Page 3 of Que Será, Syrah

It doesn’t; that’s all. It just doesn’t.

“There’s no reason to fix what isn’t broken,” Geno says, totally unaware of his male privilege—no surprise there—or how his words are landing with me. Rosa glances nervously at the screen and I find myself holding my breath once again, praying that neither she nor Bianca are buying into this bullshit.

“I think…I’ll have to talk to my sisters about it,” Rosa says, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Okay, good. We haven’t lost her…yet.

“But—”

“Yes,” another voice—Bianca—insists firmly. “We have to discuss our options. All of them.”

“Girls!” Geno snaps. “I must insist?—”

“Nope.” I say with a laugh that sounds only a little unhinged. “Pretty sure you don’t get to insist anything. Andiamo, sorelle mie let’s go discuss our options.”

“We’ll be in touch about the financials,” Rosa says, sounding confident, professional—like a badass, winery-owning boss!

The screen goes dark. None of us speak during the long, long walk to Rosa’s car. Until finally, both my sisters’ faces appear on the screen, looking different shades of stunned. And I can no longer contain myself. “I have just one thing to say,” I tell them as I raise my empty glass in a little toast. “Holy. Shit.”

“I know what we’ll do,” Nico says confidently. “We’ll get married. Tomorrow morning. First thing.”

My head is pillowed on my arms, and I don’t much feel like raising it off the table, but I open an eye and slant a gaze in his direction. “Huh? Wah?”

He’s smiling excitedly; that cute little dimple making an enticing appearance. “It’s genius, no? It solves everything.”

Okay, so…it’s late. Like, really late. Hours after my phone conference with my sisters ended with promises that we’d all keep our minds open, think about our options and talk again soon. The square is bustling with people and noise and, as with so many conversations between two people who are only partially fluent in each other’s native tongue, communication with Nico is occasionally problematic. So, I’m not sure I’ve heard him correctly.

No. Scratch that. I am sure. I couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly.

I sit up reluctantly, squinting a little as I attempt to bring his face into focus, and try again. “What did you say?”

My head is reeling. Not surprising really, since I’m more than a little drunk—as who wouldn’t be in my situation? It’s not every day that you learn you’ve inherited an award-winning winery. And yeah, okay; it’s a been a minute. Years, in fact. But so what? It still freaking counts, you know? Especially since—hello?—have I mentioned that it’s in freaking Napa?

It’s also not every day that you’re forced to confront the fact that you’ve fucked up. Again. Royally. Unforgivably. That you’d waited too long to go home. That your Nonna is gone. That you didn’t get to say goodbye. That you’ll never get to say goodbye, or I’m sorry, or…or anything anymore! There’s no way to walk this back. Not now, not ever.

But all of that is very much beside the point.

“Marriage,” Nico says, enunciating clearly (yet, somehow, still giving total Princess Bride). “Will solve everything.”

“Bruh. D’you really think so?”

It’s not that I’m unilaterally opposed to the idea of fake marrying someone for the sake of a green card. Desperate times make for strange bedfellows, or however the saying goes. And I like Nico—I do. We’re colleagues, shipmates, fuckbuddies, friends. But I’d thought we both understood the strictly temporary nature of our situationship. We’re short timers. I don’t even think of him as my work husband! There’s not a chance in hell?—

“Hear me out,” Nico says smoothly disrupting the flow of my thoughts. “What’s the biggest problem you have right now? Your sisters, correct?”

“Uh…no? Whatever gave you that idea?” I mean, obviously, it had to be something I said. But I have sooo many problems right now. Rosa and Bianca barely make the list. “Honestly, I think my uncle’s a much bigger problem.”

Nico waves my objections away. “No, he’s not. You heard what that lawyer fellow said, the will is valid. There’s nothing your uncle can do to stop you inheriting.”

“Well. We’ll see about that.” I’m not at all certain that’s true. Experience has proved that betting against my uncle is never smart money. He has a history of causing problems—within the family and without. He’s wealthy, influential, and used to getting his own way. But that’s not what makes me frown. “Wait. How do you what my Nonna’s lawyer said? You weren’t here when I was talking to them, were you?”

“Your sisters are the real threat. If they decide to join forces against you, what will you do? They can outvote you anytime they want. And if you’re there on your own? Just think of the disadvantage you’ll be at, the precariousness of your position. They could gang up on you, pressure you into doing whatever they want. Ignore you. You know they won’t give your ideas the attention they deserve. I can tell from how you speak of them that they don’t respect you as they ought. They can’t possibly appreciate everything you bring to the table.”

Well. That part is true. Maybe it would have been different if I were just the baby of the family, but I’m also the black sheep, the slacker, the girl least likely to succeed. My sisters both chose the straight and narrow, college-classroom-to-corporate-office pipeline. Which—don’t get me wrong—is definitely the smart thing to do if you’ve got the brains, the grades, and the abilities to pull it off. Not to mention that it’s extremely useful (if not an actual requirement) if your end-goal is to make world-class wine or run a world-class winery. But I knew that was never going to work for me, so I took a different route. I focused on the hospitality aspect of the business and got my training on-the-job. And then kept the whole thing secret, for a variety of reasons.

“Of course they don’t appreciate it. But that’s not their fault; I never told either of them about my plans. They have no idea what I’ve been doing since I left home.”

Reasons. Like I said.

“That may be true, but by the time they figure it out—if they even bother trying—it might be too late. You might have lost your inheritance. What if they decide to give in to your uncle’s wishes?”

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