Page 33 of Que Será, Syrah

“Well, maybe. Or maybe not.”

I frown at that. “What?”

He leans in close, lowering his voice to say, “Don’t look now, but your fan club appears to be looking pretty annoyed, at the moment.” He tilts his head toward the table where my cousins are seated. “So, if it’s not you they’re annoyed with, should I be concerned that it’s me?”

I immediately turn to look—which he should have known I’d do. I mean, that whole, ‘don’t look now,’ thing never works, does it? I give my cousins a little wave and a thumbs up—eliciting eye rolls and head shakes in response—before turning back to grin at my dinner companion. “I think they’re just being protective. Which, honestly? Is kind of nice for a change.”

“If you say so.”

“Well yeah,” I reply, in annoyance. “I just did, didn’t I?”

He shrugs in response. “What can I say? Maybe I’m skeptical, too, but those expressions don’t exactly say ‘protective’ to me. They look more like a prelude to violence.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” I tell him. Then, hearing the echo of my mother’s lack of interest in that response, I lean in close. “They’re just concerned, that’s all. They didn’t want me to come over here to talk to you.” I stop, for a moment, to reconsider. “Actually, that’s not completely true. Gianni’s the one who suggested I talk to you. It was the other two who didn’t like the idea. But that’s just because they all think you have a grudge against the family. So, are they right?”

“Well, that’s a loaded question, isn’t it? I’m not exactly sure what you—or they—mean by that,” he tells me. “I know I ended up wasting a lot of time, this summer, following up on mostly bogus claims about your sisters’ winery not being in compliance. And then even more time following up on charges that they had leveled against your uncle. And that wasn’t fun either, but?—”

“What do you mean ‘my sisters’ winery’?” I interrupt, as all my insecurities are triggered. “Caparelli is my winery, too, you know.”

Chapter 8

Clay

Legs scowls at me. “Caparelli is my winery, too, you know.”

And, oh boy, there you have it. I crash back to earth so abruptly it’s painful. The very rich really are different. They wander around Europe for years on end with no visible means of support, avoiding the wildfires that repeatedly displaced the rest of us, falling in and out of jobs on a whim. Until, out of nowhere, wineries are dropped into their laps.

“I guess I was forgetting about that,” I admit. I’m pretty sure it was intentional. Because that’s just one more reason why we shouldn’t be doing this, why I shouldn’t be enjoying her company as much as I am, and why we should both do our utmost to steer very clear of each other from this point forward.

“I think there’s been a lot of that going around,” she mutters darkly.

“A lot of what—forgetfulness?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Right. Well. The thing is, it’s easy for me to forget about your family connections,” I tell her. “Because I’ve been enjoying your company. But your family, on the other hand, they’ve been nothing but a major pain in my butt.”

She laughs at that. “They really are, aren’t they? I thought I was the only one who felt that way about them.”

“Not hardly,” I say as I lift my glass. “To families.”

“To families,” she responds touching her glass to mine. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without ’em.”

And we both drink to that even though, honestly, I think I’ve been doing just fine without mine. And given everything she’s told me of her recent history, I would have thought she felt the same about hers.

“But, seriously,” she says. “You really don’t have to worry about my sisters, you know. Or my brother-in-law, Jake. The three of them know this business inside and out. They were brought up with it; it’s in their blood. I know that sounds like a line out of a movie.”

“Just a little.”

“But it’s true, all the same. They’re good, law-abiding people. They’re ethical. They’re all serious about making Caparelli a success and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that”

It’s a nice thought, if somewhat biased, and I don’t miss the fact that she didn’t include herself in that defense. But clearly, someone does not agree with her assessment. Or someone doesn’t care about the facts and has either an ulterior motive, or an actual grudge against the Martinelli clan. “What about your cousins? Do you think they could be the ones calling in the complaints?”

“I actually asked them that. They all insisted that they don’t know who’s doing it.”

“Do you believe them?”

“I think I do. Mostly because I think they’re too smart to do something like that in the first place. But also…it just seems so petty. You know?”

---