Page 139 of Gone With the Wine

“Bianca. What brings you here?”

“I need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes?” I’m being polite, because I’m going to talk to him no matter what. I close the office door behind me.

He crosses his arms and his ancient chair creaks as he leans back in it “Are you here to beg for the wine again?”

I smile. “No. After thinking about it, I realize that’s not fair to you. You grew the grapes. You harvested them and cared for them while they fermented.”

He narrows his eyes. “Indeed.”

“It will make things harder for us, but that’s okay. We have a plan and we’re working hard. I’ve decided not to go back to Argentina.”

His eyes widen then narrow again. He sits up straight. “Really.”

“Yes. That wasn’t my plan when I came home, but it’s what I want to do now. I want to honor Nonna. I want to work with my sisters. I want to make beautiful wines. Iwillmake beautiful, award-winning wines. Here.”

“I see.”

I can’t read his reaction. He’s not horrified, but he’s not happy either. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

“For a long time, it bothered me that my own family wouldn’t give me a chance. It made me so resentful.” Emotion creeps up into my chest and throat, squeezing. I fight to control my voice and keep it steady. “But that resentment is keeping me from being happy with what I’ve achieved. I don’t want to be ruled by the past. I keep thinking I need to do more. MaybesomethingI do will show everyone what I’m capable of. I thought I had to prove myself to you. But the truth is, I don’t need to prove myself to anyone.”

“You’re being dramatic.” He rolls his eyes.

I shake my head. “You’ve been actively trying to stop us from being a success. I don’t know why. It’s one thing to just overlook us, but to try to stop us—that’s not how you’re supposed to treat family.”

“You’re one to talk about how to treat family!”

I don’t even flinch back from his raised voice. Like Jansen told me, being vulnerable makes me safe because I know on the inside that I’m good enough. If Uncle Geno yells at me, that’s not a reflection on me.

“Family doesn’t split apart our legacy!” he adds sharply. “I’ve done so goddamn much for Belmonte. And this is how you repay me.”

Now I’m taken aback. “First of all,wedidn’t do that. Nonna did that. It was her decision, remember?”

“You didn’t have to go along with it. With this crazy idea of running your own winery. You’ll destroy the family legacy.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” I ask slowly, remembering Vitto saying how rooted in tradition his dad is.

“Of course it is. Our family is generations of quality wine making.”

I nod. “I know. And I’m sorry you think that we can’t continue that. We believe we can. And…I also think you should let Vittorio have more independence. He has talent, too, but I don’t think you allow him to shine.”

His face turns thunderous. “Now you’re lecturing me how to run Belmonte? Che cazzo!”

I blink at his curse—what the fuck!—but then laugh. “I’m not lecturing you.” Hmm. I wonder where I get my oversensitivity. “Just my opinion. Something to think about.” I wave a hand. “It was Nonna’s wish that we would stay a family and support each other. We haven’t been doing that. And I take some responsibility, too. That’s why I’m agreeing that you should keep the wine.” I smile, a genuine, happy smile. “I’m compromising.”

His brows lower over his eyes.

“Winemakers aren’t good at compromising,” I tell him, repeating Vitto’s words. “But I’m learning.” I tilt my head. “It would be great if you did, too. If you would stop interfering with us. We don’t expect you to come and stomp our grapes with us, but we won’t tolerate any more bullshit trying to obstruct us.” I meet his eyes directly, letting him see my resolve. My conviction.

I don’t get a response from him. I mentally shrug.

“Thank you for listening. Rosa and I are planning another family dinner. We’ll let you and Aunt Janet know when it is. Have a great day.”

I walk out. Inside, I have to admit, I’m quivering. But I keep my shoulders back, my chin up, and I stride out the front door.

I pull my sunglasses down onto my nose in the bright sunshine. The air I pull into my lungs holds a crisp autumn chill. I tip my head back to gaze up at the clear blue sky stretching above me, then look around at the vineyards blazing with fall color, scarlet and bronze, pumpkin and gold. The ginkgo trees around the parking lot positively glow yellow against the sky, some of their leaves already carpeting the ground, crackling beneath my feet as I walk to my car.

Moments later, I turn into Caparelli. Nonna’s house—I mean, our house—still needs work. The yard needs grooming. But the pumpkins sitting on the veranda are charming and the vines…they’re magnificent. It’s home.

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