Chapter Eleven Bianca
Chapter Eleven
Bianca
After both girls had gone upstairs, Bianca and Remi enjoyed a bottle of Chianti on the veranda, the night’s chill softened by the wine and a throw blanket draped over their laps.
Crickets hummed from the trees beyond the vineyard.
Somewhere down the hill, soft music played lightly; it seemed to be coming from Leo’s veranda.
Bianca had to admit she found him handsome but knew he hadn’t quite moved past his wife’s death.
And she wasn’t looking for a man with that kind of baggage—not that she was all that interested anyway.
Besides, he didn’t seem particularly interested in her, either.
Remi poured the last of the bottle between their glasses, swirling hers before taking a slow sip. “It feels good to just relax and do nothing,” she said.
Bianca nodded. “Feels like we’re always putting out fires lately.”
“Or hiding the smoke,” Remi said.
They both laughed.
The light flickered above them—the room where the girls were. Bianca shifted in her seat. “Is everything okay with Zoe?” she asked quietly.
Remi’s glass paused halfway to her lips. “She’ll survive.”
Remi had shared a bit about Zoe’s situation with Bianca.
“She’s been through a lot.” Bianca glanced upward, a faint yellow light glowing.
Remi exhaled slowly. “More than I realized.”
A stillness settled between them for a moment.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know about the baby,” Remi said softly, as if the night itself might be listening too closely.
“All the signs were there. I knew something was going on … but I didn’t know what.
” She hesitated. “I stumbled on a message on her phone. Can you believe that? It was like … it was meant for me to see.”
Bianca didn’t answer right away. She just reached over and placed a hand on Remi’s arm.
“She’s young, Rem. Scared. Probably didn’t have the right words to share with you.
And she sure as hell didn’t want Gerard to find out.
She was his baby girl. And let’s be honest—Gerard thought the world of Bas.
She probably didn’t want to blow that up either.
You know how he was … he might’ve taken that boy’s head off. ”
Remi gave a faint, bitter laugh. “You’re right. Bas would’ve been in deep trouble.”
“You know your husband didn’t play when it came to his favorite girls.”
“He did not. He would go to war over us.” Remi blinked at the stars above. “But it still hurt that I didn’t know. That she had to endure it alone. At least I could’ve had her back.”
“Did you tell her about Gerard 2.0?”
“Not yet. That’s a conversation for another time. But I will tell her. I think it will free her, in some ways.”
“I think so too.”
Bianca looked at her glass, then up at the sky. “Funny how we thought that grown-up life would be … easier. Like once we hit our forties, everything would just line up.”
“We were crazy.” Remi smiled weakly.
The girls’ laughter drifted down from the upstairs room—brief, high-pitched, untouched by the weight below. And for a moment, the world felt normal. But the feeling passed in a flash.
They sat for a while in silence; the kind only old friends can share comfortably.
Then Remi turned toward her. “What about you? Any more messages?”
Bianca nodded slowly. “Just one earlier today, when we were by the pool—when you were quizzing me.”
“I knew something was up.”
“I didn’t want to alarm the girls. Then there was one later, from a blocked number. It said, I know where you are. How’s the weather in Cali?”
“Shit, Bianca! That’s it, you’re calling the police in the morning. For all we know, he could’ve followed us here. He could be lurking in the shadows right now.” Remi’s voice was low but firm.
Bianca stared off into the darkness, as if she were looking for someone to emerge from the rows of vegetation. She didn’t tell her about the one that really shook her—the one that read: That little vineyard won’t protect you. I know everything. And I bet your daughter would love to know too.
“I promise I will tomorrow,” Bianca said.
“How long has this been going on?” Remi asked.
Bianca hesitated. Ever since the text messages began, she’d been hyper aware of her surroundings—on edge, spooked. And just as she opened her mouth to answer, she gasped, as if her breath had tangled in her throat. “A month. Maybe a little more.”
“Bianca, that’s a long time without getting law enforcement involved.”
Bianca gave a soft, nervous laugh. “I know how it sounds. I just … he wasn’t always like that. At first, he was kind. Attentive. Thoughtful. You know how it goes.” Remi had enough in her heart, dealing with grief. Bianca wouldn’t put this on her too.
They sat in silence for a moment, the air thick around them.
“You need to report this. Tomorrow,” Remi said, her voice firmer. “I feel like if he knows where you are, we’re all involved now. You, me … the girls.”
“I promise.”
“We’ll call together. You’re not doing this alone. We’ll make a plan. I mean it.”
Bianca’s mind drifted to the guy who she first thought might be her stalker.
Luke had been something out of a dream when he waltzed into Chic Threads.
