Zia Noelia’s hand landed on my shoulder, and then she joined me in bottling her Nero d’Avola wine. When the first bottle was full, I raised it up to the light. This red wine was so much darker than my merlot, the tannins richer and the taste bolder. It was rare, and her vineyard was small. I couldn’t help thinking that this could achieve so much more.
Zia Noelia was my father’s sister. She too had grown up on the Bella Collina estate. She had met her husband, my zio Alberto, when he came to work on one of the other vineyards on the property, but before long he had found employment in his home town in western Sicily. Zio Alberto was an expert on Nero d’Avola grapes. They made a rare wine, unique to this region. He had followed his heart, and my aunt had followed him.
As I lowered the bottle, my first thought was that Caresa would have loved to have seen this place. My aunt’s vineyard overlooked Lake Arancio. It was beautiful, peaceful. The only place I had in the world to come to outside of Bella Collina. Zia Noelia and Zio Alberto were the only family I had left.
At least on the Marchesi side. There was now Zeno on the Savona side, but I was trying not to think of that too much right now. I had been here for eight days. When I had shown up, my aunt had taken one look at my face and knew why I was there. She didn’t say anything but “So now you know.” But that was mainly because of me. I refused to talk about fleeing my home that night. I hadn’t told her about Zeno, our fight, or my . . . . or my Caresa.
Even at the thought of her name, a large rip would slice through my chest. Because I had left her. She was choosing me, but I couldn’t go to Parma with her. I couldn’t let her run from her life, not for me. When she was with me, she made everything better. She made me feel safe and whole.
But I didn’t want to feel comfort or safety right now. I wanted to feel every emotion my father’s secret ignited within me. I wanted to feel the pain and hurt. I needed time away from everything I loved—my vineyard, my wine, my Caresa—to think clearly. To work out what I was meant to do now.
So I worked beside my aunt and uncle on their vineyard, throwing myself into a new kind of wine production, a new taste, a new process . . . just something different.
I needed change.
As night drew in and the sun began to bow over the distant green hills, every muscle in my body ached. I took my bottle of water and a glass of two-year-old Nero d’Avola to the patio table on my aunt’s stone deck and sat down. I breathed in the fresh air as the sun’s reflection glistened off the crystal-blue water of the lake. There wasn’t a soul in sight, not a sound to be heard. There was only me with my thoughts, my sadness and this wine.
I had sat out here every night for eight days, and nothing was better. And I knew why. Being without Caresa, thinking of how hurt she must have been when she found me gone, ensured I felt no peace. Thinking of Zeno, how he pushed me away, how he denied me as his blood, only served to sink the dagger of sadness in further.
And there was no reprieve from this hollow cave in my stomach. The pain just kept rolling and rolling, wave after wave, as if I were caught up and drowning in a wild, stormy sea.
An arm came over my shoulder. My aunt placed my dinner of pasta ragù on the table. I waited for her to leave me alone, as she had done every night, only tonight she did not. She moved beside me, placing her own plate down on the table.
She gazed over the calming scenic view and, without looking at me, said, “I remember those days like it was yesterday, Achille.” My back tensed; she had finally had enough of my silence. She sighed deeply. “I remember the day my brother saw Abrielle singing Christmas hymns in Orvieto. I teased him for his infatuation at first, but after a while we could all see how much he loved her. And it wasn’t long before she loved him in return.”
My heart was a drum, beating loudly in my ears as she turned to me with glistening brown eyes. “Not being able to conceive a child hurt your mother so deeply. Abrielle was so sweet, so kind and had such a big heart. And it truly broke her when they discovered your father was infertile. It wounded him too, but not as much as when he discovered his wife was pregnant with the king’s child.”
