“That’s amazing!” I gush. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this.”
Alain appears with plates of food, including my favorite Tuscan style omelet, made extra cheesy, with rustic toast and fruit on the side. I’m touched that he prepared it my first day back, and I mouth a “thank you” to the chef as he sets my plate before me.
“I’ve managed to locate four of the Friesians so far,” Armani continues, “but I’m afraid the rest of them have been sold across the country already. They’ll be harder for me to track.”
I nod, chewing my toast slowly. It takes several heartbeats before I work up the nerve to ask, “Which ones were you able to find?”
He consults his tablet. “Let me see…we have Maeije, Ytse, Maximum…and Avina.” He taps around on the screen some more. “I may have another lead, or at least I think so, but—”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish as I all but race around the table to wrap him in a hug. Armani seems shocked, his entire body going tense, and I feel him turn his head to look across the table at his brother. The fact that Dante is smiling at us, looking pleased, is probably even more shocking to Armani than my unexpected PDA.
I pull away and pat Armani on the shoulder, composing myself as best I can after my outburst of appreciation. “Thank you. So much. You have no idea what this means to us.”
A whisper of a smile crosses his lips. “You’re welcome.”
I take my seat again and pick up my fork, but I know I won’t be able to eat anything. I can’t wait to tell Livvie the good news. Dante reaches under the table and takes my hand.
“There’s more,” he says.
“More?” I echo. “Are you serious?”
Marco digs into his bacon and eggs while watching us, as if he also can’t wait to hear the news. Dante takes a slow sip of his coffee, drawing out my anticipation just for fun.
“I’m going to have a gate installed in the property fence that separates the Abbott vines from the Bellanti vines. This way the Friesians will be safe at the stables where we keep our trail riding horses for the guests, but Livvie could easily ride over to the Abbott property to use the arenas and keep up with her training. Oh—and do you think Livvie might want to move into the guesthouse? It would make her commute to school a lot quicker and less stressful—”
This time it’s Dante who gets my arms thrown around him.
After breakfast, I check my phone again. Of course, there’s nothing from Rico. I leave him a curt voicemail and send another text to say we really need to talk, so we can “resolve the situation to our mutual benefit.” I use those specific words on purpose—Rico-speak for somebody getting paid off. I figure the implication of money exchanging hands will get him to return my call faster.
On a whim, I scroll through my contacts and try my dad’s cell number, but it goes to voicemail without even ringing. Probably shut off for nonpayment, or maybe he turned it off to hide from everyone, including his own daughters. What a piece of shit. How he ever managed to have three kids with the same woman, I’ll never know. He didn’t deserve us. Any of us.
I look down at my ring and can’t help wondering what kind of mother would have seen the kind of man my father is and then left her children with him anyway. It’s a question I’ve struggled with ever since Mom walked out on us. Because although I don’t blame her for leaving him, I can’t forgive her for not taking us, too.
And I swear to God, if I ever have children of my own, I’ll never do the same.
22
Frankie
It feltamazing to walk into work at the Bellanti offices today, to sit down in my fancy ergonomic Aeron chair behind my gleaming new desk, in an office right down the hall from Dante. I’ve got a hot coffee in my hand, my laptop open, and I’m raring to go.
The staff seem happy to see me, if a bit wary and unsure about the office politics—especially with Jessica being let go for the second time in a row—but I’m determined to put any and all drama behind us.
Mid-morning, I ask Ruby, the main receptionist and office administrator, to come in and see me so I can chat with her and get a better sense of how the vineyard’s record keeping and financial planning works. Soon enough she’s showing me the books, huge binders full of printouts from our management software, complete with detailed budget breakdowns.
“This is great,” I tell her. “I can’t believe you have to keep on top of so much stuff.”
“You have no idea. Glad to know someone appreciates it,” she says.
“I’m going to get you a raise,” I promise. “And an assistant. And a cake.”
She laughs. “Two out of three, and I’ll never retire.”
After expressing my gratitude again, I send her away and dive right in. Before I know it, I’ve spent an hour catching up on all the Bellanti Vineyard’s books, including the itinerary and budget for the upcoming End of Harvest Gala that Charlie organized. I’ve been excited for this event since its conception, and as the days grow shorter, and the fall colors richer, my excitement grows. I have so much to do.
There’s a knock on my door shortly after lunch. Marco pops his dark head in and gives a sheepish grin. I was expecting him hours ago.
“I’m here to give you a tour around the fields.” He steps fully into my office and I’m slightly surprised to see him dressed casually.
