Chapter 5
During dinner, Savvy shared the events of her day with the family, starting with the death of Marlena and ending with the offer she’d made on behalf of NTI.
“The Moraleses should keep a better watch on their assets,” declared Papa. “What if you had been injured, running over that free-ranging bird?”
Savvy made a face. “It was an accident. A hole in the fence. And don’t call Marlena an asset. She was Mrs. Morales’s pet. You act like it’s a barrio over there, like they have mongrels wagging all over the place and a goat on a spit in the yard. It’s actually a very tidy little farm.” She took a bite of risotto. “You’d be impressed, if you ever took the time to be neighborly, go over and introduce yourself.”
“Farmette,” Papa corrected her. “Morales is an imbecile. Winegrapes would bring in more than ten times the price per ton than his peas and tomatoes. The valley floor is rich in calcium.” He kissed his bunched fingertips. “Perfect for pinot.”
How many times had she heard that? “Anyway, this is my first case, and I have to admit, I’m kind of excited about it,” she said.
“We are so proud of you,” said Char, the middle child. The peacekeeper.
“So, are they willing to sell?” asked Meri, the youngest sister.
“Too soon to tell. One-point-five million is only the initial offer. NTI is willing to go higher. Mr. Morales doesn’t speak English, so his son, Esteban, is acting as a go-between.”
Papa looked up from cutting his filet. “You realize that if you are successful with this case, ma chère, that will be your first step toward making partner.”
She knew. Since the day she’d been hired, she’d spent every minute laying the groundwork. Working overtime, offering to take on extra responsibilities—everything she could think of to ingratiate herself to the partners in Witmer, Robinson and Scott.
Making partner meant more to her than mere paternal approval. Somebody had to hold this family together. Take care of her sisters, keep an eye on Papa. Half the time, he was all about business. The other half, he was carousing with starlets half his age or getting into some other kind of trouble. Savvy never stopped worrying what his next shenanigan would be. Because it would always be something.
After supper, Savvy and her sisters did the dishes.
“Have you thought about a good time for us to discuss your prenup, now that you’re engaged?” Savvy asked Char, handing her a dripping plate to dry.
Char gave a bored sigh. “Not really.”
“Don’t put it off. I can’t tell you how important it is. If things go sour, you don’t want to leave things up to the courts. There are any number of reasons why—”
“I know, I know,” said Char, rolling her eyes. She sang the litany of reasons Savvy had drilled into her like a song. “To learn more about each other, marriage is a business relationship, future alimony, property settlement, yada yada yada.”
“Go ahead and make fun,” said Savvy. “Someday you’ll thank me.” She turned to Meri. “And that goes for you, too.”
Meri held up her left hand. “Do you see a ring on this finger?”
“He gave you the gold ingot and the rock. Is it my fault you haven’t made it yet? You spend half your nights with him in the city! You have to start thinking about these things.” When she turned back to the sink, she felt her sisters’ eyes connecting behind her back.
“Cocoa Puffs,” one of them whispered dramatically, loud enough for Savvy to hear.
They could mock her all they wanted. Savvy considered it her responsibility to see that they were taken care of. Wasn’t that why she’d become a lawyer in the first place?
Savvy concluded her elaborate bedtime routine—makeup remover, cleanser, toner, and moisturizer. She’d intended to take work to bed, but she was too keyed up. She wandered downstairs into the kitchen, where Jeanne was seated at the table, planning the next week’s meals. During all those years in exile back east, the kitchen— the beating heart of every home—was the room Savvy had missed the most. Jeanne ran this one like a well-oiled machine. The counters had been wiped, fresh tea towels had been laid out for the next day, and the dishwasher hummed in the background.
Though she wasn’t hungry, she opened the fridge and peered inside.
“French women do not snack,” said Jeanne.
Savvy sighed and came out empty-handed. “I know.
“Where are the others?”
“Out with their paramours,” replied Jeanne.
This past year had been golden for Meri and Char. Each had stumbled upon her soul mate.
“And you? Why don’t you go out more often?”
“I have a brief to read.”
“You work too hard for such a young lady. How are you going to meet anyone?”
“I’m not looking for anyone.” Savvy poured herself a glass of spring water and walked to the window.
“Well, if you were, it would be too dark to see anything out there. Come. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just—I’m waiting for a call.”
Jeanne lifted a shaped brow. Ever since Savvy had graduated from law school and moved back to the winery, Jeanne and her sisters were always on the lookout for Savvy to meet someone. “Someone special?”
Savvy’s head whipped around.
“Ah. So there is someone.”
Savvy bit her tongue while Jeanne casually licked a finger and flipped a page in her cooking magazine.
“Not really. Just business.”
“Must be very important business.”
Savvy went over and slid into the seat next to her. Char and Meri came to Savvy for advice. But Savvy had no one older and wiser to confide in except Jeanne.
“It’s Esteban.” She’d already told Jeanne about the dead chicken incident before dinner, while helping her stir the risotto.
“You’re waiting to hear if his papa will agree to sell their property.”
Savvy smiled glumly while Jeanne studied an ad for soy milk as if it were the most interesting concept since the Swedish AGA range she’d insisted Papa install for her, twenty years back.
“I should’ve given him a deadline to get back to me, but I didn’t think of it. Now I have no idea when I’ll hear from him.”
“It has been but a few hours, no?”
“Yessss . . .” She sounded to herself like a pathetic, lovelorn teenager instead of an officer of the court.
“Next time, you’ll know to give a time limit. I would say you could call him, but this is never a good idea for a woman to call a man.”
Savvy huffed. “It’s not like that! Like I said, this is business. Only business.” She adored Jeanne, even if her advice was sometimes old school.
“Of course,” said Jeanne, pursing her lips. She took off her reading glasses and set them on the table. “And you have no personal interest whatsoever in Esteban Morales. Is that what you wish me to believe?”
Savvy’s heart rate speeded up. “No—I mean yes! I mean—” Her sheepish grin was a dead giveaway.
“Of course you don’t. Why would you be interested in a kind, hardworking man from an honorable family? Perhaps you don’t like his strong arms, his capable hands, his soulful eyes. . . .”
“Jeanne!” Savvy’s face heated. Jeanne was like a mother to her. Mothers didn’t say things like that to their daughters. Did they?
Jeanne shrugged. “Then there is no reason for concern. Go to bed. It is only business, as you said. He will call when he will call.”
Big help she turned out to be.
Savvy turned and padded out of the kitchen, up the sweeping staircase, and down the long hallway to her room. But her thoughts were too scattered to focus on her brief. She fell asleep hours later, dreaming that Esteban’s face was on the body of the David at the Academia, and she and all the other visitors were circling him with admiration.