I shifted uncomfortably on my seat. Zia Noelia covered my hand that lay tensely on the tabletop. “But you see, Achille? Sometimes what we think is the worst thing in the world can really be a blessing in disguise. You became your father’s very reason for living. And as much as he cherished Abrielle, I believe he really only came to life when you were born. It no longer mattered how you came to be, only that you fit so perfectly in his arms. And the king loved you too, of that I am sure. We were not raised in that world, Achille. It is hard for us, I think, to put ourselves in their shoes. They have rules and ways that seem bizarre to us. But I saw how the king adored you, and so did his son.” She squeezed my hand. “Zeno loved you, Achille. You were both so alike as you played the day away. It made my heart swell with joy to see you both laughing, brother and brother.”
“He sent me from the estate,” I cut in, and watched my aunt’s face fill with sympathy.
“Your black eye and split lip,” she said knowingly.
I nodded my head. “He read the letter and said my father told lies. I . . . I hit him when he tried to destroy the letter. If . . . if it hadn’t been for Caresa, I don’t know if I would have stopped.” Guilt flooded my veins. “I . . . I have never been so angry in my life, so hurt, as when he denounced me on the spot.” I winced. “He called me slow. He shamed me in front of her. I . . . I have never felt so unworthy of her as I did in that moment.”
“Her?” my aunt asked. “This girl, Caresa?”
My chest ached. “Yes.”
“Achille?” Zia Noelia said. “Are you talking of Caresa Acardi, the Duchessa di Parma? King Zeno’s fiancée?”
I felt my throat thicken. “She found me in my vineyard one day. Then she came back the next. She kept coming back, and before we knew it, we had fallen for one another. It wasn’t meant to happen, but . . .” I trailed off, and then, meeting my aunt’s eyes, I patted my chest and whispered, “She made me whole. I found her, Zia . . . my split-apart. I was struck with love, and there was no going back.”
“Oh, Achille,” Zia Noelia said sadly. “And where is she now?”
“At the estate. I . . . she wanted to run away with me, to get away, but I left her, Zia. I left her and came here alone. I left her with just a simple note. A note I would never have been able to write if it wasn’t for her.”
“She’s the one who has been helping you read and write?”
I nodded, and my aunt sat back in her seat, shocked. “Is she still marrying Zeno?”
Her question made my stomach drop to the ground. “I don’t know. We . . . we had planned to tell her family about us when I had finished this year’s vintage. But now . . . now I don’t know.” I inhaled deeply. “I don’t know anything anymore. But I know that each day I am not with her, it becomes harder and harder for me to breathe.”
“You love her,” Zia Noelia stated.
“More than life,” I replied with an unhappy smile. My aunt reached over and took my glass of wine. She took a long drink and placed the now almost-empty glass back on the table. I couldn’t help but smile, a real smile this time, as she shook her head, and said, “I needed that, carino.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked after a minute.
“I have no idea.”
My aunt pulled her chair beside me and placed her hand on my arm. This close, I saw my father in her eyes. And as I studied her face, it was obvious I was not from their bloodline. But I had never seen it before.
“Achille Marchesi,” Zia Noelia said sternly. “I am going to say something, and I want you to listen, okay?”
I nodded.
“I loved my brother, I did. He was a great man and cared for me his whole life. It devastated me that I was not there when he passed. That is something I will never forgive myself for. But one thing I always believed was that he did not fight hard enough for Abrielle. He saw her despair and watched her sink into a depression, but, out of love, he let her go away with the king’s dressage team. Yes, he had the harvest, but she was gone a while, and he never followed. He wanted to give her time, but I believed he should have tracked her down and made sure she knew she was loved. Promised her that they would find a way to have children. It was the same with you. When your schooling became challenging, he trusted the king would help. When he didn’t, my brother, out of love, let it go. Neither situation was helped by his passive nature. And Achille, I am telling you now, if you love the duchessa, if she is your split-apart, you must fight for her. You have fought all of your life, carino. And you have been the victor in every battle that came your way. Do not give up now when you face the war. If you want the duchessa, you must go back for her. You must tell her how you feel.”