Chapter 23
FRANKIE
“Did I tell you about the time my daughter brought home a pet duck and thought she could keep it hidden from me in the shed? For weeks I’d let the poor thing out when she went to school, and he would follow me around the garden all day.
She only realized I knew her little secret when she got off the bus one day and couldn’t find him.
She had a complete meltdown. We spent hours searching, until I was sure he had to’ve been scooped up by a hawk we had on the property, but then just before it got dark, we finally found him—he was napping under the azaleas! ”
Raucous laughter sounds from the lively table of grandma-age Southern women I’m hosting in the tasting room.
They’ve been telling stories about when their children were little for over an hour, interspersing each bout of laughter with more wine.
I’m enjoying their company far more than I should be, considering I’m on the clock.
I rise from my seat and start to excuse myself, but they insist that I stay and listen to just one more story.
Since they’re technically the only group I’m scheduled to host today, I’m happy to oblige.
The tasting room is full in general, giving the staff more than enough to do.
It’s nice to hear so much laughter and conversation going on inside this building.
Not to mention the obvious bonus of the profits we’re making while everyone has a good time.
The oldest of the women, Arlene, leans forward to chime in with her deep, melodic Georgia accent. “Let me tell you about the time Harper and Alden tried to build a boat out of old milk jugs and some scrap lumber they found stacked up behind the barn.”
“Oh no,” one of the others says. “I bet I know where this is going.”
“They worked on that thing for days, running in and out of the house asking for nails and rope and what have you. Problem was, none of the jugs had caps,” Arlene says, shaking her head.
“I didn’t have the heart to tell ‘em it wasn’t gonna work, but they figured it out soon as they launched into the pond and tried to scramble on.
“Them jugs filled right up with water and they sank clear to the bottom. Maiden voyage didn’t last much more than a few seconds, if that. Alden came home crying and missing a shoe, and I had to pretend I hadn’t been watching ‘em through the window the whole time!”
I laugh along with them and swap out their wine glasses for a new vintage.
Their stories give me a warm, homey feeling, even though my home life was a far cry from what they’re describing.
I wonder what it would’ve been like to have a mom who’d been more like these women.
Resilient, loving, good-humored. Just…there.
So far, I’ve heard about the baby blankets they knit for the neonatal ICU at the hospital, and how to make the best pie crust (you need to freeze the butter an hour beforehand, though a heated debate breaks out regarding whether shortening is superior).
It’s not all domestic talk, though—Arlene is a retired flight mechanic, and Elizabeth spent years traveling abroad as an antiques buyer.
I also learn about their town’s biggest scandal this past year, which apparently involved their favorite hairdresser’s illicit relationship with a dancer from the gentlemen’s club.
It has a happy ending, though—no pun intended—because after he put a ring on her finger, he paid for her to go to cosmetology school for her aesthetician’s license. Now they co-own a salon together.
It’s almost like I’ve stepped inside the world of a Hallmark movie. Everything about these women is wholesome, friendly, and family oriented. Well. Except for how shit-faced they’re getting.
“Oooh, Mabel. Better fix your hat. That sweet thing at the bar is looking your way!”
The women giggle, one of them lowering her voice to say, “Now that is one tight ass.”
Arlene leans toward Mabel. “Maybe you should go say hello, May. It’s not every day you get a handsome man checking you out from across the room!”
Mabel shrugs. “He’s probably just as drunk as the rest of us. I’ll bet he doesn’t know what he’s looking at!”
I laugh along with them, enjoying their antics, but when Elizabeth says he’s getting up off the barstool, I sneak a peek his way. My heart skips a beat. It’s Rico. He’s leaning oh so casually against the bar, staring directly at me. Shit.
Why the hell did he just show up here? He never responded to a single message I left.
Mabel nudges me with her elbow, mistaking my shock for the good kind. “You should go over there. Introduce yourself. I see the ring on your finger, but you aren’t married yet.”
Oh, the irony. I’m being encouraged to hit on my legal husband, who I’m hoping to divorce, while wearing an engagement ring from my former, not-quite-legal husband, who I’m hoping to actually marry. Recovering, I clear my throat and compose myself.
“You know what, Mabel? I might just do that.”
I crook a finger at Greg, the manager, in the universal “come here” gesture.
