4. Chiara #2
“Watch your back.” She lowers her voice as someone passes the sitting-room door. “Don’t trust her concern for you or for the launch. And don’t expect Lorenzo to protect you from her without evidence he can’t explain away. He’s known her his whole life. He wants to believe the best of her.”
I absorb this in silence, turning it over in my mind. Ortensia isn’t offering friendship, exactly. She’s offering information, perspective, the kind of calculated alliance that powerful women make when their interests align. It’s not warm, but it’s honest.
“What was Cesare like?” I have been wondering since the boat ride, since Lorenzo began telling me what his father taught him and stopped before I could ask more. “Lorenzo never talks about him, not really. Just the wine, the legacy, the expectations.”
Ortensia is quiet for a long moment, her gaze distant.
“He was difficult,” she says finally. “Brilliant, driven, obsessed with this estate and what it could become. He loved Lorenzo in his own way, but he wasn’t…
present. Not the way a father should be.
He believed that love was something you demonstrated through work, through building things that would last. He never learned to simply be with the people he cared about. ”
“Lorenzo is very like him.” I hear my husband on the boat again, trying to finish a sentence about his father. How much of this does he already understand?
“Yes.” Ortensia’s voice carries something that might be regret. “More than I would have wished. I tried to teach him differently, but Cesare’s lessons were persistent. And after he died, Lorenzo felt responsible for carrying on everything his father built. The weight of it changed him.”
She looks at me directly then, and I see something in her eyes I haven’t seen before. Recognition of a shared struggle.
“I should have been a better mother-in-law to you.” She picks up her cup again, the moment of vulnerability not quite passing. “Should have helped you find your footing here instead of retreating into my own grief. Whatever happens with the launch, I want you to know I regret that.”
“Thank you.” I have spent so long preparing to defend myself to this woman that I don’t know what to do with her apology. I leave my empty cup beside hers instead of retreating behind politeness. “For telling me. About Livia, about Cesare. About all of it.”
“Watch your back.” Ortensia catches my hand as I rise, briefly holding me there. “Livia is patient. She’s been waiting for Lorenzo since she was a girl. She won’t give up just because he married someone else.”
I nod and leave, my mind churning with everything she’s told me. Livia’s long obsession. Cesare’s difficult legacy. The mother-in-law who retreated into grief and is finally trying to reach me.
The staff run-through is in a few hours.
Whatever Livia is planning, I’ll have to face it head-on.
***
The run-through begins at three, in the courtyard where the arrival display will be set up.
I’ve arranged the herb table exactly as it will appear on the night, complete with the covered jars and a demonstration setup for showing the staff how the lids will be lifted and replaced.
Rosalia stands beside me with her own notebook, ready to record any timing adjustments. The serving staff form a loose semicircle, their expressions ranging from curious to carefully blank.
Livia stands at the edge of the group, her arms folded, her face pleasant. She hasn’t said a word since arriving, but I can feel her attention like a weight on my skin.
“Let’s walk through the arrival sequence.” I gesture toward the courtyard entrance. “Guests come in through the main gate and have the option to explore the herb display here. Then we guide them to the alcove beside the cellar entrance for the first pour, before the main tasting inside.”
“How long are we keeping them out here?” One of the younger servers has tucked her hands into her sleeves while she listens. “It will be colder once the sun goes down.”
“The display is brief and optional. A few minutes for guests who are interested, while others can wait inside until the first pour.” I indicate the path between the courtyard and the main entrance.
“We’ll keep this route clear so people can move freely.
The point is to give them something to discover, not to trap them in the cold. ”
“Walk us through the herbs.” Rosalia has divided her page into arrival, clearing, and service. She taps the first heading, bringing us back to the job we came to do.
I move to the table and lift the lid from the rosemary jar, holding it so the group can see.
“Guests who want to participate can lift the lids and smell the contents. Each jar is labeled with the herb name and where it grows on the estate. The idea is to connect the scents with the land before they taste what the land produces.”
“And then what?” The senior cellar worker, who has been examining the labels, shifts his weight. “They sniff some plants and go inside?”
