Page 21 of Captive Bride: Armani
“True.” Running a finger along the edge of my desk, I contemplate what I want to say next. “Speaking of, I know it probably seems very sudden, me moving in. Armani took me completely off guard when he asked me. We never even went on a date, you know? And then out of nowhere he just went zero to sixty. It’s been a wild ride.”
She shrugs. “It wasn’t a huge surprise to me, knowing how the Bellanti men work. Besides, the two of you have been dancing around each other for as long as I’ve been here. I figured he’d get to the point where he had to do or die. Seriously, I’ve never seen so many sparks fly between two people pretending not to be attracted to each other. Figured you two would hook up sooner or later.”
“Fair enough.” I laugh, but something is still gnawing at my gut. “Hey, so the other thing is…it kind of seems like Marco and Dante aren’t all that thrilled about me moving in. Which, I get it. It’s fast. But do you know if I’ve done something else to get on their bad side?”
She purses her lips. “No. But I doubt you did anything. The Bellantis aren’t great with change—and there’s so much change going on right now. I wouldn’t worry. Just give it time.”
“You’re probably right,” I say, turning it over in my mind. “I mean, you and Dante have a ton on your plates with the pregnancy and the move into the new house, and trying to wrap things up at the winery so you can both take maternity leave. And Marco’s still a newlywed, so that’s probably got him completely out of his element.”
“For sure.” She checks her phone and pouts. “Shoot. I’m going to be late. I promised Charlie I’d meet her over at the Abbott House for a walk-through. Want to come with?”
Frankie’s sisters, Charlie and Livvie, along with their mother Mrs. Abbott, have been slowly but surely turning the Abbott homestead (which is on the property next door to the Bellanti winery, and which the Bellantis now own), into a bed-and-breakfast. Considering the popularity of Bellanti Vineyards and the number of customers that visit the tasting room, I’m sure the new business will be a success. Not to mention the fact that it’ll be a huge hit for weddings and events—Charlie is an event planner, so I know she’ll promote the property.
“I’d love to. How about if I drive?” I suggest.
Frankie grins. “I will not argue with that.”
Feasibly, we could’ve walked considering how close the two properties are. But given Frankie’s huge belly and swollen ankles, I doubted she would’ve wanted to walk that far.
It’s a quick drive over to her old home. The grounds appear to have been freshly landscaped. The hedges are neatly trimmed, and bright flowers bloom along the side of the house. The driveway looks new, and elegant lampposts line the edges. A construction company truck sits out front, as well as a van from the electric company.
“The plan is to open for guests by next spring,” Frankie says as I park. “My mom and Charlie have redesigned the place from top to bottom—Charlie has the big-picture vision, what with all her experience in event planning, but my mom loves taking care of the details, picking the fabrics and the wallpaper and every little throw pillow. They’re a good team, even if they bicker. And Livvie…well. I guess she’s mostly there for moral support. God, I never imagined the run-down house I lived in could look like this.”
She stares out the windshield at the house, looking both awed and…something else. Something more complicated. If I had to describe it, I might say it’s the way you’d look at your childhood bully years later, when you run into them at the grocery store and realize that they don’t have the power to intimidate you anymore. But maybe I’m reading too far into things.
Even if I’m wrong, though, I can understand the awe of seeing your childhood home undergo a massive glow-up. I grew up in a house that my dad was constantly fixing, though not in any way that could be called professional. From a leaky roof to cracked windows, there was always something going wrong that my family couldn’t afford to repair. So we lived with it. It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized most people don’t live in dilapidated homes with faulty electrical wires and mice in the walls.
“I’m sure it’s going to be amazing,” I tell her.
“Oh yes,” Frankie says. “Everything Charlie touches turns to gold. She’s hiring a photographer to come and take pictures for the new website. We’ll offer the bed-and-breakfast in conjunction with the winery as part of wedding packages. Can you say ka-ching?”
“Ka-ching!”
The house is a flurry of activity. Frankie carefully picks her way over extension cords running along the hallway, following the sound of her sister’s voice coming from a room down the hall. Inside, we find Charlie and Livvie staring up at the ceiling. Charlie’s husband Clayton stands there with his arms crossed, clearly annoyed.
“You can’t put a cathedral ceiling in here without completely tearing the roof off the house, Charlie. And you’d need to redo the beams and everything. We’re talking tens of thousands of dollars.” Clayton’s thick Irish accent bounces off the bare walls of the room.
“Don’t be silly, we’d just need to rebuild the beams and the roof overthispart of the house. The rest of the roof can stay! Don’t you think this space would be a perfect sunroom?”
She turns to Livvie and waves her hands around, as if it will convince her sister to agree. Livvie just shrugs and flashes Clayton an apologetic smile.
“Thank God I’m not involved in this.”
Everyone turns to the sound of Frankie’s voice. Charlie rushes over with a folding chair. “Oh my gosh, sit. Relax,” she says to Frankie. Then she smiles at me. “Hi, Candi.”
“Good to see you,” I say warmly. “You too, Livvie. And Clayton. Where’s Mrs. Abbott?”
“She’s upstairs with the people from the company that’s doing all the custom window coverings for us. Drapes, blinds, motorized shades, the works. Actually, we could use another pair of eyes to help us vet the design proposal—”
Clayton groans. “Then you sure as shite don’t need me. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He kisses his wife on the head and leaves.
Charlie waits until he’s gone, then rolls her eyes. “He’s driving me batty. I’m supposed to be the designer, not him, right? Oh no, not according to Mr. ‘I’ve built houses before, woman.’”
She mimics his accent and we all laugh. Everyone but Livvie. The youngest Abbott sister sighs, then folds her arms across her chest.
“I don’t know what you want me to do here, Charlie. I feel useless. I could beriding.”
