A Veil of Vines by Tillie Cole
“Bella Collina,” he said proudly, earning every ounce of that pride in his voice. “Bella Collina. My home. I can read the name of my home.”
This time there was no hiding the tears in my eyes, nor the thick emotion in my voice. I turned in Achille’s arms and got to my knees, hearing the book thud to the floor. I pressed my hands to his cheeks and watched as he searched my eyes. “I love you,” I whispered, then brought my lips to his. “I am so proud of you, Achille. So proud I can barely even breathe.”
Achille kissed me back, and we made long, sweet love before the fire, the flames warming our bodies as they joined on the sheepskin rug. We slept in each other’s arms, a newfound peace settling in our hearts.
I woke to Achille’s sweet lips pressing kisses to my neck. “Mm . . .” I murmured, arching my neck so he could caress me more.
“Mi amore,” he whispered, his minty breath filling my nose. “Come with me.”
I struggled to open my eyes, wanting nothing more than to make this morning last just a few hours more. I didn’t want to leave this fire, nor this rug, nor his arms.
“Please,” he begged softly, moving his lips to the edges of my mouth.
“Where are we going?” I asked, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
“I want to show you something.” I sat up. Achille was already dressed in his jeans and a shirt. He held out some old black jodhpurs and one of his familiar red flannel shirts. A pair of leather ankle riding boots lay beside me.
“They were my mother’s. The shirt is mine. I didn’t think you would be able to ride in your gown.”
I playfully stuck out my tongue at Achille and was rewarded with a laugh and wide smile. I was fully awake now.
Achille handed me the clothes. He had even included socks and a pair of his boxer shorts for me to wear. He chuckled to himself as I put them on. The jodhpurs fit well enough, as did the ankle boots, but Achille’s shirt hung low, and the sleeves drowned my hands. I rolled them up to my wrists. I stood before Achille and held out my arms. “Do I still look like a duchessa to you?”
I was teasing. He knew I was teasing. But when he moved forward and kissed my lips, he still said, “You will always be a duchessa. But now you are my duchessa. And that I can live with.” He held out his hand. “Come, I’ve already tacked up the horses.”
Achille led me outside. Nico and Rosa were waiting for us beside the paddock. I glanced up at the sky. “Achille, it’s still dark,” I said. “What time is it?”
“Early.” He helped me mount Rosa and then swung himself on to Nico’s back. “But I want you to see something. I . . . I wanted to share a moment with you.”
“Okay,” I replied at the hopeful expression on his face.
Together we walked the horses out of his vineyard and onto the track outside. The birds were beginning to wake from the trees around us, but the rest of the world was still asleep. There was me, Achille, the horses and his vines. All he claimed he could offer, yet in that moment, I needed nothing more.
We walked side by side until we turned right and began climbing a hill. We climbed and we climbed at a leisurely pace until the horses were breathless and we made it to the very top.
Before I had the chance to see the view, Achille had jumped off Nico and tied him to a nearby tree, slipping his bit from his mouth so he could graze on the grass. He came over to me and Rosa and flicked his head. “Come on.” I smiled at the excitement on his face, and waited for him as he tied Rosa up beside Nico.
He placed his hands over my eyes. “Let me show you why this estate got its name.”
I laughed, pulse racing, as Achille led me forward. “Keep your eyes closed until I say so,” he said as he guided me down to sit. He sat down behind me and wrapped me in his arms.
“Can I open my eyes yet?” I asked as I melted against his warmth. The flannel shirt smelled so much of him that he was all I could feel in all of my senses.
I had never been so happy in my life.
“Not yet . . . just . . . wait . . .” he said as though he were waiting impatiently for something. So I waited, eyes closed, as he tucked me closer, keeping me safe.
“Okay, mi amore,” he whispered. “Open your eyes.”
I opened my eyes and blinked in utter amazement. We were up on the highest of hills, Achille leaning against a thick tree. We had a perfect panoramic view of the Umbrian countryside around us. Vast, seemingly unending, rolling hills stretched for miles into the distance, the valleys painted with Mother Nature’s autumn browns and deep forest greens.
“Bella Collina,” I whispered.
“It was why it was named Bella Collina, because of this view. Because of this spot, right here. Beautiful hill.”
“It is perfect,” I said, quietly, so I didn’t disturb the tranquil peace of the dawn.
Achille pointed over a far hill, and I gasped when I saw the golden brow of the sun rising to bring in the break of day. The horizon shimmered as the sun cast out its red and orange rays—not yet yellow—as it too roused from sleep.
As I watched the waking sun grow higher in the sky, Achille’s hand landed on mine and gently stroked over the vine ring.
He was so worried that he couldn’t give me what Zeno could, that he didn’t have money and status and a mansion. But not even the greatest riches in the world could give me this.
