My father will kill me if he finds out that I invalidated the terms of his debt settlement with the Bellantis. Or maybe he’ll just turn Livvie directly over to Dante, or go on yet another bender so he can gamble away every remaining cent we have left. Knowing my father—and unfortunately, I really do—he’d probably do all three.
Which is why I’m going to spend the night at Charlie’s place. I’ll try to figure out what to do from there. Returning to my dad’s house would be the stupidest thing I could do. I’ll have to act like everything is fine for as long as possible. Dad’ll get tipped off at some point, but hopefully by then I’ll have a plan in place.
In the guesthouse, my suitcase lays open on the bed, waiting to be filled. I feel paralyzed as I stare at the closet full of clothes that I don’t even want. I can’t believe I thought my life couldn’t get any smaller…because here it is, shrinking yet again.
Ignoring all the clothes paid for with Dante’s money, I dig out a box in the corner of the closet that holds what remains of my original wardrobe. It isn’t much, but it’s mine, and after I change into an old pair of jeans and a college T-shirt, I dump the rest of the contents into my suitcase. After a moment’s hesitation, I decide to take the marabou-trimmed lavender robe too.
I toss in my toiletries, then zip up the half-full bag and head into the living room. Grabbing my purse off the couch, I dig out the keys to the Jaguar. I really love that car, but it is essentially Bellanti property and if I’m not going to keep the damn clothes, I have no business keeping the car. It would be crass, wouldn’t it? I jingle the keys in my palm, feeling their bittersweet weight in my hand before I set them on the coffee table and turn away.
At the threshold of the front door, I stop and look down at my rings. I twist them off, my heart breaking, and then tuck them into a zippered compartment of my purse. I’m not done with Dante yet. Until he demands them back, I’m keeping them.
The phone is all mine, though (thank you, phone insurance), and I use it to dial an Uber to Charlie’s. She said she’d be happy to have me, but I still feel guilty for imposing on her like this. My sister has her own life to live, after all, and I never intended to rely on her as much as I have been. Still, I’m beyond grateful that I have her.
The Uber estimate for the trip is over two hundred dollars, and I curse under my breath. I’m not sure how much money I have to my name at this point. It’s likely that the bank accounts are locked, the credit cards frozen, and I only have access to the very small amount in the personal account I came into the marriage with. It certainly isn’t enough to rent a place, or even pay for a hotel for a few days. If it wasn’t for Charlie, I don’t know what I’d do. But I don’t have a choice. I need to get out of here.
The Uber app lets me know my driver is thirty minutes away—fuck. I don’t want to stay in this guesthouse for one more second. I’ll just start walking to the vineyard’s front gate. Anything to get away from the man who just broke my heart. I run a hand through my hair and secure my bag over my shoulder, then hoist my suitcase and step out into the sunlight.
As I make my way over the gravel drive, I start to wish I’d taken a hot shower first. I can still feel Dante on my skin, still smell his cologne on me. Dammit. That’ll be the first thing I do when I get to Charlie’s. Take a scalding hot shower, then maybe have a shot of whiskey and a cup of herbal tea. Then bed. I can’t wait for this day to be over.
Halfway to the gate, I hear a car coming up behind me, engine purring, gravel crunching under its tires. Please, God, don’t let it be Dante. I keep my head high, my eyes forward, refusing to turn around—but when the car pulls up along my left side, passenger side window rolled down, I see it’s not Dante at all. It’s Armani.
“Where are you headed, Frankie?” he asks gently.
“I have an Uber coming.”
It’s a noncommittal answer. I’m not sure how much Armani knows, but I’m exhausted and humiliated and upset—I don’t want to say more. I keep walking.
“Wait,” Armani says. I stop. “Can I give you a ride? It’s the least I can do, after my brother’s been such a prick. Please. I want to help.”
The kindness in his tone touches a nerve. I feel my resolve sinking. Especially considering the fact that I can’t really afford the Uber anyway.
“Okay,” I concede with a nod. “Thank you. I was on my way to Charlie’s.”
“You’re welcome. Your sister lives in San Francisco, correct? Nob Hill?”
I nod again. “If it’s too far, I can—”
“Not too far at all,” he says, putting the car in park.
He gets out and takes my bags, putting them in the back seat. Then he holds the passenger door open for me before getting back behind the wheel.
“I just need the address for my GPS,” he says.
I recite it for him as I put my seat belt on, then cancel my Uber.
The car is brand new, the leather seats comfortable and warm. I feel myself begin to relax for the first time in hours. The trip from Napa to San Francisco will probably take about ninety minutes, but I get a soothing vibe from Armani which I know will help my nerves on the drive. He’s as calming as Dante is terrifying.
Once we’re on the freeway, we pass a billboard for a local family restaurant called The Monkey House, featuring a monkey holding a pizza in one hand and a pair of roller skates in the other as he hangs from a tree by his tail. It’s a pretty popular spot for kids’ birthdays, similar to Chuck E. Cheese but with a much larger alcohol selection for all the frazzled parents.
