Que sera syrah, p.1
Que Será, Syrah, page 1
part #1 of POUR DECISIONS Series
Que Será Syrah
POUR DECISIONS
PG Forte
Contents
About this title…
Link to Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Wine Songs
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Pour Decisions
Other Books by PG Forte
About this title…
They may be keeping secrets and telling lies, but a little white wine never hurt anyone.
ALLEGRA
It’s not every day that you inherit one-third of a winery. I should be on top of the world, floating on Cloud Wine, as they say. Instead, don’t you just know it? I’m about to make one of the biggest mistakes of my life. And that’s saying something. My family has always viewed me as something of a screw-up, not always fairly. But in this case? They’re not only dead right about me messing things up; they don’t even know the half of it. Yet.
* * *
Complicating my quest to redeem myself, earn my sisters’ respect, and help them turn our winery into a straight fire success, is my low-key relationship with Sheriff’s Deputy Clay Romero. Sure, there are risks involved in sleeping with the enemy, but ‘what’s meant to be will find a way,’ right? And whether Clay believes it or not, I know we’re fated. With a capital F.
* * *
CLAY
We’re Capital F somethin’ all right; but I don’t think it’s fate. Ever since Legs (AKA Allegra Martinelli) blew back into town, I’ve been flirting with disaster. Literally. I doubt that woman’s ever met a rule that she didn’t want to at least bend. And, as luck would have it, it’s my job to try and stop her. I love my job, and I think I love her. But there’s not enough wine in Napa to convince me that I’ll be able to hang on to them both.
* * *
Legs keeps likening us to Romeo and Juliet. And as I keep trying to remind her; that kind of story tends not to end well. I’m sure there are exceptions, but are we gonna be one of them? I guess we’ll find out.
This book is dedicated to Kate Davies and Kelly Jamieson, because just like Allegra wouldn’t be able to manage without her sisters, this series wouldn’t even exist without you.
* * *
And to my daughter and nieces. I wish I had a winery for you all to run. I know you’d kill it.
* * *
And to the memory of my cousins Bob, Joe, and Fred. Hey, I’m not saying you guys were Lambros, or anything. But you kind of were.
Link to Playlist
https://tinyurl.com/QueSeraSyrahPlaylist
Prologue
Allegra
“C’mon, c’mon,” I mutter impatiently as I frown at my phone, which is taking forever to connect. “Let’s do this already! I can’t miss this call!” I’m reaching for my glass of Albariño, hoping the wine might calm my nerves when—thank you, Jesus! —my sisters’ faces appear on the phone’s small screen.
“Hey, Bee! And Rosy Posey,” I say in greeting forgetting, until I register her slight grimace, how much Rosa’s always hated that nickname. “Sorry I couldn’t make it back,” I find myself babbling. “How are you holding up, Rosy?”
“I’m fine,” Rosa says. “I’m sorry you two couldn’t be here, either.”
I squirm uncomfortably. “You know how it is. I’ll try to be there for the memorial.”
Full disclosure? I am totally lying right now. Having been forced to attend my father’s and grandfather’s funerals at far too young an age, I’m really not anxious to go through another family grief circus.
“You’ve got time,” Rosa says, continuing to push. “We won’t hold it until after harvest season at least. But you really should be here for it, Allegra. After everything Nonna did for us. Pay our respects.”
My lips fold in. “Sure. Of course. I’ll see what I can do.” After harvest season? Fuck me, that’s like…six months away. How am I gonna avoid going back with that kind of lead time? I’m going to have to get creative.
Rosa’s eyes flicker away from the screen as someone clears his throat—our Uncle Geno, I’m betting. And then I do pick up my glass, wishing I’d thought to order something a whole lot stronger. I’d somehow forgotten that I was going to have to deal with my entire family on this call. My sisters. My cousins. My uncle. Ugh.
“Where are you this week, Legs?” Bianca asks curiously. “Is that Greece?”
“Gibraltar,” I say relieved to have moved on to a cheerier topic. I don’t mean to flex, but who wouldn’t want to be me right now? My life is fire. I turn my phone to pan around the square, showing off the picturesque scene around me, feeling as proud as if I’d actually had something to do with it. It’s just after sunset here, but there’s probably enough light for them to see all the al fresco restaurants and wine bars that line Casemates Square; the ones that have been slowly filling with patrons as I’ve waited for this meeting to start. “I might actually get some time to look around before I move on.”
“That’s so cool.”
I nod eagerly. “It really is.” It’s both cool and highly unusual. One of the things they don’t make clear to you when you sign up to work on board a cruise ship is how little free time you’ll have. Not that I mind all that much. I’d rather keep busy, anyway. Besides, I absolutely love my job. The ship I work on has one of the only floating wineries in the world. How cool is that?
I’m about to explain how I came to have this unexpected holiday—how a pod of orcas had attacked yet another hapless yacht (boo-hoo) the remains of which have yet to be towed out of the harbor—when my sisters’ faces disappear and I find myself staring at an all too familiar conference room. My stomach roils with remembered distress. It hasn’t changed at all.
