”
“Me? No.” Bee blinks innocently. “Of course, not. What would I know?”
“Yes you.” Glancing over my shoulder, I see that Clay’s been buttonholed by Rosa. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were arguing. “You and Rosa. You’re both being so weird right now.”
Bee shrugs. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“For starters, you can tell me why you look like someone with a secret. Like you know something that no one else— Omigod!” I dig in my heels and pull her to a stop. “Is that it? Did you hear back from the committee? Did you get the award?”
Biting her lip, Bee glances around, making sure no one can hear, before whispering, “Nothing’s been announced yet, and I don’t know the exact results but…”
“Yes, and…?” I urge impatiently.
“Well, don’t quote me, but I heard we made the short list, so at the very least we’re one of the finalists...”
I squeal and give her a hug. “Oh, you so got it. I know you did; your wines are amazing.”
That’s no lie. The single biggest reason why Caparelli’s re-opening has been such an incredible success is our wines; they’re already winning awards. “Nonna would be so proud of you!”
“She’d be proud of you, too,” Bee replies, eyeing me strangely. Or maybe not so strangely; my nose is suddenly sniffly and I think I might cry. But I know she’s right. Because the second biggest reason for our success is the fabulous branding I’ve done, the sensational buzz I’ve created (today’s overblown article aside) that’s all been me. And it’s all about to be at least partially undone now, thanks to this stupid decision to rename the winery.
Don’t fix what isn’t broken, right? I mean, seriously; who does that? What the hell are they even thinking?
I remember the day I’d first found out about the name change. How I’d walked into Rosa’s office annoyed because the order I’d place for new Caparelli-branded glasses had been cancelled without my knowing.
Those original glasses (the ones I’d unearthed the first day I was back) are kind of sacred, you know? I get teary eyed thinking about how Nonna actually handled those glasses, drank from them, probably washed them—right there in the same, small sink behind the bar that I use.
I didn’t want to wait until they’d all been broken to buy more. Or to settle for generic glasses, even if that makes better sense from an economic standpoint. I wanted to take a few out of circulation, to put them away for safekeeping. But that’s hard to do when there are already days when we’re so busy we run out multiple times, and people have to wait for another load to be washed…
“Why can’t I order new glasses?” I ask as I burst through the office door, only to find both of my sisters intently studying something on Rosa’s computer, something they clearly don’t want me to see—judging by their startled expressions and the way Rosa immediately closes the screen.
I frown suspiciously. “What are you looking at?”
“Crop reports,” Rosa answers immediately.
“Oh, it’s just the latest numbers from the—” Bee says at the same time. She shoots Rosa a disbelieving look and finishes lamely, “Crop reports.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” I drop into a chair near the desk and say, “Now, about the glasses, we’re running low.”
“Just hold off on buying any new branded ones,” Rosa says soothingly. “Okay?”
“For how long?”
“Not long. Just until after the grand re-opening.”
“But that’s like… Six weeks ?”
“That’s not so long, is it?” Bee asks hopefully.
“We just have some additional expenses, at the moment,” Rosa says.
“So, this is about money?”
“Well, no. Not exactly.”
“So, do you need me to find some sponsors for the event? ’Cause I could do that.”
“No.” My sisters exchange a look. “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
“No? Well, then here’s a thought; maybe we shouldn’t be throwing a party for ourselves if we can’t even afford essentials like glassware. What’ll you want me to cut back on next? Coasters? Bar napkins?”
“Actually.” Rosa takes a deep breath before dropping the hammer, “I’d hold off on ordering any new branded supplies for the time being.”
“What?”
“She means anything with a logo,” Bee says helpfully. Well. I mean, I’m sure she thinks she’s being helpful.
“Lemme get this straight,” I say to Bee. “You’re saying it’s okay if I start serving your wine in Solo cups?”
She jerks back as though I’d slapped her. “Oh, that’s just rude.”
“Look, Legs,” Rosa says, speaking slowly, in that same, super-soothing voice that’s doing nothing to calm my nerves. “Don’t get upset, okay?”
“A little late for that,” I murmur. Then the seriousness in their expressions register and I feel the blood drain from my face. “Oh, God. What is it? What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” Rosa insists hurriedly. “It’s just that I know you don’t like change—and I get that. Because tradition is important to me, as well. But…”
Bee rolls her eyes. “ Ay, boludo . We’re changing the name of the winery, okay? It’s gonna be great. You’ll like it.”
My mouth drops open. I close it again. Then I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to process what’s happening.
“Legs,” Rosa says again, using her soft, Mama Bear voice.