He wore all black that day—dark jeans, a slim button-down, and a thin silver ring on his pinky finger.
He was looking for something for his mother—a blouse, a piece of jewelry—anything.
Her birthday was approaching, and he needed something special right away.
“What would you suggest for a seventy-eight-year-old woman who has everything?” he asked her with a beautiful wide smile.
Bianca didn’t hesitate to answer. “A fine piece of jewelry.”
She showed him a necklace that she had picked up at one of the trade shows a few days before—a beautiful piece with rare stones. She rambled about how the piece was of a historical nature, a rare find. His mother would love it. He listened intently, like her opinion genuinely mattered.
“Can you wrap it nicely for me?” he asked. Then in a flirtatious manner, he said, “The way something beautiful is packaged makes all the difference. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I do agree, and certainly I can wrap it for you.”
That was the first hook.
They had coffee two days later. A week after that, dinner. It was easy—effortless. He was older, yes—but it gave him a kind of allure. He paid attention. Sent flowers. Walked her to her car when she closed the boutique in the evenings. He said all the right things. Until he didn’t.
He made a comment about her dress. “You don’t need to show off so much, not for anyone else.
” Then came the questions about where she went, who she saw, why she hadn’t answered his text.
On some nights he started to show up uninvited under the pretense that he just happened to be nearby.
At first, she told herself it was passion in him coming out.
She hadn’t had someone this interested in her since Harry.
But the warmth soured fast. One night, he showed up at the boutique after hours.
He was drunk—whiskey on his breath. He cornered her in her back office; told her she didn’t appreciate him.
That she liked to play innocent, but she wanted the attention, with the tight jeans and sexy dresses.
She was nothing but a tease and she owed him.
She’d left shaking that night, keys clutched in her hand like a weapon. She blocked his number immediately.
But the messages kept coming. Weird ones, from anonymous numbers. But nothing compared to the message she’d received earlier that made her stomach twist. She didn’t think it could be Luke anymore. No, this was someone different.
“I’m going to grab us another bottle,” Bianca told Remi while standing up.
“Bring the fresh fruit from the fridge.”
Bianca went into the house, opened the refrigerator door, and pulled out the bowl of cantaloupe, honeydew melon, and kiwi, and placed it on the countertop.
She made her way to the wine cellar and grabbed another bottle of Chianti.
When she returned to the kitchen, she heard giggles from the girls.
They were still awake. She started up the stairs to check on them but stopped in midstride.
“What is it with you and your mother? You always seem so tense around her,” she heard Zoe say.
“It’s her fault that my life is so fucked up.”
Bianca stiffened when she heard Mila’s words. She rested her back against the wall and continued to listen.
“How do you mean?”
“She’s the reason my dad left. She was sleeping around with someone. I know because I heard them arguing about it one night.”
“Do you know who the guy was?”
“No, but my dad was pissed. He moved out after that.”
Bianca’s heart started to beat rapidly. She stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, the slightly chilled bottle of wine slick in her hand, her mouth suddenly dry. The soft light from the hallway painted long shadows against the wall, and the sound of her own pulse belted loudly in her ears.
Mila’s voice floated down again, quieter this time. “She thinks I don’t know, but I do.”
“Have you ever asked her about it?”
“No,” Mila answered quickly. “What’s the point? She’d just lie like she always does. She just pretends everything is fine, like she didn’t wreck our family. Why won’t she just tell the truth?”
Bianca couldn’t move. Her spine pressed against the wall like it might hold her up. That night—the night—flashed through her mind: the shouting, Harry slamming the door. Bianca had thought she’d hidden it all from Mila. Apparently not.
The floor creaked beneath her, and suddenly the girls fell silent upstairs. Bianca straightened quickly and cleared her throat.
“Girls?” she called lightly, forcing calm into her voice. “Everything okay up there?”
Mila called back, her voice sharp with defensiveness, “Yeah, we’re fine.”
Bianca waited another second, then stepped back into the kitchen, placing the bottle on the counter next to the fruit. She braced her hands on the edge of the sink, staring out the window into the darkness of the night. Her stomach turned.
So, Mila knew why Harry left. She knew the truth, and Bianca was the villain.
She closed her eyes.
Behind her, the screen door creaked. Remi walked in with their empty glasses. “Everything okay?” she asked.
Bianca nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just … still spooked from that text message.”
“And rightly so,” Remi said, placing the glasses on the counter.
She couldn’t stop hearing Mila’s voice. The words echoed loudly in her head, sharp and unforgiving. Her eyes widened, as if she’d seen a ghost. She shivered from the chill bumps racing up and down her arm. How much did Mila know? Had she heard all of it or just bits and pieces?
She wrecked our family.
The sad part was, she truly had.