Page 53 of My Fake Italian Marriage

Pierina added something in Italian, and Luca looked as if he was trying not to laugh. “She was worried you were going to lose a finger chopping vegetables.”

“Me too.”

Again, Pierina gesticulated violently at her chest, and Cleo frowned. “She’s not having a heart attack, I hope. My cooking can’t be that bad!”

Luca laughed. “She says that the secret to good cooking is in the heart. You need to feel passion for it.”

Cleo sagged back in her seat, with a tragic sigh. “Then there’s no hope for me.” She brightened. “On the plus side, I didn’t burn the house down.”

Luca laughed. “You still have all your fingers, and our home is still standing. I am proud of you. It takes courage to push yourself outside of your comfort zone like this.”

She was too tired to roll her eyes. This whole Italian “holiday” had definitely pushed her way outside of her comfort zone—wine farming, learning Italian, marriage, cooking. None of those things had been on her bingo card at the start of the season.

* * *

After lunch, Luca took her for a walk through the vineyard. This wasn’t just post-meal exercise, but work; the vines needed to be regularly “scouted”, inspected for threats like disease or insects, or to check the soil nutrition and moisture levels.

“This section of the vineyard is still young. It was planted five years ago,” Luca explained, as they strolled between the trellises twined with knotty canes already thick with leaves and clusters of tiny green grapes.

“How old are these particular grapes?”

“Only a few weeks. Bud break took place in early April, shortly before you arrived.” His eyes brightened. “Though it happens every year, it still feels like a miracle, that moment when the vines come to life again after the winter.”

She’d seen him get enthusiastic over food and football, but this was different. He glowed with the same reverence he showed when he sampled new wines.

“Now, we are in the fruit-set stage.” He cradled a cluster of grapes in the palm of his hand. “This is when the fertilised flowers grow seeds, and the berry forms to protect the seeds. Once the unfertilised flowers fall from the vines, we will be able to estimate this year’s yield.”

“Is there any chance we’ll get a bigger yield this year? That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

“For my father, the bigger the yield the better. But for me, I don’t like the obsession with quantity over quality.” Luca shrugged. “It’s a balancing act. Higher quality control means discarding more of the inferior grapes, and that makes the wine more expensive and the profits potentially lower. We can’t afford the risk right now of spending too much on making the wine. But a high yield gives us less chance to make a better wine.”

“So, what do you recommend? Do we continue making the same inferior wine and hope it sells?”

He studied the grape cluster in his hand. “If it were up to me, I’d start here. I’d run a trial on these few acres of newer vines to see if we can make a better-quality wine with them. Then, next year, we could try for a higher quality yield over a bigger acreage. But for every acre and every barrel, we need more patience. We need time to let the wine age properly.” He looked at her. “Whether we have that time depends on you and your bank.”

She looked away down the long rows of sloping vines. His plan sounded sensible. She would recommend it to Kevin, and to the new vintner, as and when they hired one. And thinking of vintners…

She turned back to Luca. “You know a lot about winemaking, and you love it. Have you considered changing your profession?” He certainly didn’t light up this way when he spoke about his legal practice. That was a job; this was a part of him.

“You think your boss will hire a lawyer as the vintner here?”

“Why not? Many other people have become winemakers after careers in business or filmmaking, or fashion design, like Roberto Cavalli. Tommaso was a hotel manager before he came to make wines at Castel Sant’Angelo.”

Luca’s eyes were inscrutable behind his dark sunglasses. Then he shrugged, and strode away, back the way they’d come, his hands in his jeans’ pockets, so that she had to run to catch up with him. “That is not practical. This vineyard needs an experienced vintner.”

Screw practical. She’d been practical her whole life, making the best of the hand she was dealt, but this was Tuscany, where anything was possible, and if he wanted to make wine, then he should.

“No one should give up on a dream without at least trying to achieve it.”

But she might as well have been talking to a brick wall. He strode on, and she stopped chasing after him.

She wanted to shake him and tell him that he should follow his heart. Didn’t he realise that he was living a life that was only a shadow of what it could be? Instead, she clenched her fists and stayed silent. Luca could do it,shoulddo it, but he had no faith in himself. And she was sure that was Giovanni’s doing.

ChapterTwenty-Two

Senza tentazioni, senza onore.

(Where there is no temptation, there is no glory.)

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