Chapter Twenty-nine Remi
Chapter Twenty-nine
Remi
She’d taken Paloma’s advice and hired Pinnacle Strategies, a marketing team that was small but sharp.
One that understood her vision and would help shape the story behind the brand.
She’d also hired a software company to implement a full wine management system, one that would streamline everything from inventory tracking to tasting notes, shipments, and wine memberships.
Next on her list was hiring the right staff, people who believed in Joie.
She planned to start small, with the objective of building a tight-knit team.
A few of Paloma’s relatives, who had worked at the Ortiz winery before it closed, had already expressed interest. They were familiar with the land, and they respected the kind of place Remi was building. She would interview them first.
Joie’s business side was finally taking shape, and she couldn’t be prouder.
What began as a dream at the beginning of the summer was evolving—quickly—into something real, structured and promising.
The foundation was becoming solid. Licenses were in place.
Distribution discussions had moved beyond preliminary talks, and a few boutique shops in the Bay Area were already on board.
The branding, which was Mila’s hand-sketched design of a grapevine curling into the shape of a heart, had been adopted.
And what was more, it was gaining attention for its elegance.
Remi spent the morning with her newly hired marketing team, shaping the campaign that would introduce Joie to the world.
By noon they had begun laying the foundation for a strong social media presence and strategizing distribution.
Piece by piece the vision was taking form. Joie was becoming a brand.
Remi stood at the head of the wooden table in the winery’s converted office.
The office space still held the smell of fresh paint, still was unfinished.
She hadn’t gotten around to decorating, at least not yet.
Aside from the table, nothing else had arrived.
A few furniture pieces were on back order, and she was still browsing for artwork that captured the spirit of Napa and the soul of Joie.
But today wasn’t about all that.
Tablet in hand, she glanced up at the mounted screen behind her. The Joie logo illuminated there. The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows. When her phone rang, she silenced it. Seeing it was Zoe calling, she made a mental note to call her back when she got a free moment.
“So, the story is just as important as the wine,” Remi said, scanning the faces seated around the table. “We’re not just selling a product, we’re offering people a sense of place, of renewal. Of joy, really.”
The room was still for a moment before Camille, the lead strategist, a sharp woman, nodded. “That’s exactly the angle we want to lead with. Authenticity. Storytelling. Napa has a lot of wineries, but few are owned by women of color with real histories of perseverance and personal transformation.”
Remi nodded, grateful that someone else could see the heartbeat of Joie.
“Distribution,” Camille’s colleague Marcus chimed in. “We’re in touch with regional outlets and boutique shops in the Bay Area. They want small-batch, narrative-driven wines. Joie fits that.”
“What about events?” Remi asked.
“We suggest soft-opening weekend tastings. By invitation only,” Camille said. “Media, influencers, local sommeliers. And then slowly expand. Word of mouth will be key.”
Remi leaned back in her chair, processing it all. The winery she’d dreamed of in the quiet of grief and uncertainty was materializing before her eyes. And though the journey had been hard-won, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time—deeply rooted pride.
“Let’s move forward,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “I want the first bottles out by end of summer, early fall. And I want a big event, a wine tasting with all the influencers there, to introduce Joie to the world.”
Applause followed. It was happening and fast.
Paloma gave her a wink, followed by a light, warm smile.
Her phone buzzed again with a text message from Zoe: Mom, I need to talk to you right away!
Before Remi could reach the house, she spotted Zoe running toward her, meeting her halfway between the house and the winery. Tears were streaming down her face, her expression stricken with panic.
“Baby, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” Remi asked, grabbing her daughter and holding her.
Zoe shook her head, gasping for breath. “Mila’s gone and I don’t know where she is!” Her voice cracked. “She just found out that Aunt B slept with Dad … and … that he’s her father.” She looked up at Remi, eyes wide with confusion. “Mom … is that true?”
Remi sighed. Panic rushed through her. This was not how she’d planned to tell her daughter the truth. This chaotic clumsiness had not been part of her plan.
“Where’s Bianca?”
Zoe shrugged. “She’s in the house.”
Remi grabbed Zoe’s hand and walked with her to the house.
Bianca sat on the sofa, hands covering her head. She looked up with red, tired eyes as Remi entered.
“What happened?” Remi asked Bianca.
“Harry’s freaking girlfriend … fiancée … whatever the hell she is, took it upon herself to tell my daughter something so personal …”
“What? What gave her the right?” Fury raced through Remi’s veins.
“So, it’s true?” Zoe asked. “Mom?”
“Zoe, sit,” Remi demanded.
“Mom, is all of this true?”
“Zoe, please sit down.”
She needed to get herself together—gain control of her own emotions, take hold of the moment and all it brought with it.
Zoe sat in the chair adjacent to Bianca.
Remi softened her voice. “It is true. Yes.”
Bianca turned to Remi. “This is my fuckup. So let me explain.”
Remi nodded.
Bianca turned to Zoe. “Yes, Zoe, it is true. Many years ago … I messed up. I made a horrible mistake. I betrayed your mother and I’ve regretted it every day since. Yes, your dad is Mila’s biological father.”
“So, she’s my sister, then.”
Bianca shook her head. “We didn’t plan for either of you to find out this way.”
Zoe stood up and paced the floor. “This is just so weird. So messed up. I don’t even know what to say or think.”
“This is certainly not your burden to carry, Zoe. It’s mine. All mine,” Bianca said.
“We have to find Mila,” Remi said softly, interrupting. She looked at Zoe. “Where do you think she went?”
Zoe looked up at her mother, eyes wet with tears. “She called a Lyft.”
Bianca pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her pajamas and went to the kitchen. “Harry has a GPS tracker on her phone. I tried calling him earlier, but he didn’t answer. Let me try calling again,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve made such a big mess of all this.”
Remi sank onto the sofa, letting her body ease into the cushions. She held out an arm to Zoe and gently said, “Come here, sweetheart.”
Zoe sat beside her mother, eyes still damp, releasing the tension of her shoulders just a little bit. Remi wrapped her arms tightly around her, holding her close.
She wanted to bask in the joy of the meeting she’d just come from—the sense of accomplishment still lingering. But all of that faded now. Her need to protect her daughter took center stage.