I made my way along the hallway and down the stairs, taking the route through the study to the back door of the kitchen. As I entered the study it was dark, the long red velvet drapes blocking out the early light.
I wondered why the housekeeper had forgotten to open them. I pulled them back, allowing in the light, when a voice from behind said, “Leave them.”
I spun around, hand on heart, only to see Zeno slouching in the large leather chair next to the unlit fireplace. “Zeno, you scared me,” I said, trying to calm my heart.
I moved toward him and saw he was clutching a full glass of scotch, an almost depleted crystal decanter on the table beside him. He was still dressed in last night’s suit, but his tie was gone and his jacket was crooked. His hair, for once, was a mess, the dark ends sticking up in every direction.
“Zeno.” I said, moving to stand before him. “Have you been here all night?” It took him a while to lift his head. When he met my eyes, his were unfocused. “Are you drunk?” I asked, beginning to worry.
“Not enough,” he slurred and threw back the remainder of the scotch in his glass. He quickly refilled it with what was left in the decanter.
“Why have you been drinking all night?” I folded my arms over my chest.
Zeno raised an eyebrow at me with a cocky smirk. “Why, Duchessa? Are you suddenly interested in me? In my welfare?”
“Don’t be absurd, Zeno. Of course I care for you. And I want to know why you are drinking yourself into a stupor.”
Zeno reached out sloppily and patted the chair next to his. “Sit down, fiancée.”
I cautiously did as he said, smelling the strong scent of liquor on him the minute I was beside him. He tried to smile at me, but it was another forced grin.
I was tired of all the pretense.
“Stop it, Zeno. There is no one here for us to lie to right now. Just tell me what is on your mind.”
“What is on my mind . . .” Zeno trailed off and bowed forward. I saw him freeze, then look at me. “Where is your ring? Cost me a pretty penny, that did. But I had to make sure my duchessa was impressed.” He leaned closer still. “I even made you cry.” He pulled back. “Or was that just a good act? I know you weren’t crying from happiness. Did I make you cry in sadness, Duchessa? Because you were tying your life to me?”
I’d had just about enough of this, so I shifted my chair to face him directly and took the scotch from his hand. Zeno’s face clouded with anger, but I held up my hand and said, “Tell me why you’ve been here in this room all night. And don’t try and joke or charm your way out of it. I want the truth.”
Zeno tried to stare me down, but then sagged back in his chair and ran his hand over his face. “I know you think I have been in Florence all of this time, screwing anything that moved, but you are wrong.” I stayed quiet, waiting for him to carry on. He leaned to the side of the chair, defeated, his head resting against the headrest. “I haven’t. I was there a couple of days when I had to be. But I have been all over Italy to our buyers, trying to convince them to stay with Savona Wines over our competitors.” He laughed a humorless laugh. “Turns out they don’t trust me. They grilled me, asked me questions about our production that I couldn’t answer. Asked me about a plan for the future—one I didn’t have. They questioned me on everything, and I didn’t know a thing. I, the prince, was put to the test by wine buyers and merchants and made to look a fool.”
Zeno sighed, reining in his anger. “And if I have to hear from one more person that I am not the man my father was, that I am not as dedicated to these vineyards as my father was, I will scream.”
“Does my father know?” I asked, feeling my face pale with worry. “Does he know that we are losing business?”
“We?” Zeno said patronizingly. He flicked his hand. “He knows some. I haven’t told him of the rest.”
“Zeno.” I rubbed my forehead. “How many buyers have you lost?”
“Mm . . . close to seventy percent,” he said, and I instantly felt sick.
“But how? That’s crazy!” I exclaimed. “And the merlot? That is not selling? I thought there was a waiting list?”
“The merlot is fine,” Zeno said, staring into the unlit fire. “It is expensive, but with the small quantities produced, it doesn’t bring in enough revenue to even sustain this place.” He sighed. “Caresa, we have eleven properties all over Italy and own hundreds of thousands of acres of land. All our wines must sell, not just the merlot. We have lost winemakers to our competitors. They took other offers when my father died because they did not know me or trust me.”
“Why didn’t you work with your father to learn the business?” I asked, feeling my anger taking hold. Zeno was a twenty-six-year-old man. How could he have lived so carelessly?
“I had no interest in it. He wanted me involved, but it didn’t appeal to me. In the end he told me to take a break and he would handle things. So I did.”
“You spent your time drinking and partying instead of learning the family business? Is it any wonder the buyers are jumping ship?”
Zeno’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. “And what the hell would you know?”
“I know that since I have been here, you have made an appearance at this property twice,” I snapped. “I know that on those days you have never once walked through your land, getting to know the people that put their blood, sweat and tears into your wines. I have been here but a short while, and I know more of the farmers and winemakers than you, who has had this estate in your life since you were born!”
I got to my feet, staring Zeno down. “You have a gift in this land, Zeno, in all of the land you own. Your winemakers are exceptional, as is the product. If the buyers are leaving, it is down to you and you alone. These wines are better than any of the competitors can provide.” I was shaking with rage. “Maybe instead of traveling to the South of France with whichever baronessa had taken your fancy that week, you should have been here with your father, sharing in the business that allows you to live in such a way. My father moved, Zeno. He left his beloved Italy to expand the business he built with your father. As his daughter, I am ashamed that all he sacrificed is going up in smoke. And this sham of a marriage isn’t going to fix it!”
“Are you finished?” he hissed, his face reddening with fury.
“No, there is one more thing.” I stepped toward him until I could see perfectly into his eyes. “It is time you started to care about this business before you are its ruin. Many people will suffer, thousands will lose their very reason for being if you let this ship sink.” Drawing one last fortifying breath, I pointed at him and spat, “It is time you began living for this vineyard, instead of living by it. You happily reap the rewards yet do nothing to earn them.” I dropped my hand. “So start trying!”
I stormed back toward my rooms, my anger chasing my hunger away. Because I was seething. I was so angry at how Zeno had been allowed to live his playboy lifestyle when Achille had worked his whole life, his lifeblood growing in this earth. And he could lose it because of Zeno’s lack of responsibility.
I thought back to Achille this morning, to the devastation on his face at the thought of losing his small vineyard, his home and land.
So I had admonished Zeno for him. Because Achille’s happiness was now my own, and his vineyard was the key. I couldn’t imagine him taken from his land, no longer listening to his opera music in the fields as he hand-harvested the grapes.
Before Achille, I never knew there could be such beauty in the simple act of picking grape from vine. It was art in living color, grace so pure and true. Through him, I saw such flawless divinity in the most understated acts—the way his hand lay so softly on mine, causing my heart to stop in my chest. His lips brushing a kiss against my lips, stealing every last drop of air from my lungs. And the way his warm breath ghosted across my skin in reverence, lighting my body like embers in a fire. Achille thought himself inferior to the likes of Zeno, but I knew differently.
He was a better man. Period.
I closed the door to my rooms and slumped on my bed. I had no idea what to do. Achille wanted me to wait to call off this engagement. And now the business was failing, Zeno crumbling, falling apart.