2. Chiara #2
The words are gracious. The slight emphasis on two weeks reminds everyone how little time I have to prove myself.
I smile back, refusing to take the bait. “I’m sure we will. I’ll have the full requirements list to you by tomorrow morning, so you can coordinate the cellar schedule.”
“I’ll look forward to reviewing it.” She picks up her cup again, a clear dismissal. “Let me know if you need help understanding any of the technical terms.”
Rosalia’s hand finds my knee under the table, a quick squeeze of solidarity. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need comfort. I need to establish that I’m competent enough to understand wine terminology, without starting a fight at the breakfast table.
“I managed to learn the difference between maceration and fermentation somewhere between my botany degree and my three years running a specialty food business.” Rosalia’s hand falls away from my knee as I reach for my notebook. I can answer this myself. “But I’ll certainly ask if I get confused.”
Someone down the table laughs, quickly smothered. Livia’s expression doesn’t change, but I see her fingers tighten on her cup.
Lorenzo is watching us with a slight frown, as if he’s not quite sure what just happened but suspects it wasn’t entirely friendly. “I’m sure you’ll both be professional,” he says, in the tone of a man who wants this conversation to end. “This launch is too important for anything else.”
“Of course.” I close my notebook and set it on top of the ledger, a neat stack of work I fully intend to complete. “The launch is my priority too.”
The meal continues.
Someone passes a dish of olives. The cook argues cheerfully with one of the cellar workers about whether the cheese has aged long enough.
Normal sounds, normal morning. I eat my bread and drink my coffee and make small talk with Rosalia about the weather and the upcoming market day, and if my chest feels tight and my smile feels forced, no one seems to notice.
When the meal winds down, I gather my notebook and ledger. The pouring table needs measuring, and I have an actual decision to make about it. I leave my plate beside Rosalia’s and rise with the others.
Rosalia catches my eye as I turn to go, and the worry in her face tells me she sees more than I wanted to show.
***
I am checking my notes in the corridor when Rosalia catches up with me. A line of kitchen staff passes us carrying dishes, and I move the ledger out of their way.
“Signora.” Rosalia waits until the last tray has passed before touching my arm. “Could I have a word before you start work?”
“Of course.” I close the ledger over my notes. She is looking back toward the hall instead of at me now, and the small delay makes me uneasy.
Rosalia glances back toward the hall, where the sounds of departure are growing louder. “Can we walk? There’s something I should tell you, and I’d rather not say it where others can hear.”
“Lead the way.” I move with her, keeping the books against my side so I do not have to keep adjusting them.
She takes me into a passage overlooking the main courtyard, away from the kitchen traffic. From here we can see anyone approaching. Rosalia settles beside a window, her hands still tucked into her apron pockets.
“I don’t like carrying tales.” She meets my eyes, and I can see how much this costs her. “But you’ve been kind to me, signora. Kinder than anyone else in this house. And I think you deserve to know what’s being said.”
“About me?” I lower the books onto the broad windowsill. Whatever she has heard, she is having trouble finding a kind way to say it.
“About the launch.” Rosalia’s voice drops even though we are alone. “About you leading it.”
I wait, my heart beating too fast.
“My cousin works at the butcher’s shop.” Rosalia glances toward the empty end of the passage. “She heard Livia there yesterday afternoon, telling one of the customers how worried she was about you taking over the launch.”
“Worried about what?” I think of the ledger in my hands yesterday morning and how quickly the news must have traveled after I left the cellar.
“She said you don’t understand the land.
” Rosalia takes her hands out of her pockets and lays them flat against her apron, as though she has decided to get through the words without softening them.
“That you haven’t worked here long enough to know what matters.
She called you the outsider wife and said you would ruin the launch. ”
The words land like stones. I knew Livia didn’t welcome my involvement. I knew she looked at me with that cool assessment that never quite became warmth. But hearing it spoken aloud, knowing it’s spreading through the village, makes something cold settle into my chest.
“What else?” I press my fingers against the notebook on the sill, concentrating on the question instead of the embarrassment. I need to hear what was said before I decide what to do with it.
