Page 78 of My Fake Italian Marriage

“You are capable of so much more than you give yourself credit for. Stop playing it safe and go after what you really want.” She eyed him steadily. “What I love most about you is the way you throw yourself into everything you do—driving, football, cooking. But as soon as it’s something you really care about, something that really matters, you won’t commit. What are you afraid of?”

Frustrated, Luca ran a hand through his hair. “I am not afraid, but the vineyard is Gio’s birthright, not mine.”

“You’re the only one who believes that. Your father doesn’t, or he wouldn’t have perpetuated this stupid feud for so long. And your brother has made a good life here, doing what he loves. Do you honestly think he would begrudge you doing the same just because he was born first?”

With a resigned sigh, she turned and headed for the patio door. “I’m going to bed.” She paused on the threshold. “For the record, I think you’re wrong. On paper, Gio might be the obvious choice to replace your father, but I sense he’d do it out of obligation, not out of desire or ambition. He’s happy here and doesn’t want more. My instinct tells meyou’rethe one the vineyard needs. It needs your ambition and your vision. And you need the vineyard even more than it needs you.”

Long after she’d gone, Luca stayed on the patio, impervious to the chilly air, lost in thought, until the candle sputtered out, leaving him alone with the darkness. Even the fireflies had disappeared. The stillness was broken only by the distant sound of a dog barking.

He rubbed his face. Had he been afraid that Gio would resent him for taking his place? Maybe a little. Though it was indeed an outdated idea that the eldest son should automatically inherit, and yes, Gio would want him to be happy. But she was wrong about him needing the vineyard. Sure, he wanted the opportunity to turn it around, to restore the Fioravanti name to what it once was, and to prove that he was more than a pretty face, but he wanted his family reunited even more. His dreams were worth sacrificing for the greater good.

But he certainly needed something more, something new, because he couldn’t continue as he had before. Over these past few weeks, the gnawing emptiness inside of him had disappeared. He couldn’t go back to that.

Whether this new-found sense of purpose in his life was because of his work at the vineyard, or because of Cleo, he didn’t know. He would have that answer sooner than he liked. When she was gone, he would know for sure if growing a few grapes and bringing Gio home would be enough to fill the hole in his life.

He sprawled back in the chair to look at the stars, breathing in the rich, sweet scent of the night-blooming jasmine.

The other night, Cleo had looked at these same stars and spoken about waking from a dream. He understood what she meant. These past weeks had felt like a dream, the kind he didn’t want to wake from. But he was a realist, and every dream had to end.

In the few days they had left, he still had to come up with an explanation for Cleo’s departure, a convincing reason for everyone to forgive her for leaving. He had been careful not to promise that he wouldn’t take the blame on himself. Because no matter what Cleo thought, that was what he needed to do. He needed to paint himself as the bad guy in their break-up, and make the reason believable, not just for his parents, but for Cleo, too. She needed to leave without looking back.

No matter how he’d wracked his brain these past few days, there was only one way to do it. Once again, he would have to disappoint the people he loved. He could already picture his parents’ expressions when they learned that Cleo was leaving. And Silvio and Pierina. Despite his sombre mood, he chuckled. Pierina had gone out of her way on Sunday to prepare a meal with no carbs. If that didn’t prove how much she liked Cleo, nothing would.

He crept upstairs, undressed, and slid into bed beside her. She was already asleep, her hair a halo on the pillow. He brushed it aside to place a kiss on her neck, and curled up against her back, one arm over her hip, cradling her against him.

He should be used to disappointing people by now, but the memory of that look in Cleo’s eyes caused a physical ache in his chest. He shook it off. Playing the role expected of him wasn’t hard, and his life wasn’t bad. He’d rather the people in his life had low expectations of him; that way he would never betray them, or hurt them, which would be infinitely worse. It was worth sacrificing his own happiness to ensure the happiness of the people he loved. And that included Cleo.

ChapterThirty-Two

Meglio un giorno da leone che cento da pecora.

(Better one day as a lion than a hundred as a sheep.)

The Fioravanti villa, usually quiet, elegant, sedate, had turned into Bedlam. When Cleo made the mistake of entering the villa, she had to dodge florists carrying armloads of drapes and flowers into the ballroom, and waitstaff laying out chairs and tables in the blue salon. A bar had been set up in the entrance foyer, and two barmen were shouting instructions to the delivery boys unloading crates of wine and champagne. She grimaced at the extravagance.

“It’s not every day a couple celebrates forty years together,” Letizia had said at Sunday lunch, when Cleo wrangled her down from a small chamber orchestra to a DJ—Luca’s cousin Dino. Cleo had merely shaken her head. Her own parents had been perfectly happy with a fancy dinner out in Bridport for their fortieth anniversary.

The kitchen was no less chaotic. Pierina had spent the last few days preparing enough food to feed an army, until the pantry, and the additional refrigerators that had been hired, overflowed. That was the only silver lining as far as Cleo was concerned: Pierina was far too busy for cooking lessons, so Cleo was able to escape to the quiet sanity of Giovanni’s office at the wine cellar.

Giovanni’s office. She should stop thinking of it that way. It would soon be Gio’s office. Or maybe the new business manager she urgently needed to hire to take over the work she and Luca had been doing. She had resigned herself to that, though she still believed—fervently—that Luca was the best man for the job. But what she thought clearly didn’t matter. She was fast learning that Luca was as stubborn as his father.

“You’re a genius!” Kevin had enthused after she emailed him the news. “Well done for digging up the long-lost son. I checked him out, and he has an incredible reputation. Did you know he won a Sommeliers’ Choice Award last year for his red blend? The Fioravanti vineyard will be in good hands. I knew you’d get the job done, you always do. When are you coming home?”

“Give me a few more days,” she’d replied. “There’s one thing I still need to resolve.”

A delivery truck pulled up in the yard below the window, and Cleo sighed. It wasn’t the first van that had taken a wrong turn and come to the winery instead of the villa. She tried to focus on Kevin’s latest email, containing background on the new Magna Media project she’d be working on in a couple of days, but didn’t get further than re-reading the opening paragraph before Dario burst into the office. “Vieni!”

Curious, she followed him downstairs to the loading bays in time to see the delivery men emptying the truck, and she gasped in pleasant surprise. This was one delivery she didn’t mind in the least, though it was a day early. She was sad, though, that Luca was meeting a client at his office in town, and would miss this. Under Dario’s supervision, the cellar workers rolled the new French oak barrels into the space that had been cleared for them.

“Is this expense why you have kept us on such a strict budget for the party?”

She spun around to see Giovanni striding into the cellar. He was alone, and though he was silhouetted against the bright sunlight beyond the loading bay doors, he looked like the man in the display of photographs on top of the grand piano: strong, commanding, and a little intimidating.

She nodded. “Luca suggested we age the next harvest in wooden barrels rather than only in stainless steel.”

We. She flinched at the word which had unconsciously slipped out.

Giovanni crossed his arms over his chest. “It increases the cost of the wine.”

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