Page 48 of My Fake Italian Marriage

Slowly, he closed the file. “Yes, it is time for the next generation. You will be a good manager for the vineyard.” He wrinkled his nose. “I suppose Luca will have to take over as vintner.”

Her stomach tightened again as she shook her head. “I won’t force him to give up his legal practice or do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

Giovanni opened his mouth to protest, but she continued before he could speak. “Don’t tell me it’s his duty to the family, because you and I both know this is bigger than family. It’s a business decision, and since the bank will be paying for the new staff, we reserve our right to decide who will be hired.”

Giovanni’s dark, piercing eyes held hers. “You sayourandwefor the bank. But this is your home and your family now. You are on our side.”

“I’m still employed by the bank, but there are no sides in this. We all want the same thing. We all want this vineyard to become profitable again.”

“By taking the vineyard out of family hands? This is afamilybusiness, like Menarini or Ferrero.”

She smiled. He had just handed her the key to winning this argument. “Lucia Aleotti does not run Menarini alone, nor does Giovanni Ferrero run Ferrero alone. They have expert management and hire the best product developers. If you want this vineyard to continue into the future, you need to accept outsiders into the business, as they did.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, and she prepared herself for the next round of battle, but then he sighed, as if too tired to argue. “It is perhaps for the best. Luca does not have the talent. I trust you will do what is right for this company and for this family.”

And like that, the fight was over. Had he really handed over the reins so easily? But she was unworthy of his trust. He still believed she would be staying, that she would be involved in the business and represent the family. The lie burned like acid. “Why do you trust me?”

His face crinkled into a smile. “You know this vineyard’s true financial state and yet you still married Luca, so clearly you married for love. You are not a gold digger, and you have a good business head on your shoulders.” He waved the business plan for emphasis. “This is a good plan you have created.”

“Luca helped create this business plan too.”

He waved a hand, dismissing Luca’s involvement, and her guilt was erased by a slow, hot spread of anger. She strode back behind Giovanni’s desk, taking a moment to calm herself before she faced the old man again. “You under-estimate your son. He is smart, capable, and hard-working, and he deserves credit for his achievements.”

Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “He chose playing at being a lawyer over working at the vineyard.”

She held his gaze, direct, not backing down. Luca might have followed in his father’s footsteps if he’d been encouraged rather than dismissed; he was clearly passionate about wine and about the vineyard. But what role would Giovanni have forced Luca into? A glorified salesman, no doubt, instead of encouraging his son to try for more.

She let his comment about Luca “playing” at his job slide, but… “You chose advertising over working with wine,” she pointed out.

“And when my brother died and my family needed me, I left a successful career to come home and do my duty.”

“Luca is out there right now, on the farm, doing his duty. Have you ever asked him to do more? Have you ever shown faith in him?”

Giovanni lifted his chin. “If Luca had applied himself, he could have amounted to something. But he has never committed to anything in his life, not even to being a lawyer.”

He turned his wheelchair to exit the room, leaving Cleo feeling as if she were missing a piece of the puzzle, some grievance Giovanni was holding on to that she couldn’t understand.

Her anger drained as quickly as it had come. One thing she did know: Giovanni’s unbending pride would be his undoing. Was it really so hard for him to ask for help, to not always be in the driving seat? He was willing to sacrifice everything for that pride—his vineyard, even his own son.

ChapterNineteen

I matrimoni sono destinati dal cielo.

(Marriages are made in heaven.)

On Sunday, the day Cleo hoped to spend with Sarah and Tommaso for much-needed downtime when she didn’t have to play at being married, she discovered that being Luca’s wife came with certain obligations.

“It’s Sunday,” Luca said when she returned from a morning run. She blinked, confused. She’d known him three weeks, and not once had he gone to church.

He handed her a cup of creamy cappuccino and turned back to the stovetop where he was making pancakes. Lemon ricotta pancakes. Her mouth watered. “Sundays I go to my parents’ for lunch.”

She couldn’t help herself; she groaned out loud. Even pancakes weren’t going to be enough to make spending such a gorgeous spring day with his parents palatable.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he reassured her. “Just the immediate family.”

“Well, if it’s just family, I’m not bothering with contact lenses or make-up,” she warned.

He grinned. “You are perfect as you are.”

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