Only Achille could give me this moment. Brought here on the back of my dream horse. Being held tightly in his arms. Being roused from sleep after a long night of making love to the other half of my soul in front of his fire.
Money, titles and mansions had absolutely no place in my happiness at all. Even if I could have only this, I would still be the richest woman to grace the earth.
We stayed that way until the sun was in perfect view, a golden orb hovering in the blue sky. “I need to have this,” I said aloud. Achille tensed behind me. I turned my head to face him. His jaw was clenched as he watched the sun . . . as he avoided my gaze.
“Why are you marrying the prince?” he asked, still without meeting my eyes.
My gaze narrowed at his question. This time it was my hand that sought out his vine ring. I let my fingertip ghost over it. I let it give me comfort when sudden nerves and doubt accosted my heart. “It was an agreement from our childhood, but now it is mainly because of the king.” I inhaled, feeling the intrusion of the rest of the world raise its head. “Savona Wines has not been doing well since Santo’s death. My father can only do so much from America to help. My marriage to Zeno will help strengthen and stabilize the business here in Italy. But it’s also just what we do in our circle, Achille. Status marries status.”
“So it is mostly to help your family?”
“I guess,” I said quietly.
Achille leaned his head back against the tree. I scrambled to sit up and face him. This time he had no choice but to meet my eyes. “Achille, amore,” I murmured echoing his endearment back at him. His eyes softened as he heard it. “I want you. Yesterday, last night—the ring, the banquet, the festival—they all made me realize that I don’t want this. None of this. I want you and only you.” I gripped his left hand and brought it to my lips. “Zeno doesn’t love me. And I certainly do not love him.”
When he still didn’t speak, or even react, I pressed, “Tell me. You’re scaring me. Why aren’t you speaking to me?”
“What about my wine? My home? My horses? My vines?”
He seemed so lost as his blue eyes searched mine for answers. I sat back, casting my eyes to the horses grazing beyond the peak of the hill. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen when I tell my parents, tell Zeno. But I won’t deny you.”
A loving expression engulfed his face, swiftly followed by an expression so fearful my heart dropped. “The Marchesi family has made wine on that land for decades. It was my father’s home. It is my home. That land is in my blood. I . . .” He winced. “I would not know what to do with my life if I did not make the merlot.”
I didn’t know what to s
“Then we buy more time,” I said, desperate to try and think straight. Of a plan. Of something . . . “I will talk to Zeno. I will talk to my parents. I will make them understand. As harsh as it sounds, this marriage is about money. Your merlot is essential to my father and Zeno’s business. They wouldn’t let you go . . . not even for this, I think.”
Achille’s shaking hand cupped my cheek. “I won’t come between you and your family. Family is the most important thing. You will not know this until you have to live without it.”
“Achille,” I whispered sadly.
“Wait until this year’s vintage is complete. I . . . I need to concentrate this month on finishing the process. Then comes the bottling . . . then . . .”
“Then we can tell them,” I said, realizing that would give me until mid-December. It was close to the wedding, but I hated how fearful Achille was of losing all he ever knew. So we would wait. What were a few weeks anyway?
“Okay,” I said soothingly, pressing my forehead to his. “We will wait. But there’s no going back now, Achille.” I dropped kisses to his cheeks, to his head and finally to his lips. When I broke away, with his hands running through my hair, I said, “I need to kiss you and touch you and make love to you. I will help with the wine, your reading and writing, and the horses. And I will find a way to love you each night, until I can have you forever.”
“You promise?” he said, so quietly that I lost my heart to him all over again.
“With everything I am.”
Achille brought his mouth to mine, and I kissed him against the breathless backdrop of an Umbrian dawn. I kissed him until the sun’s rays began to caress the back of my neck and the brightening sky told us it was time to go.
As we rode back toward his house, we passed the botanical garden. Achille abruptly dismounted Nico and jumped the fence. I panicked, wondering what he was doing, as he disappeared inside a greenhouse. But that question was answered when he walked out clutching a single white rose. His lip hooked shyly up at the side as he stood beside me and offered the rose to me.
I took it, as I always would. “Thank you,” I said, smelling the fragrant delicate petals.
Achille jumped back on Nico and we continued our ride back to his vineyard. He picked up Zeno’s engagement ring from the field. “You will need this for now,” was all he said as he tucked it into my pocket. Then I left Achille with a long slow kiss, a promise that I would see him soon.
My walk this morning was slow. I allowed myself the luxury of time, drinking in the countryside around me. I held my single rose in my hand, breathed in Achille’s scent from his shirt. I kicked up the dust from the track and tried to imagine Zeno playing on it as a child. I wondered if he knew Achille. If he had ever even spoken to him. And I tried to imagine what would be said, weeks from now, when I told my family I wouldn’t go through with this marriage. When I told Zeno that I chose my heart over wealth.