One of the ladies pats my arm. “Go get ‘em, tiger. We’ll be waiting for you.”
“Oh, trust me, you’ll like Greg better,” I say. “He’s got a very, very tight backside.”
He comes over and I turn the ladies over into his care. They immediately begin to gush over his handsome dimples and ask him to turn around so they can get a better look at the goods.
I pass one of the servers on my way to the bar. “Go get Dante. Now.”
She nods and quickly rushes off, while I take my time walking to Rico. I don’t want him to see how much he’s unnerved me by being here. I’m also stalling for time, praying that Dante is still in his office right now.
Rico watches me approach with a smug expression. He makes an appreciative clicking sound with his tongue. “Well, well. Look at my sweet Francesca, all professional and fancy.”
I don’t take the bait. I gesture with my arm to the door, hoping I can herd him out of the tasting room. “Let’s talk outside.”
He smiles. “Afraid I’m going to make a scene?”
“We need to speak privately,” I state flatly. “And it’s too loud. We’ll barely be able to hear each other talk.”
“The only sound I need to hear is your pen writing several zeros on the check you’re going to make out to me.” Rico firmly plants himself against the bar, looking smug as shit.
My temples begin to throb. “Please don’t make this difficult. I’m not going to discuss business with you in here.”
Rico opens his mouth but then straightens suddenly, his face falling. I smell Dante’s cologne before I see him, and then I feel the warm reassurance of his hand on my lower back, instantly steadying my shot nerves.
“Is there a problem here?” Dante asks, all menace.
Rico’s eyes bounce from the ring on my hand to Dante’s face and then back to me.
“You two are looking cozy. So, I am happy to get out of your hair. Just pay me for my half of the Abbott vineyard. Simple.” With that, he spreads his hands, the shit-eating grin back on his face.
“And do not think you are going to stiff me. I expect above market value.”
“What?” I blurt, furious at his impudence.
He takes a slim manila envelope out of his blazer pocket and slaps it into my hand. “I had divorce papers drawn up. I will sign them as soon as I get my check.”
Dante gently takes the envelope from me. But Rico’s not done. He pulls out another piece of paper and opens the trifold. It’s a bill of sale for the Abbott property.
My face flames hot. The muscles in the side of my neck tense and I feel an avalanche of rage crashing down inside me. I’m about to tell him to shove the papers up his profiteering, extortionary ass when Dante reaches for the bill of sale, too.
“I’ll have my lawyers look over the documents and get back to you soon.”
Rico smirks. “You have forty-eight hours.”
Dante coolly tucks the paperwork into the inner pocket of his jacket. “You gain nothing by pressuring me. I’ll make a determination when I’m ready.”
Rico doesn’t respond, just stares hard at us.
“By the way,” Dante adds, leaning close enough to dominate Rico’s personal space, “the next time Frankie calls, you’ll pick up. Because the next time you set foot on my property, you will be escorted out by my very close and personal associates. And they will not be gentle.”
Trying to look nonchalant about Dante’s threat, Rico gives us a carefree salute and saunters toward the exit.
On the way, he tosses a wink at my table of old ladies, making them all laugh like they’re forty years younger.
Once he’s out the door, they go back to their wine, tittering at being caught ogling Rico.
Meanwhile, all I feel is bile burning in the back of my throat.
Dante puts a hand on my arm. “I’m going to send a few guys to keep an eye on him as long as he’s in town. Don’t let him get to you.”
“Easy for you to say.”
I don’t know why I’m so angry right now.
Rico is just being Rico. But I’m fucking fuming.
This isn’t just about me or the money or the Abbott property itself.
It’s about this asshole making threats that affect the happiness and well-being of my whole family, compromising our legacy and our future without a second thought about anybody but himself.
Dante places a light kiss on my forehead, but I duck away before he can linger.
“Please tell Greg to take care of the rest of the tasting. I need some air.” I step back.
“Frankie.”
“I’ll be here on time for the next one,” I tell him.
With that, I make a beeline for the back door. Dante’s voice is filled with concern as he calls out to me, but I don’t stop or look over my shoulder. If I don’t get away from my thoughts for a little while, I’ll explode.
I don’t know who I’m angrier at right now—Rico, or myself.