Armani points to it offhandedly. “Used to be our favorite place to go when we were younger.”
I hitch a brow. I can’t imagine Dante roller-skating to save my life. “Really?”
He smiles. “The Bellantis have lived in Napa for generations, but my brothers and I were sent to private schools on the East Coast. We didn’t spend a lot of time here during the school year, so we don’t have a ton of childhood memories of the area. But whenever we came home for summer break my dad would have one of the staff bring us to The Monkey House to blow off some steam. We always had the best time.”
It’s kind of comforting, to think of the Bellanti brothers as normal children, doing all the things that other kids do.
He looks at me again. “What about you and your sisters? Did you ever go there?”
I shake my head no. “We spent more time going to harvest festivals, county fairs, horse shows—that kind of thing. My oldest sister was a cheerleader all four years of high school, so I’d go to all the football games. Livvie does dressage so we traveled to her events a lot, too.”
“Horses were a big part of your life growing up.”
“Yeah.” I pick at the hem of my shirt. “One of our favorite things to do was ride our ponies through the vineyard…” My voice trails off as a burst of sadness punches right through me. I can’t think about Livvie and the Abbott Winery right now.
Armani drops it, seeming to understand. We drive a few miles more before he gives me a sideways glance. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
He pauses as if trying to choose his words carefully. “Why didn’t you say anything about this Correa guy before? I didn’t get the impression you were chomping at the bit to marry my brother. You could’ve easily gotten out of it.”
“I was embarrassed,” I admit. “I made a really dumb mistake when I was living in Italy which basically resulted in me getting abandoned in the middle of nowhere on my so-called honeymoon. I never saw him again.”
“I’m sorry,” Armani offers.
“Me too. I tried to just bury the whole thing and move on with my life, which I thought was a great idea at the time, but as you can see, it completely failed.”
I go quiet as I start to tear up a little, and Armani reaches over to awkwardly pat my hand. I’m not used to genuine kindness from men, and his attempt to comfort me is strangely touching. I blink hard, looking out the window. Does Armani understand what it’s like to be at the whims of a dangerously selfish man? Does he know how it feels to sacrifice yourself for a sibling? Glancing over at his profile, I wonder.
With a demanding, autocratic brother like Dante, perhaps Armani and I have more in common than I thought. I’m sure their father Enzo was just as terrifying as Dante, if not worse—which makes me feel like I understand Armani in some small way. Like I can trust him.
“The whole thing was such a whirlwind, I don’t know how we even had time to make it legal,” I continue haltingly. I tell him about getting swept up in young love—my first real relationship—and about our impromptu wedding ceremony in Tuscany. “As for marrying Dante…I guess I thought I was doing the right thing to protect my family’s interests. Though it hasn’t exactly turned out that way.”
He smiles and offers some sympathetic words of understanding, which I’m grateful for. I wish Dante would listen the way Armani does.
Before long, we arrive in San Francisco and drive up the hill toward my sister’s home. Armani gets out to grab my luggage, then waits in his car at the curb to make sure I get in safely. As Charlie opens the door and ushers me inside, I turn to see Armani giving me a little wave before driving away.
Livvie is asleep already, but Charlie makes us tea and we sit on the couch while I fill her in on all the details of my failure at being a sex goddess to win back my husband.
“It’s all over,” I tell her. “My marriage, my job at the vineyard, the Jaguar, the Abbott property—all of it’s gone.”
She runs her finger around the rim of her mug. “I suppose my job as the Bellantis’ event planner is gone, too?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. I know how hard this is hitting her, too.
Her house on Nob Hill was a gift from one of her husband Clayton’s family connections. Clayton makes some money working for the mob, sure, but it’s always in fits and spurts. Charlie’s job with the Bellantis was supposed to be the steady one...not anymore, though.
“What about the End of Harvest Gala?” Charlie asks. “We’ve already sold a ton of tickets. Do you think Dante will cancel it?”
The Gala is another venture that Charlie had dreamed up and proposed to Dante when she brought up the idea for the original First Press event. Since the pressing event had been such a huge success, we’d assumed End of Harvest would be, as well.
Charlie seems to take my silence as a confirmation of her fears.
“Oh God,” she says, hands in her hair. “I’m gonna need to call all the vendors tomorrow, get everything canceled. I hope I can get the deposits back. And we need to refund everyone’s tickets, too, and see if we can offer them something as an apology, maybe a coupon or—”
“Shh, shh, hold on, hold on,” I say. “Don’t do anything yet. I’m going to talk to Dante tomorrow. I’ll smooth everything over. I promise.”
I hope I didn’t just lie to my sister. But all of this is my fault, and I have to make it right.
I married Dante to save my family, but it looks like I may have set the stage for destroying them. I take my sister’s hand in my own.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I assure her.
How many times can I keep saying that before I stop believing it’s true?