“Pay him whatever he wants. Just get rid of him.”
Back in my office, Armani has spent the last twenty minutes looking over the contract Rico gave Frankie. So far, my brother has said absolutely nothing to me about the validity of the terms, and I’m tired of pacing and waiting for him to speak up. I’ll pay any price to get rid of this asshole and clear the path for Frankie and me.
Yet even though I’m more than ready to whip out my checkbook, I can’t help but think that this whole thing is too easy. There has to be a catch. A man like Rico always wants more.
Armani finally looks up from the paperwork. “It looks legit to me. We can have the legal team review it in the morning.”
“Have them look at it first thing. I want this done. I’m sick of wasting time on this prick.”
I haven’t seen Frankie since she left to take a breather. I’m concerned about her frame of mind—I’m sure she feels like she’s made a terrible mess for herself—but I’m making an effort to respect her request for space. Hell, I know this whole thing has been a nightmare for her. She couldn’t have possibly known what she was getting into when she married Rico.
Just like I had no idea what I was getting into when I agreed to marry her. I thought I was making a profitable business deal, and I was—but I got so much more.
Armani gathers the papers and taps them into order on the surface of his desk. “Well look at that, Dante. You’re smiling again.”
“I love her. And she loves me back. It’s worth smiling about.”
He dips his head. “I would advise you to hold off on signing anything just yet, even if our lawyers advise you to do so. I finally got a voicemail from someone at the Registrar of Vital Statistics in the city where Frankie got married, but with the nine-hour time difference, I haven’t been able to get hold of someone during business hours so they can actually answer my questions. I think it would be wise to wait and hear what they have to say.”
“Why would it matter?” My gut clenches. “Unless…does an Italian court have to handle the divorce proceedings for it to be legal? That could take months. Years, even.”
“No.” Armani shakes his head. “Frankie’s domiciled here in the US, so she can get a legal divorce here in the states even if her marriage took place abroad. That’s not an issue.”
Relief washes over me. “Thank God. So then—”
Just then there’s a knock at the door. Ruby, our admin, sheepishly pops her head in.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bellanti. And Mr. Bellanti. Um, Dante, Greg just called. It’s almost time for the next wine tasting, but Frankie hasn’t returned yet and she isn’t answering her cell. Would you like him to cover her? He says it’s no trouble.”
Dammit. She must be more affected by Rico’s little show this morning than I thought.
“Tell him to get everything prepped and to stand by, please,” I say. “I’ll go look for her.”
“Very good.”
She hurries away and I turn back to my brother. “Let me know the minute you hear from your Italian contact.”
“Will do.”
I leave the office and head to the tasting room to look for Frankie. I don’t expect her to be there, but I take a cursory look around the kitchen, the stock room, and the retail area by the registers just in case she’s wandering. Nothing. Knowing her, she’s probably pacing the grounds and has completely lost track of time.
After circling the front of house one more time, I’m just about to exit the building when she walks in. My heart skips a beat when I see her. She looks collected and put together. Strong and poised. It hits me then just how lucky I am to have her.
“Frankie—” I reach for her, intending to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she sidesteps me and turns to engage with a customer.
Her brush-off stuns me for a moment, but then I realize that she’s probably wearing a very fragile mask right now—and that she’s trying to keep all her walls up so she doesn’t break down. No wonder she’d rather chat up a stranger than face me. She knows I’d be able to see through her brave façade better than anyone, and it might just push her over the edge.
Which I know because I’m basically the same way.
Giving her the space that I myself would want if our roles were reversed, I head back to my office. I keep tabs on her for the rest of the day, covertly. Once the tasting room closes for the day, she heads back to her office and keeps her head buried in work. When I ask, Ruby says Frankie is busy sorting through the inventory mess that Jessica made.
Still, she has to eat.
When three p.m. rolls around and she hasn’t taken a break, I decide to bring Frankie a late lunch. I call up to the main house and ask Alain to make one of her favorite meals, but then change my mind—feeling inspired, I request a bistec sandwich and tostones for her. My hope is that the familiar comfort food will cheer her up.
But when I knock on her door and let myself into her office, she barely glances up.
“You need to eat, Frankie. I had Alain make you a special order.”
“Thanks, but I already ate.”
“You’ve been locked in here for hours,” I remind her. “Take a little break.”
She reaches for the sandwich and absently takes a few bites, not seeming to notice what it is. Before I can say anything more, she looks at her phone and then jumps up from her chair.
“I need to change and go lead a horseback tour. Marco’s taking off early to prep for a race at the speedway. I don’t want to be late.”
With that, she pushes past me and strides out the door.
Frankie must be working late, because she doesn’t show up for dinner. I immediately feel how starkly different the mood is, compared to the night prior. The table feels empty again, with just me, Armani, and Livvie present. Frankie is absent and so is Marco. Charlie, of course, is back in Nob Hill.
Livvie seems a little withdrawn, understandably. What teenage girl wants to be stuck dining with two grown men she barely knows? But since she’ll be living in the guesthouse for the foreseeable future, I figure now is a good time to learn more about my youngest sister-in-law.
“Livvie, I have to say I’m impressed with the amount of training you’ve put into your horses,” I tell her. “How did you learn so much about dressage training?”
She wipes her mouth and looks up, her eyes sparkling. I definitely started off with the right question. “YouTube.”
“YouTube?”
“Yup. The trainer who I worked with for six years has a full instructional series posted.” Livvie’s smile wavers before she goes on, “I would’ve been happy to keep learning from her if not for my dad’s…financial situation…but she and I still keep in touch, and her training videos are the next best thing.”
“Wow,” I say, genuinely taken aback. “I’ve seen how your Friesians go through their paces. That’s an incredible accomplishment.”
