Page 130 of The Wrong Vintage
“But I don’t trust you.” Her words land without malice,simply fact. “You didn’t lie,” she continues. “You chose not to tell me. That’s worse—it says you decided what I could handle.”
“That wasn’t—” I begin, but her hand rises in gentle refusal.
“I’m not asking for a justification.”
I fall silent, hollowed by her composure.
“We’ll stay married,” she says, voice steady. “Publicly, practically—whatever you need, Papà needs.”
My chest tightens. “And privately?” I query, dread winding through me.
“Privately,” she replies, measured. “We’re free.”
“No,” I snap. “We’re not going back to that.”
“This isn’t your choice, Nico. This one is mine.” There is no harshness to her tone, no dramatic flourish, just the soft click of a door closing on shared illusions. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight. I’d go to Alba…but….”
I ruined that for her, too.
I confided in her sister and drew her into a scheme she didn’t want to be a part of.
“I only told her yesterday when she arrived,” I murmur. “I begged her to give me time.”
“I love my sister! We’ll work this out,” she speaks over her shoulder as she walks to the bedroom where we slept last night. Where we made love. “I’m just going to get my things, and then the room is all yours.”
“Alessia, please don’t do this.” If I thought it would help, I’d go on my knees. Hell, I’m happy to do it even if it doesn’t help.
She turns now and smiles at me. It’s filled with sadness. “See, when you didn’t stand up for me at Suvereto, I was hurt, but I didn’t say anything. I convinced myself it doesn’t matter. But it does, Nico.”
“He dragged you there to push me, Alessia. I was dragging my feet on the interviews and he?—”
“Used me to use you. Classic Duca Alighieri.” She lets out a broken laugh. “And you delivered what he wanted. You let him insult your wifeandstart the process of finding Matteo’s successor. And I really hope it won’t be Davide Fontana.”
“Never,” I vow.
That man may be Cesare’s favorite, but he is certainly high on his own supply and completely wrong for the corporate culture at the House of Alighieri.
“May I ask you something?”
I nod, wait.
“Do you think I spent too much money on those barrels?”
I shake my head. Of course, she didn’t. “I told you he was?—”
“Who do you think would be the best winemaker for the House of Alighieri after Matteo?” she demands, cutting me off.
I don’t even have to think about it. I’ve seen her this harvest and since before that—and I know that Alessia Alighieri is the rightful heir to Matteo Rinaldi.
“You.”
“And you won’t stand up for that.”
“Cara, you know your father, and I don’t have much influence on the board. So?—”
“So, you’ll just keep doing what the puppet master tells you to do?” She doesn’t raise her voice, but it’s a close thing.
Before I can even think of how to answer she adds, “What will happen if you do hire me as the head winemaker?”