“That’s most of it.” Rosalia folds the edge of her apron between her fingers, giving herself something to look at besides my face. “My cousin said the customer agreed. She wouldn’t tell me which customer. She was worried enough about repeating it at all.”
One conversation. One customer. That is all Rosalia can tell me, and I will not turn it into a whole village condemning me. But I know how quickly an opinion becomes something everyone claims to have known for years. Livia has lived here long enough to know it too.
“Thank you for telling me.” I reach out and squeeze Rosalia’s hand. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
“What will you do?” Rosalia shifts away from the window, leaving me room to pick up my books. “Please don’t put my cousin’s name into a quarrel. She has to work there.”
“Your cousin’s name stays out of it.” I pick up the ledger and notebook. “I’m going to speak to Lorenzo. He can ask Livia about her own words.”
***
Lorenzo is in his study when I find him, an hour after breakfast, bent over papers I cannot see from the doorway.
The winter light through the window catches the gray at his temples, the tension in his shoulders, the focused frown that means he is working on something that matters.
He looks tired. I wonder if he slept any better than I did, though I suspect his restlessness had nothing to do with Livia’s smile in the shadows.
I knock on the open door.
He looks up, and something flickers across his face.
Surprise, maybe. I was in the cellars asking him for work yesterday, and now I am here asking him to make it possible for me to do it. I had hoped the second conversation would not be necessary.
“Chiara.” He sets his pen across the papers and looks at the books under my arm. “Did you need something?”
“I need to talk to you about something Rosalia told me.” I step into the room and close the door behind me. The click of the latch feels louder than it should in the quiet space. “It’s about Livia.”
His expression shifts, becomes more guarded. I have seen this before, this careful blankness that descends whenever I bring up his childhood friend.
As if any observation I make about her is automatically suspect, motivated by jealousy rather than legitimate concern.
“What about her?” He stays behind the desk rather than coming to meet me. I take the chair opposite and set the ledger and notebook on my knees. We are married; I do not need an invitation to sit down.
“Rosalia’s cousin works at the butcher’s shop in the village.
” I keep my fingers on the edge of the notebook, resisting the urge to start with everything that annoyed me at breakfast. “Yesterday afternoon, Livia was there. According to Rosalia’s cousin, who heard it directly, Livia spent several minutes expressing concern about the launch.
Specifically, she said that I don’t know wine country and that I’ll ruin everything. ”
Lorenzo is quiet for a moment. I watch his face, trying to read what he’s thinking, but he has retreated behind that careful mask.
“Rosalia’s cousin heard this.” He has stopped looking at my notebook. Now I have his full attention, although I cannot tell whether it is for me or for the complaint. “Directly from Livia.”
“That’s what Rosalia told me, yes. I wasn’t there. I’m not claiming to have witnessed it myself.” I fold my hands in my lap, resisting the urge to fidget. “But Rosalia has no reason to invent this, and her cousin has no reason to lie about what she heard.”
“People mishear things.” He shifts the papers aside, clearing the space between us. I cannot decide whether that means he intends to listen or intends to explain. “Conversations get distorted in the retelling.”
“They do.” I leave my books closed. I have brought no evidence beyond what Rosalia told me, and I will not pretend otherwise. “That’s why I’m asking you to check with Livia directly, not assuming it’s true based on secondhand accounts.”
Something shifts in his expression. I have surprised him, I think. He expected me to come in here demanding punishment, not requesting investigation.
“You want me to ask Livia if she said this?” His hand settles beside the pen. It is such a small request; I wish he did not sound surprised by it.
“I want you to find out whether she’s actively undermining me to the village.” I lean forward slightly. “If she is, I need to know so I can address it. If she isn’t, if this is a misunderstanding or an exaggeration, then I’ll be relieved to hear it.”
Lorenzo picks up his pen, turns it between his fingers, sets it down again. A habit I’ve noticed when he’s thinking through something he’d rather avoid.
“Livia is protective of this vintage.” He glances toward the bottle on the shelf behind me, the one he keeps beside his father’s photograph.
“She grew up around my father’s work. She watched him spend years perfecting it.
If she’s expressing concerns about the launch, it’s because she cares about the outcome, not because she wants to hurt you. ”