“Thank you,” she says proudly.
I’m not being hyperbolic; the horses’ movements are nearly flawless and speak to much more professional training than one would expect from a teenager using YouTube videos. Armani and I share a look.
“That’s amazing, truly,” Armani pipes up.
She takes a few more bites of her ravioli. “I’d like to do more with them, but I’m taking a full load of senior year classes, with a few APs that I can use for college prerequisites. Once I graduate, I’ll have more time. I’d like to go to the Olympics one day.”
“I didn’t realize there were equestrian events at the Olympics,” Armani says.
“Oh yeah,” Livvie says, perking up even more. “There are over sixty-five events with horses. Dressage, Eventing, and Jumping. I don’t even care if I’m not the rider, I’d just love to see some of my horses compete.”
“Incredible,” I say. “Have you decided where you’re applying to college?” I ask. “Application deadlines are usually around, what, January or February?”
“I bet they have a great equine program at Texas A&M,” Armani says. “I mean, they’re known for their animal studies degrees.”
Livvie stops chewing for a moment and shrugs a shoulder as she moves food around on her plate again. The shift in her attitude says I’ve touched a nerve.
Reading her sudden quietness as anxiety, my brother adds, “But I’m sure you can find something great here in California, if you don’t want to go out of state.”
“Um, it’s not that,” Livvie says haltingly. “College just isn’t in the cards for me right now. I’m going to focus on training horses.”
I voice my confusion. “Why’s that? With your AP classes, your GPA has to be higher than a 4.0. And you’ve got plenty of equine experience. You’d get into any school you want.”
She smiles warmly, but I see the defensiveness behind the warmth. “I’ve already qualified for a few scholarships, actually, but they barely make a dent in the tuition for the school I want. And I figure if I’m going to spend that kind of money on education, I should do it at a college I really want to attend. So I’ll have to take a gap year or two. I’m hoping to get a paid job at one of the local stables or riding academies, that way I can save up my paychecks for school.”
Well, that’s an easy fix. I glance at Armani, who nods and then changes the subject to something more light while we finish eating.
As we all push back from the table afterward, I ask Livvie to hang on for a second.
“I have to be honest,” I say. “I knew you were focused, and Frankie’s always singing your praises, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a teenager with such clear goals and self-possession.”
She nods. “Thanks.”
“So here’s the deal,” I go on. “Whatever this dream school of yours is, if you bring me your acceptance letter in the spring, the Bellanti family will cover whatever tuition your scholarships don’t.”
“Wha-what?”
Armani nods. “We’re happy to do it. Consider it a welcome to the family gift.”
I get to my feet, but almost get knocked down again by the bear hug Livvie gives me. It surprises me for a moment but then I lightly hug her back. The way these Abbott sisters are with all the hugging, I’ll have to get used to it eventually.
Just then, Livvie gives out a low squeal and leaves me to race across the room. I spy Frankie in the doorway, who opens her arms as Livvie embraces her. Livvie’s excited babble fills the room. Once Frankie catches on to what her sister is saying about equine programs and tuition fees, she looks over at me and Armani and mouths, “thank you.” But she doesn’t look thankful. She looks more upset than anything.
Livvie breaks free, saying she has homework, and gives a little wave before she leaves for the guesthouse. Armani quietly slips from the room, leaving Frankie and me by ourselves.
“I had Alain set a plate aside for you,” I tell her. “It’s in the kitchen. I’ll get it—”
“It’s fine, I can do it. I’ll catch up with you later.”
She forces a smile and heads into the kitchen, brushing past me without another word. I don’t know how or why, but something is broken between us, and I don’t know what it is.
Frustrated, I head up to my room, but I can’t seem to settle my thoughts. I go to the balcony, watching the sun set as the evening, mid-October chill creeps over me. Despite the cold, I let the dark fall all around me. I’m trying—really trying—to figure out what went wrong. What I might have said or done that would’ve upset Frankie. I feel like there’s more going on here than just Rico. And then I realize the obvious: I should just ask her. Isn’t that part of the partnership she’s been asking for? Open lines of communication and all of that?
The sudden glow of light from the bedroom startles me. I didn’t realize how dark it had gotten. I open the French door and enter the room, hearing the bathroom door shut just as I step inside. Something about the sound of that door makes me irrationally angry.
I storm to the bathroom door, wanting nothing more than to break it down. But I take a deep breath instead and remind myself to just take it easy.
I knock, gently.
“Occupied,” she says, like this is a stall in a public bathroom.
Even now, I can’t hold in a huff of laughter.
“I know something’s wrong, Frankie,” I say through the door. “I want to fix it, but I can’t even try if I don’t know what it is. Will you talk to me, please?”
The door swings open. Frankie’s eyes flash.
“Of course you want to fix it. You try to fix everything, even things that aren’t yours to fix, like Livvie’s education and my stupid marriage to Rico. But they’re my problems to solve. I owe you too much already. You’re not going to get me out of another mess.”
I take her shoulders gently in my hands. “I will get you out of every mess, every time.”
Her cheeks flush. “You’re not even my husband. You don’t owe that to me.”
I don’t know how to make her understand. I brush her hair away from her face, cupping her cheek in my palm. “I’m not doing it because I owe you. I’m doing it because you are everything to me, Frankie. I’ll pay any price.”
Something in her face changes. Her expression melts into one of relief, of realization. “I’m going to hand over my share of the Abbott Winery to you,” she says. “I know it’s realistically already yours because my family owes you that debt, but I want to give it to you beyond the debt. I want you to have it because I love you, and I trust you. I want you to have it because I want…because I want you to have all of me.”
“What a gift you are to me,” I say.
I crush her to me, my heart so full I can barely breathe.