“No.” I hold up one hand. “Not. Now. Just…give me a minute.” Christie got the winery; Max got the girl. Christie got the winery; Max got the girl . As a mantra, it kind of sucks, but at least it’s more effective than Kate’s ‘little stone cottage’ from French Kiss .
“I suppose you had to do that?” Rosa whispers vehemently.
“Yes,” Bee whispers back. “I did. Because once the two of you get to talking about tradition, you never stop. And swear to God, if I have to sit through even one more of those conversations, I’m moving back to Argentina. Inmediatamente !”
Which, FYI, is the emptiest threat in the whole entire world. And we all know it.
“Okay,” I say after a moment. “So…what’s the new name gonna be?”
They glance quickly at one another then, “It’s a secret,” Bee says.
“It’s a surprise,” Rosa says—at the exact same time.
“You’re not even gonna tell me what it is?” I demand, voice rising into screech territory at the end.
“Of course, we will,” Rosa promises. “At the grand re-opening.”
“It’ll be so good,” Bee assures me.
“Trust us,” they both say.
Which, if you ask me, is expecting a fucking lot from someone with my history.
There’s a small crowd milling about in front of the winery—not the general public, but nearly everyone we know. The Lambros are here—although neither Uncle Geno nor Aunt Janet were able to make it. I see Jimmy Davenport; and my sisters’ friends, Sasha, Millie and Ana. Even Jake’s buddy, Wade, and a few of our old teachers, like Mrs. Gerstenmayer have come out to cheer us on. And nearly everyone has a glass of wine. Servers circulate through the crowd, filling and refilling as necessary.
Bee leads me to the small, elevated platform (it’s a stage, okay?) where a podium has been set up. I see that the new sign has also been erected and affixed in place, just in front of the house—and not too close to the road because, if you can believe it, Napa has restrictions about that, as well. My gaze goes there immediately, but it’s swathed in drapes, awaiting its unveiling—with a couple of interns standing guard to make sure that doesn’t happen prematurely.
“How about a hint?” I ask Bee, as we both accept glasses.
“No hints,” Rosa says sternly as she joins us. She has wine now, too, I see.
I scan the crowd again until my gaze finds Clay, standing with Jansen, Miles, Logan and Jake—they all have glasses, too. “Just how much wine are we handing out today, anyway?” I ask. “It seems like a lot.”
“Oh, we’re not,” Bee says. “This is all from Jansen’s cellar.”
I feel myself frown. “But that’s not made here. Isn’t that gonna be a problem?”
Bee shakes her head. “I talked to Clay. He said that only applies if we’re selling or marketing it. Besides, I’m the one who made it, right? I figure that has to count for something.”
“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. The county doesn’t give a flying fruitcake about what any of us think.”
Rosa nudges me with her elbow. “I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who suggested rolling barrels from one winery to another as a way to circumvent the fermentation rule?”
“Ugh. No.” Bee’s expression turns pained. “Don’t do that. That’d be awful. Anyway, we needed wine for the toast. But you’re right, we don’t really have enough yet of our own. And Jansen wanted to contribute something, anyway, so…”
“I still don’t understand why we have to have a toast,” I grouse.
“Because we’re celebrating!” my sisters insist. “It’s a party.”
They look excited. Must be nice to be them, I think. “One hint,” I urge again.
“No!” They say (in unison this time) and then they laugh.
“But, why?” I whine in frustration and, let’s face it, fear. All the attention this event has drawn, all the anticipation that’s been building—it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. What happens if they’ve chosen a name that nobody likes? Or one that’s already in use elsewhere—have they even thought about that? Or what if they’ve picked the wrong font for the sign-slash-logo? What if, after spending a fortune on rebranding, we end up on one of those viral #FontFail lists? Like the ones where the ‘cl’ in click looks like a ‘d’ or the ‘li’ in flick looks like a ‘u’? It could happen.
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t even let me put together a focus group,” I complain. I understand that it’s not my winery, not my decision. But at least I could have helped.
“Well, we did have a kind of focus group,” Bee says.
“You did?”
“No, not really,” Rosa says. “It was totally informal. We just did a little brainstorming with the cousins. And Jake, of course.”
“And Jansen,” Bee adds.
“Are you saying…” I pause to catch my breath. And maybe to keep from screaming. “That I’m the last to know— again ?” I glare at Rosa. “Like when I came home and found out that you and Jake were married ?”
“Oh! Please. Like you can talk,” she retorts, as her cheeks flush red.
Bee laughs. “Face it, ladies, you both suck. And when Jansen and I get married, I’m not telling either one of you.”
Rosa and I share a look. “Bee? Did you say…when?”
“She did,” I say, nodding excitedly. “She definitely did.”
