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I said nothing because I knew it was true.
“And that’s okay,” Amanda added hurriedly. “But no way can I talk to you anymore about sex or men because, eww, little brother and my best friend are bumping uglies.”
I burst out laughing, relieved but also a little sad. “You keep talking in absolutes. Nothing is guaranteed with Tom and me.”
“Oh my god,” Amanda threw up her hands, not hearing me. “I’m gaining a sister-in-law.”
A flare of excitement burst inside me like a lone firework. “Amanda, it’s way too soon for that sort of talk. Obviously.”
Did Amanda mean Tom wanted me? Had he said something to her yesterday? I clutched the table’s edge. It was all I could do to stop myself from leaping across and demanding she tell me everything they’d said, word for word.
But my mother’s advice repeated in my mind and it became all so clear.
“I think he really is my forever person,” I whispered.
Another firework burst, and my other hand flew to my stomach.
Amanda waved to the photo of us at his eighteenth birthday dinner. “I don’t mean to terrify you, but you’re right. I think he always was. And I’ll always feel so terrible about how I acted. I was selfish and it was wrong.”
Amanda squeezed my hand, and we blindly watched each other, lost in our memories and dreams of our futures.
Amanda sniffed. “Can I be selfish and say that I’m so happy that I’d get to keep you forever too? You’ll be a Turner one day.”
“Excuse me.” I smirked, attempting to make light of how much I yearned for what Amanda said to come true. “Zanetti for life.”
“Or hyphenate?” Amanda mused, oblivious to my internal mini-meltdown. “Turner-Zanetti. Zanetti-Turner? What a mouthful.”
“The T-Zeds. Tee-Zees. Zee-Tees.”
Oh my god. The fireworks began their finale low in my stomach.
27
ROSIE
Ballydoon Community Group:
Rosie Zanetti posted 10.35 a.m.:
Hi everyone, I’m back at the winery after being snowbound on the Turner’s Creek muster. Opera in the Vines is now sold out. Thank you to those who bought tickets. We look forward to seeing you in less than two weeks.
With a week and a half to go to opera, preparation was in full swing. The rented plastic seats had arrived – all 550 of them, as well as round tables for dining, and long tables for the four-course lunch. Dad was banned from helping to place the stacks under the marquee and chose to watch the sound hire company set up the speakers on the stage.
Weddings could be held here, easy, I thought. If we had a big enough commercial kitchen. A permanent function room on the lawn where we had set up a marquee for almost thirty years for opera would be ideal. With doors that folded away to give guests an unobstructed view of our permanent stage and the vines and mountain range beyond.
The old shearing shed and the chapel ruins on the Turners’ property would be so desirable as a destination country wedding venue. If only my father could see the potential in spending the money to build the function space.
I wondered if Tom had read my proposal for the function centre yet or if it was still sitting on the kitchen table back at the homestead.
The hire company’s truck left right on closing of the cellar door. Mum promised a huge pot of fettucine for dinner as I made my way out of the cellar door to the carpark, running a list of tomorrow’s jobs through my mind.
I walked down the driveway to flip our roadside sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ and then noticed one car still remained in the car park. Another vehicle drove up behind me and parked, but I paid no attention.
It was familiar. I’d been so wrapped up with thinking about tomorrow’s chores that I failed to recognise it until Richard emerged from the drivers’ seat.
I stumbled and then froze. It was too late to escape, as he stalked towards me, blocking my path.
“Rosie, we must speak.”
