Page 4 of Gone With the Wine

“Allegra!” Rosa’s mouth falls open.

I grin. Oh my God.Allegra is known for saying what’s on her mind. Sometimes second by second.

Uncle Geno’s smile is fake. “Our arrangement has worked just fine for decades. We’ve even honored the history of Caparelli vineyards through our Carleo Cabernet.”

The Carleo. The “tribute” wine Uncle Geno has been selling for years. The one where Nonna’s contribution has been reduced to a side note.She was a gifted winemaker, but never got the credit she should have. These days, lots of women are working in the wine business.

I think I get my love of winemaking from her. I think I have talent, too. But I’ve always been disregarded by Uncle Geno. His son is Belmonte’s winemaker and Uncle Geno won’t have it any other way. And honestly? My sisters never really paid much attention to my wine creations, either.

“There’s no reason to fix what isn’t broken,” he says.

Rosa finally speaks up.“I think…I’ll have to talk to my sisters about it.”

“But—”

The image on screen jiggles and shift as Rosa stands.

I speak up, too. “Yes, we have to discuss our options. All of them.”

“Girls!” Uncle Geno booms. “I must insist?—”

“Nope.” Allegra laughs through the phone. “Pretty sure you don’t get to insist anything. Andiamo, sorelle mie, let’s discuss our options.”

“We’ll be in touch about the financials,” Rosa says to Mr. Davenport.

She sounds like a winery owner already. I smile.

Winery owner. Whoa.

I own a winery.

The image shifts again as Rosa walks out of the room. Once outside the building, she holds up the iPad so we can see her face, blinking a little in the bright California sunlight.

“I have just one thing to say,” Allegra pipes up, her eyes wide on my smartphone screen.

“What’s that?” Rosa asks.

“Holy shit.”

Chapter1

Bianca

4 months later

I’m so gross I can’t stand myself.

I feel like I’ve been traveling for a week, and I probably look and smell like it, too. Ugh.

I’m dying for a shower and a nice bed and I’m almost there, but as I get closer to Oak Creek Canyon, the knots in my stomach tighten and my hands stick to the steering wheel of the car I rented in San Francisco.

I’m almost home.

All my life as the middle kid I felt, well, unnoticed. My older sister Rosa was perfect—well-behaved, top marks in school, justgood. Then there was Allegra, the youngest, the baby, fun-loving, energetic, impulsive. I loved wine and winemaking and I had ideas but was brushed off as just a kid. Just a girl. I had a period of rebellion, much to my eternal chagrin. But I also loved my chemistry and biology classes and quietly made small batches of wine that I sometimes snuck into tastings when I was working at Belmonte. People liked them. They were good.

The wines I’ve been making in Argentina are good, too.

Then Nonna died.

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