“Thank you, Liv.”
My phone chirps with an alert that my driver is waiting outside, so I kiss my sister on the cheek, tell her I love her, and head downstairs. I let out a slow breath but it does nothing to steady my nerves. Walking to the front door feels like the path to my doom.
There’s no turning back.
Outside, it’s sunny and bright, instead of the overcast I was half expecting. Everything is golden and brilliant as I slip into the waiting car and sit stiffly on the drive to Bellanti Vineyards.
It’s strange. Only two days ago, I had a sense of who I was. The person I’d worked so hard to bloom into while I was in Italy. I’d gotten on my plane back home with a fresh outlook on being a businesswoman, a winemaker, a daughter with a family business. Confidence, knowledge, physical strength. I’d amassed each of those things.
I feel none of them at the moment. I feel…hollow.
Squaring my shoulders, I sit up straighter, determined not to let this break me. It was my crazy idea to show up to meet my fiancé, unannounced, and I’m going to go through with it wearing a smile. It’s either that or cry, and Livvie worked too hard on my makeup for that.
Movement outside my window pulls me from my thoughts. My throat goes tight as we pass through the elaborate iron gates of Bellanti Vineyards. The place is buzzing with tourists.
A man and woman ride past the car on horseback. I glance at them through the back window as we pull into the property and slowly roll down the drive. People mill around, holding glasses and chatting. Strategically placed café tables sit beneath pergolas heavy with masses of purple clematis. A tram runs along a track through the vineyard for tours, and I can see more guests on horseback riding along the hilltops. What I wouldn’t give to be ten years old again, galloping on my pony through the vines, carefree as a lark.
The driveway curves gently, revealing a stately, imposing brownstone building. The windows are trimmed in black cast iron which match the gate and the hinges on the large arched front door. A Bellanti Main Offices sign hangs above the door. This is the heart of their empire.
“Here, please,” I say to the driver. He parks and nods when I ask him to wait.
My insides pull with a thread of longing. This place is everything my family business used to be, and more. Now that I’m thinking about it, we have a stable on our property that’s capable of housing enough horses to offer riding tours. And I’d already planned to create a few intimate seating areas and expand the menu, offering lunch options and picnic baskets to-go instead of just a few appetizers. Honestly, I was filled with so many ideas in Italy that being here is like a kick in the gut. The Bellantis have already pulled off everything I had in mind.
Sweet, warm air greets me as I slip out of the car and take the short walk into the belly of the beast. My shoes clip along smooth, polished slabs of stone. A receptionist’s desk sits to the right, a prim young woman in a tight black skirt suit sitting behind it like it’s her sworn duty to watch over every inch of this place. She cocks her head, giving me a pointed look as I approach with my shoulders thrown back and my chin held high.
“The tour offices are on the other side of the building,” she tells me, eyeing my outfit.
“Actually, I’m here to see Dante Bellanti. Where might I find him?”
The woman tilts her head the other way. Up close, I realize how pretty she is, and how much younger than her heavy makeup and outfit first suggested. “Is he expecting you?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly. But…maybe if you let him know I’m here, he’ll take a moment to see me.”
She smiles tightly. “And you are?”
It’s my turn to cock my head. I’m already tired of being judged. “His fiancée.”
I’ve never seen such a perfect pair of stamped-on eyebrows arch so quickly. “I see. Please take a seat, and I’ll let him know you’re here.”
A trio of plush leather chairs are artfully arranged around a free-standing electric fireplace on the wall behind me. I sit closest to the windows where I can see the activity outside. The sun streams in, golden rays offering warmth that would be comforting were the circumstances different. Instead I find myself sitting stiff, tight. It’s the only way I can keep my nerves under control.
My shoulders start to ache a few minutes later, but I don’t dare let my guard down. People in business attire come and go, their interactions fast and efficient. Someone mentions Dante. She gives a quick nod and flicks a gaze at me, but looks away when I return the look.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m no longer nervous. I’m fuming.
The deep timbre of a male voice sounds from down the hallway past the receptionist’s desk, followed by a different voice that calls out, “Sure thing. Thanks a lot, Dante.”
I let out a breath. Dante’s here. And he’s kept me waiting almost an hour. Either he was on the world’s longest phone call, or he just didn’t care enough to see me. Enough.
I stand, smooth my dress, and plaster on a smile as I go back to the desk. Channeling Livvie, I muster up as much disarming sweetness as I can when I say, “Excuse me. I hate to be a bother, but is there a restroom? I didn’t realize I’d be waiting so long.”
The receptionist pauses, giving me a blasé look. I actually think she might deny me. I bat my eyelashes and widen my smile.
“Of course. It’s that way. Back and to the left.” She points down the hall.
“Thank you so much.”
I wonder how far I can get before she can no longer see me. The hall splits into two corridors, the restroom on the left. Breezing past it, I continue along, discreetly reading the name plate beside each door until I finally reach an ornate carved door at the very end of the hall. It’s unmarked, but it practically screams “In here.”