“If!” Bee corrects quickly. “I meant if!” But, judging by the flush on her cheeks, I’d bet anything that what she really meant was when . And that by when , what she really means is soon .
We’re startled, just then, by a blast of feedback from the sound system. “Sorry!” Jake says, looking sheepish. “Sorry, everyone. But if I could just have your attention?”
I gasp for breath. Oh, shit. It’s time. And I’m about to start hyperventilating. There’s a burst of applause as Rosa approaches the podium. Bee and I clasp hands as our sister starts to address the crowd. But my head is too filled with noise and memories, and I find it hard to focus on anything that’s being said. I think back over the past year. The rumors, the scandals, the legal battles. Relationships made and lost. Laughter, tears, and really good wine. Nonna would have loved it. And hated it.
“So, thank you all, so much, for being here,” Rosa says—clearly coming to the end of her speech. “And for celebrating with my sisters and me…” She turns and waves for us to join her.
“C’mon,” Bee whispers, pulling me along as she goes to stand beside Rosa. “That’s us.”
“No,” I whisper back. “I shouldn’t.”
“Yes, you should,” she hisses, pushing me in front of her, so that I’m sandwiched between them, no way to escape.
“As we embark on this next step in our journey,” Rosa continues, her eyes dancing. “This exciting new adventure, the latest iteration of the Caparelli, Bianchi, Lamberti, Martinelli wine making tradition.”
Rosa nods at Jake who signals to the interns standing ready on either side of the sign.
“And now, if you’ll all please raise your glasses, I give you…Le Tre Sorelle Winery!”
A roar goes up from the crowd as people cheer and clink glasses. Somewhere in the distance I hear someone, I think it’s Leo saying, “Ha! What did I say? I knew that’s the one they’d go with!”
Bee and Rosa are right beside me, squeeing in excitement as they squeeze my shoulders. “Well? Isn’t it great?” they demand gleefully. “What do you think?”
But I can’t think. My mind’s a blank. Le tre sorelle. The three sisters. Nonna’s name for us all. The words on the sign keep blurring as tears flood my eyes and I blink them away. I have no idea where my wine glass went, but both my hands are clasped over my mouth in an effort to keep from bawling.
Now Jake and Jansen have joined us on the stage. Everyone’s smiling and laughing. Kissing. Toasting. I’m so proud of my sisters, of everything they’ve accomplished. And I’m so happy for them. But I still can’t process any of it.
“You all right, babe?” Clay asks. Turning, I find him eyeing me ruefully. I gaze back at him helplessly, unable to answer.
“Yeah,” he says, stepping forward and pulling me into his arms. “That’s what I thought.” And that’s when I start crying for real—gulping for a breath I can’t seem to catch. “Listen to me, mia,” Clay’s voice vibrates in my ear. “You’re okay, understand? There’s nothing to cry about. It’s all gonna work out. Trust me.”
And I nod urgently because I know he’s right. Except that he’s not. Le Tre Sorelle. It’s the perfect name for our winery. My winery. But it’s not that anymore, is it?
The microphone growls as it comes back to life. “It’s okay, folks,” Jake assures the crowd. “Nothing to worry about. Those are happy tears.” Which only makes me cry harder.
I burrow my face deeper against Clay’s chest. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “You’re getting me sooo wet right now.”
I gulp back a laugh and jab a finger between his ribs because that’s so not funny. I mean, it is…just not right now.
“Legs?” Rosa’s voice is tentative. She lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. “What is it? Don’t you like the name?”
“I do,” I mumble. “It’s perfect.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“N-n-nothing. It’s like Jake said, these are ha-happy tears. I’m just…s-so happy…f-for b-both of you.”
“Both? But…no! Legs!”
“Shit!” Bee exclaims, sounds horrified. “I knew we should have done things the other way around. Legs, honey, of course we wouldn’t— I mean, we’d never?—”
“Perhaps I can be of service?” another voice interjects. Jimmy? Oh, fuck. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate looking vulnerable? Well, I do. “Allegra? Could I have your attention for a moment?”
“Oh, hey, Jimmy,” I mumble, trying for a normal tone—that’s a big L, by the way. Normal has officially left the building. “What’s up?”
“I have some paperwork here that needs your signature.”
I bite back a curse. What kind of paper—? And then it hits me. I’m being served? Now ? What fresh hell is this?
I turn in the circle of Clay’s arms. Then immediately clamp my hands on his wrists to ensure that he won’t let go. “What’s this about?”
Jimmy’s smile is gentle and understanding. “It’s very simple, actually. Your sisters asked me to draw up a partnership agreement, making you all equal partners in the Le Tre Sorelle Winery,” he explains, as my mind goes blank again.