“Excuse me,” I hear Rosa say, no doubt addressing Nonna’s lawyer, Jimmy Davenport. And—as per usual—her placating tone rakes over my nerves. “I know this is a little unorthodox…”
“But so are we!” I can’t help joking.
“Sorry, sir.” Rosa’s sigh comes through loud and clear. “You know my sisters, Bianca and Allegra…”
“Quite well,” he answers, side-eyeing the screen, clocking my eyeroll. James Davenport has been the family lawyer for as long as any of us can remember, and my grandmother’s “admirer” for a lot longer than that. Of course, he knows me!
I wave back, forcing a smile. “Hi, Jimmy!”
Someone laughs—one of my cousins, I assume. Whoever he is, he cuts it off immediately covering the sound with an unconvincing cough. So, yeah…clearly not my uncle.
“As I was saying, Mr. Davenport,” Rosa continues seriously. “Bianca and Allegra are both out of the country, but they wanted to participate in the reading as well.”
“That’s fine,” he responds as he adjusts his glasses. “As long as you don’t disrupt the proceedings.”
“Yes, sir,” Bianca answers promptly, clearly missing the fact that no one would ever suggest such a thing in connection with her. Oh, no; that little warning was entirely for my benefit.
“Of course not!” I answer, butter not melting in my mouth. “It’ll be just like I’m there in the room.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says, with just a hint of a smile. “Just—be appropriate, please.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” I reply, mimicking my sisters’ good-girl tones as I mime zipping my lips closed.
“Thank you.” Jimmy looks around the room then asks, “Is anyone else joining us virtually? Your mother, perhaps?”
Rosa’s voice is quiet. “No, sir.”
I grit my teeth and say nothing. Even from thousands of miles away, I can feel my uncle’s disapproval, my sisters’ disappointment, my cousins’ discomfort. And yep, that’s Mama for you. Even when she’s not around, even when she’s off doing her own thing, minding her own business, not actively saying or doing anything offensive, she still manages to get on everyone’s nerves. It’s like a gift… Or no, more like a curse, I suppose. And I very much suspect it makes up the main part of her legacy to me.
“Thank you all for being here,” Jimmy says. “I know this is a sad and difficult time for the whole family.” He swallows hard and I’m reminded again how close he and Nonna were. After a brief pause, he clears his voice and tries again. “Your mother, mother-in-law and grandmother was a remarkable woman.”
As he pauses—obviously needing a moment—I feel tears sting my eyes. He’s hurting, too.
“She will be greatly missed,” Jimmy continues. “She also lived a full life, loved her family, and had very specific thoughts about her will and what would happen after she passed. Her greatest desire was that you remain a family, supporting each other, regardless of what’s in these papers.”
Fat chance of that, I think as I lean forward, biting my lip, heart pounding with a combination of anticipation and dread. Nonna and I had had so many conversations about what she wanted, what she’d planned to do, her dreams for the future. And I know Jimmy had warned her at the time that the family would likely experience stri
“In regard to Belmonte Winery,” Jimmy continues.
My left leg starts bouncing, as it does when I’m stressed. Let’s go, I think; get on with it.
Clearing his voice yet again, he begins to read. “‘Geno, you have been a faithful steward of the family winery, and I trust you to keep that tradition strong for future generations. All holdings from your father, and his father before him, are passed down to you. I have every hope that your sons, my beloved grandsons, will carry on that tradition on the land bequeathed to your lineage. I love you all.’”
“Thank you, James,” Geno says. I hear a rustle of sound; his chair being pushed back from the table as he starts to rise. “I know how hard—”
“We’re not finished,” the lawyer interjects.
Now, my heart seriously shifts gears and begins pounding even faster. I cross my fingers and hold my breath. This is it. Shit…shit…shit…shit…
“Excuse me?” Geno sounds confused but still polite. I mentally place a bet with myself about how quickly that will change—and into what. Five minutes, tops; and eye-bulging fury. “You’ve gone over everything—the accounts, the financials, the properties…”
“One property,” Davenport tells him. “Belmonte Winery.” There’s another, longish pause before he continues. “These are the final wishes of Maria Carmela Bianchi Lamberti, in her own words. ‘My dearest children and grandchildren. I love you all and wish I could have remained with you forever, in our little patch of heaven on earth. I have loved every moment together, and wish you all nothing but peace, prosperity, and happiness.
“As you know, when I married my sainted Leo, I brought my family birthright, Caparelli Vineyards, with me. It had been passed down to me by my mother, God rest her soul. And though I allowed my sainted Leo to run both wineries as one, it has remained my birthright throughout our marriage and beyond.