“They learn what grows here, if they’re interested.” I replace the lid before pointing out the sage. “When they taste the wine later, they’ll have context. Memory. We’re giving them something specific to remember about Marchetti land. No one has to stop here if they would rather wait for the wine.”
“Seems like a lot of fuss.” He glances toward Livia. “The wine’s good enough to speak for itself.”
“The wine is exceptional.” I meet his eyes steadily. “That’s exactly why it deserves a presentation that honors it. We’re not distracting from Cesare’s work. We’re creating a frame that helps people appreciate it.”
“Let’s run the timing.” Rosalia moves us forward before the debate can continue. “Guests arrive at six. How long before we clear the herb table?”
“Twenty minutes maximum.” I check my notes. “By six-twenty, this table is cleared and stored. Guests move toward the alcove. The first pour begins at six-thirty, in the alcove beside the cellar entrance. Nothing changes about the wine service itself.”
“I’ll need the doorway clear by six-twenty-five.” Livia points to the route her team will use, and the servers nearest the door move aside. “The cellar staff will be bringing up the bottles. If guests are still milling around out here, we’ll have a traffic problem.”
“Then we’ll have servers guiding people toward the alcove starting at six-ten.” I mark the doorway on my plan. This is the kind of question the rehearsal is meant to resolve. “Rosalia, can you assign two people specifically to that transition?”
“Already noted.” Rosalia writes something in her book. “Maria and Tomas, probably. They’re good at herding without being pushy.”
We continue through the sequence, step by step.
The positioning of the servers during the herb display.
The timing of the transition to the alcove.
The placement of the first-pour station in the alcove, far enough from the cellar door to leave Livia’s team room to work but close enough to maintain the traditional connection between cellar and guests.
“The first pour proceeds exactly as always.” I indicate the alcove on my diagram.
“Wine comes directly from the aging room to the pouring station. Guests receive their glasses, the sommelier makes his remarks, and we’re into the main tasting.
Everything from that point forward follows the standard format. ”
“It’s the part before that concerns me.” Livia moves past my diagram to address the people behind me. “These are traditional buyers, traditional journalists. You haven’t grown up with their expectations, signora. They’re coming to taste Cesare’s final vintage, not to… sniff herbs in a courtyard.”
Did she really just reduce my entire concept to sniffing herbs? I keep my expression neutral with effort. “They’re coming to experience something memorable. The herbs are one element of that experience. Optional, brief, and completely separate from the wine.”
“But if something goes wrong…” She lets the sentence hang, her eyes moving across the assembled staff. “If the timing doesn’t work, or guests are confused, or the transition is awkward… the responsibility falls on you, doesn’t it? As the person who designed this approach?”
The framing is perfect. Not an attack, just a concerned clarification. Making sure everyone knows whose fault it will be if anything goes poorly.
“I’m responsible for the event and the service.
” I open the ledger at the responsibilities Lorenzo already confirmed, so the staff can see the division.
“Wine preparation remains with the cellar team, under you. If there’s a problem where our work meets, we solve it together. Is there something unclear about that?”
“Not at all.” Livia leaves the open ledger untouched. She has asked me to explain my responsibility in front of everyone without offering a word about her own. “I just want to make sure everyone understands the situation. Given how… unconventional this approach is.”
“Perhaps…” The senior cellar worker takes a step away from the table, as though the arrangement itself has become an obstacle. “Perhaps it might be wise to scale things back. Keep the herbs simpler, less prominent. Less that could go wrong.”
“The plan stays as designed.” My voice comes out harder than I intended, but I don’t soften it.
“The timeline has been reviewed, the positioning has been tested, and Don Lorenzo has approved every element. If there are specific concerns about execution, I’m happy to address them.
Suggestions to ‘scale back’ without identifying actual problems aren’t helpful. ”
Silence. The staff exchange glances, and I can feel the tension in the air.
“Let’s continue.” Rosalia’s voice cuts through the discomfort. “The first-pour positioning. Maria, you’ll be here, directing guests toward the sommelier. Tomas, you’re managing the flow from the entrance…”
The run-through continues, more mechanical now. People nod and take notes and move to their assigned positions when asked, but the energy has shifted.