“W-w-what?”
“I mean, Le Tre Sorelle ,” Rosa says, and now she’s fighting back tears too, turning to Jake for comfort. “ Tre! The clue’s right there in the name! I can’t believe you thought we’d…what? Just… not include you? Really?”
“Exactly.” Bee nods in agreement. “We’d never! I mean, if we were gonna do that, we could have picked any name.”
“I understand Bottle Jock is still available,” Jansen says, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her head, earning himself an elbow to the gut.
“See? I told you it would be okay,” Clay says. “You never listen.”
And I nod, and swipe at my tears, because he had. And… “Wait a minute.” I twist around to face him. “How long have you known about this?”
Clay’s mouth compresses into a tight line. “You’re not gonna be weird about this are you?” he asks. “Please don’t be weird about this.”
“How. Long?”
He glances at Rosa and asks, “What’s it been, four or five weeks?”
“Yeah.” She nods, dabbing at her tears. “I think. Something like that.”
“Well, of course , we had to read him in on this,” Bianca explains. “We wanted to surprise you.”
I’m still glaring at Clay. He’s still meeting my gaze, steady and unashamed; the fucking nerve of the man. “So, you’ve just been lying to me for weeks? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yep. I sure have. And you know what that means, right?”
“That you’re a liar ?”
“Well, okay. That too,” he concedes. “But also, it means I can never again hold it against you that you lied to me first.”
“Oh.” I think about that for a beat. “I guess that’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
Then I start to laugh. “Omigod. We are so fucked, aren’t we?”
“And this is a surprise?” Clay asks. “No. Look at how we met.”
I think about that. Larceny. Underage drinking. Really hot sex. And a mad dash to freedom, through a midnight vineyard. “I guess you’re right. But it works for us.”
“It appears to.”
“So, what happens next?”
“Well, next you sign the paperwork that your sisters went to all this trouble for. And I spend the rest of my life trying to deal with the fact that you’re once again a filthy rich winery owner.”
Everyone around us snorts in disbelief. “Well, at least we can guarantee the filthy part,” Jake remarks.
“For real,” Bee sighs, looking sadly at her nails.
“But wait a minute,” I turn to Jimmy and say, “I can’t do this can I? What if…”
“I think you’ll find that you can,” he says. “We’ve received all the necessary documents from the EU and now have everything we need to prove that your attempted marriage to Nico Carvalho was never legally valid. Which means that Mr. Carvalho has no legal standing whatsoever.”
“That’s why we couldn’t tell you before,” Rosa says. “We had to be sure. We were waiting until we were absolutely certain that the winery couldn’t be taken away from you again.”
“We didn’t want to raise your hopes, only to disappoint you,” Bee adds.
“And like I told you,” Clay points out. “He’s never gonna be allowed back in the States, anyway. So, all in all, I think you can safely write him out of the picture. For good, this time.”
I spare a thought for Nico. I never thought that he was going to turn out to be the villain of the story. We were friends once, after all. And he probably didn’t deserve everything he got. But I can’t be too sorry for him, either. Because this is what happens when you try to come between me and my sisters.
“So, you’re sure?” I ask Jimmy.
“I am.”
“All right.” I hold out my hand. “Then lemme at ’em.”
“Perhaps we might use that podium,” he suggests.
We straggle across the stage, the whole group of us, and Jimmy begins laying out papers on the polished faux walnut. He eyes the microphone dubiously and asks, “That’s not on, is it?”
Jake taps it to check, then gives a thumbs up. “It’s off. You’re all clear.”
Then I’m staring at the papers that will make me part of le tre sorelles once again. My sisters’ signatures are already in place, their names printed neatly under each line. And there at the bottom, an empty line awaits my signature. My name is there, too. All of it. In tiny little letters.
“The whole thing, huh?” I ask as I uncap the pen. “Damn, my hand’s already starting to cramp.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Rosa scolds teasingly.
Clay leans over my shoulder. “What whole thing?” His eyes widen. I swear to God his face pales. “Holy shit.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, side-eyeing him. “Tell me again how much you hate your one syllable, four letter name?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “No complaints.”
“That’s what I thought.” Then I put pen to paper and write my name and tie myself to this vineyard, this legacy, this sisterhood. One letter at a time. Allegra Francesca Catarina Viviana Martinelli.
I’ve heard it said that grandmothers are angels in disguise. And I don’t know if that’s true, but if there is a heaven I know my Nonna is smiling down at us all right now and whispering, “ Complimenti, le mie bellissime tre sorelle; brava, brava, brava. Tua nonna vi ama così tanto. ”