Me:And then they wonder why young people are not drinking enough wine. It's just too expensive.
The next day, he sent me an article about how wine prices are out of control worldwide.
"Well, at least he's texting.” Toni yawns and tilts her head one way then another. “I met Renzo in Milan the other day and?—"
"Wait, you met Lorenzo Vitale?" I interrupt, curious.
Toni waves a hand. "Yes. He helped me get this internship. Didn’t I tell you?”
“No, you didn’t,” I say, suspicious as hell now.
"How do you even know him?" Alba is just as curious.
Renzo Vitale is one of my husband's closest friends and also the COO of the House of Alighieri. He came in as part of the merger along with Chiara Jossa. Unlike Chiara, he’s acceptable.
"We met at the wedding…anyway, he tells me that there is a rebranding being planned? Have you heard of that?" Toni doesn't seem to like that idea at all. "He's not happy about it, but Chiara is pushing. I'm hoping that Nico isn't going to make us all look like American wine fools."
I take a long sip of wine.
I don't like the direction of the branding, based on what I've heard from Matteo and others in the company. The plan is to elevate the brand and bring in American music artists. But that's not who we are. I want our wine to be drunk by regular people as well as those with discerning tastes. Exclusivity will limit our reach.
"Just because he's half American doesn't mean he's going to turn us into a gaudy Napa vineyard." At least I hope not, I think.
"So…let's get back to the texts," Toni insists. “Are they romantic at all?"
I shrug. "They're…conversational."
Alba leans closer to the screen. "Do they make you feel better about the marriage?"
I think about it.
"Yes." I exhale, shaking my head. "But they also make me realize that I've married a stranger—like something out of an old Italian novel, where the marriage is a contract, and the man keeps a mistress as a matter of course. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in an Aleramonovel—bound by duty, stripped of illusion."
Sibilla Aleramo was an Italian feminist writer and poet known for her autobiographical depictions of life as a woman in late 19th century Italy.
"Which one?" Toni asks. She's always been the reader among us, and lately she's been deep in classic Italian literature.
"Una Donna?" I suggest.
"She leaves her husband in that one," Alba reminds me.
"Well," I murmur, staring out at the vines catching the late light, "she had the courage to."
Alba's expression sharpens. "Is that what you want?"
A dry, brittle laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. "No. Not really." I pause, choosing honesty over polish. "It's just…. It's been over four months since we married. I've seen him once. And"—my throat tightens—"I'm married, and I'm still alone."
Alba's face softens immediately. "Oh, Alessia."
"Well…anyway, look, it's time to go and?—"
"What?" Toni cuts me off. "We're not ending this call on a tragic-note-about-the-human-condition."
Alba nods solemnly. "Agreed. Absolutely not. This is when we pivot."
"Pivot to what?" I ask weakly.
"To facts," Alba declares. "Fact one: you run a Bolgheri estate that's outperforming half of Tuscany."
