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.”