“Geno, when you took over for your father, you continued to treat them as one entity, as agreed upon previously. But now, in my twilight years, I wish to rebuild the tradition started by my mother and pass Caparelli Vineyards on to the next generation of wine-making women in our family. My dear daughter, Caprice, has chosen to live and work overseas with her second husband, and has shown no interest in Caparelli for many years. Therefore, I leave my vines, my property, and my birthright to my three granddaughters, Rosa, Bianca, and Allegra, to carry on the proud matriarchal tradition of Caparelli. I also leave a modest bank account to provide some cushion should they choose to bring Caparelli back from disuse. I hope with all my heart that they do. My darlings, I wish you all well in your new adventure.’”
Yes! I think wildly, clapping a hand to my mouth to hold back the sob that wants to erupt. But I can’t control the tears that track down my face. She did it. She did it! She didn’t forget. She didn’t take back her promise. I didn’t disappoint her so badly that she changed her mind.
“What the hell is that?” Uncle Geno demands. And I mentally pat myself on the back because, yep. Called it.
“Your mother’s last will and testament. It is quite legal, and she was of sound mind and body when she wrote it. There will be no point in challenging it.”
“But it makes no sense!” Geno protests. “Caparelli and Belmonte have been combined for decades! Caparelli can’t exist on its own.” I hear his chair squeak and imagine him turning toward Rosa. “You agree with me, right? You’ve been working for the family for years. You see how the two are intertwined.
“Besides,” he continues—not waiting for an answer. “There’s no way you’ll be able to get it up and running on your own in time to save the grapes.”
“She’s not on her own,” Bianca snaps—sounding steely and defiant. And I find myself nodding frantically in agreement.
“Excuse me?” Uncle Geno frowns.
“She’s right,” I agree loudly—then quickly glance around at the tables around me, embarrassed by the fact that I’m practically shouting. “There are three of us. She’s not on her own.”
“Whatever,” he responds dismissively. “It’s not like you’ll be doing much from your little European vacation. Just like your mother.”
I hear a gasp—Rosa, I’m guessing. And, just like that, I see red—oh, not on my own behalf, or my mother’s. I know Mama’s shortcomings—and my own—and I’ve made my peace with them. I’m also no stranger to Geno’s manipulative bluster. But for Rosa, who’s always gone out of her way for the family, that must have hurt like hell.
“Belmonte needs the grapes,” Geno continues in wheedling tones. “We have plans for them. And if you don’t allow us to harvest and use them, they’ll rot on the vine.”
“Then we’ll turn ’em into raisins,” I shoot back, employing maximum snark, and ignoring the fact that—yes, yes, I know. We all know—they’re the wrong kind of grapes, blah, blah, blah. But I can’t risk my sisters falling for this shit. “We can make a profit that way.”
“Allegra!” Rosa gasps again. And I can’t tell if she’s shocked or amused. I hope she’s amused. I hope she and Bianca are feeling as gleeful and giddy as I am. And maybe Bianca is, although, from the way she’s biting her lip and looking stunned, it’s more likely she’s still considering her options. But Rosa’s the one who’s stuck dealing with Geno—the one who’s been stuck dealing with him for most of the past decade, so…yeah, she’s probably not feeling all that gleeful at the moment.
“Our arrangement has worked just fine for decades.” Geno again. I bite back a sigh. It’s not nice to kick someone when they’re down—that’s what Nonna would have said. Geno was her son. She loved him, too. I’m trying hard to keep all of that in mind, and to hold my tongue—for her sake. But Jesus! He just will not let it go!
“We’ve even honored the history of Caparelli vineyards,” he’s insisting now, “through our Carleo Cabernet.”
I count to ten. And then to twenty. It doesn’t help. The Carleo is named after my grandparents—Carmela and Leo. It’s a blend—much like the word itself—that’s made with mostly Caparelli grapes. I loved my Papa too, but in what way does naming a wine after him honor the Caparelli legacy? Or my grandmother? Or her mother, or her mother’s mother, all those generations of gifted winemakers who never got the credit they deserved—mostly because they were women?
It doesn’t; that’s all. It just doesn’t.
“There’s no reason to fix what isn’t broken,” Geno says, totally unaware of his male privilege—no surprise there—or how his words are landing with me. Rosa glances nervously at the screen and I find myself holding my breath once again, praying that neither she nor Bianca are buying into this bullshit.
“I think…I’ll have to talk to my sisters about it,” Rosa says, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Okay, good. We haven’t lost her…yet.
“But—”
“Yes,” another voice—Bianca—insists firmly. “We have to discuss our options. All of them.”
“Girls!” Geno snaps. “I must insist—”
“Nope.” I say with a laugh that sounds only a little unhinged. “Pretty sure you don’t get to insist anything. Andiamo, sorelle mie let’s go discuss our options.”
“We’ll be in touch about the financials,” Rosa says, sounding confident, professional—like a badass, winery-owning boss!
The screen goes dark. None of us speak during the long, long walk to Rosa’s car. Until finally, both my sisters’ faces appear on the screen, looking different shades of stunned. And I can no longer contain myself. “I have just one thing to say,” I tell them as I raise my empty glass in a little toast. “Holy. Shit.”
