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Lucia, the third in our band of makeshift musketeers, was the daughter of Elio and Carina Cesare. Her father was the head winemaker for Valentini, and her mother was our housekeeper. Her family didn’t live on the estate, so she wasn’t around as much as Georgio. Since none of us had brothers or sisters, we’d become like siblings to one another.
I bent my elbow on the desk and rested my chin in my hand. “I’m going to break up with Paolo.”
“Good. È un lecchino—always kissing up to your papà.”
I shrugged. Georgio was right. However, my father was as much to blame.
Paolo’s family owned an estate and winery in Chianti bigger than ours. While he was the second son and unable to inherit, my parents saw him as a good match for me. Something told me my papà had started planning our arranged union shortly after I was born.
I shuddered. I was far too young to be thinking of things like marriage—to anyone. Time to change the subject. “So, how are you, Georgio?”
“Hot. Bored.”
“Me too.” July in Tuscany could be miserable. August was worse, which was why millions of Italians took their holiday then.
“Let’s sneak off to the beach. You, me, and Lucia.”
I swatted his arm. “Sneak off? Sei pazzo.”
“Come on, you know you want to.”
I laughed. “You have to work, and so do I.”
Three years ago, Georgio had started working in the winery. This year, he was promoted to an apprentice to the head winemaker.
“We’re too young to be working all the time.”
I rolled my eyes. “Georgio, you were the one who wanted to work in the winery. Now you’re saying you don’t?”
“I’m saying we can take a couple of days off.”
I shook my head and went back to compiling my father’s reports.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re going to break up with Paolo. I never liked him.”
I laughed. “You’ve never liked any of my boyfriends.”
“I can’t help it if I don’t think anyone is good enough for you.”
When the door opened and my papà walked in, Georgio immediately stood to leave. “See you later, Pia.”
My father glared at him as he walked out. “He shouldn’t be in here.”
“Georgio is like family, Papà.”
My father studied the reports I’d just finished preparing. “He’s not family. He’s the help,” he grumbled.
I stood and kissed my papà’s cheek. He meant well. I knew that. But if there was anyone my father didn’t have to protect me from, it was Georgio.
I had just changed into my bikini and was ready to slip out and walk down to the pool to meet Mylos, when I saw my father talking to Georgio on the villa’s terrazza.
I crept over to the sitting room and stood by the window where they couldn’t see me. While they spoke in hushed voices, I could tell by my papà’s tone that he was angry. I hoped he wasn’t scolding Georgio for coming into the winery office to talk to me.
“Eavesdropping?” asked my mother, who walked in, carrying a book.
“Why is Papà so upset?”
She sighed. “Georgio pushes for modernization. Your father thinks he takes advantage of your friendship and speaks when he shouldn’t. I have to agree that it isn’t his place.”