And I prayed that, whatever happened, Achille didn’t regret me.
That would be a punishment worse than death.
When I entered my rooms, I went straight to the bathroom and showered. I was hungry from the long, sleepless night, so I decided to go downstairs and get an early breakfast.
I made my way along the hallway and down the stairs, taking the route through the study to the back door of the kitchen. As I entered the study it was dark, the long red velvet drapes blocking out the early light.
I wondered why the housekeeper had forgotten to open them. I pulled them back, allowing in the light, when a voice from behind said, “Leave them.”
I spun around, hand on heart, only to see Zeno slouching in the large leather chair next to the unlit fireplace. “Zeno, you scared me,” I said, trying to calm my heart.
I moved toward him and saw he was clutching a full glass of scotch, an almost depleted crystal decanter on the table beside him. He was still dressed in last night’s suit, but his tie was gone and his jacket was crooked. His hair, for once, was a mess, the dark ends sticking up in every direction.
“Zeno.” I said, moving to stand before him. “Have you been here all night?” It took him a while to lift his head. When he met my eyes, his were unfocused. “Are you drunk?” I asked, beginning to worry.
“Not enough,” he slurred and threw back the remainder of the scotch in his glass. He quickly refilled it with what was left in the decanter.
“Why have you been drinking all night?” I folded my arms over my chest.
Zeno raised an eyebrow at me with a cocky smirk. “Why, Duchessa? Are you suddenly interested in me? In my welfare?”
“Don’t be absurd, Zeno. Of course I care for you. And I want to know why you are drinking yourself into a stupor.”
Zeno reached out sloppily and patted the chair next to his. “Sit down, fiancée.”
I cautiously did as he said, smelling the strong scent of liquor on him the minute I was beside him. He tried to smile at me, but it was another forced grin.
I was tired of all the pretense.
“Stop it, Zeno. There is no one here for us to lie to right now. Just tell me what is on your mind.”
“What is on my mind . . .” Zeno trailed off and bowed forward. I saw him freeze, then look at me. “Where is your ring? Cost me a pretty penny, that did. But I had to make sure my duchessa was impressed.” He leaned closer still. “I even made you cry.” He pulled back. “Or was that just a good act? I know you weren’t crying from happiness. Did I make you cry in sadness, Duchessa? Because you were tying your life to me?”
I’d had just about enough of this, so I shifted my chair to face him directly and took the scotch from his hand. Zeno’s face clouded with anger, but I held up my hand and said, “Tell me why you’ve been here in this room all night. And don’t try and joke or charm your way out of it. I want the truth.”
Zeno tried to stare me down, but then sagged back in his chair and ran his hand over his face. “I know you think I have been in Florence all of this time, screwing anything that moved, but you are wrong.” I stayed quiet, waiting for him to carry on. He leaned to the side of the chair, defeated, his head resting against the headrest. “I haven’t. I was there a couple of days when I had to be. But I have been all over Italy to our buyers, trying to convince them to stay with Savona Wines over our competitors.” He laughed a humorless laugh. “Turns out they don’t trust me. They grilled me, asked me questions about our production that I couldn’t answer. Asked me about a plan for the future—one I didn’t have. They questioned me on everything, and I didn’t know a thing. I, the prince, was put to the test by wine buyers and merchants and made to look a fool.”
Zeno sighed, reining in his anger. “And if I have to hear from one more person that I am not the man my father was, that I am not as dedicated to these vineyards as my father was, I will scream.”
“Does my father know?” I asked, feeling my face pale with worry. “Does he know that we are losing business?”
“We?” Zeno said patronizingly. He flicked his hand. “He knows some. I haven’t told him of the rest.”
“Zeno.” I rubbed my forehead. “How many buyers have you lost?”
“Mm . . . close to seventy percent,” he said, and I instantly felt sick.
“But how? That’s crazy!” I exclaimed. “And the merlot? That is not selling? I thought there was a waiting list?”
“The merlot is fine,” Zeno said, staring into the unlit fire. “It is expensive, but with the small quantities produced, it doesn’t bring in enough revenue to even sustain this place.” He sighed. “Caresa, we have eleven properties all over Italy and own hundreds of thousands of acres of land. All our wines must sell, not just the merlot. We have lost winemakers to our competitors. They took other offers when my father died because they did not know me or trust me.”
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“I had no interest in it. He wanted me involved, but it didn’t appeal to me. In the end he told me to take a break and he would handle things. So I did.”
“You spent your time drinking and partying instead of learning the family business? Is it any wonder the buyers are jumping ship?”
Zeno’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. “And what the hell would you know?”
“I know that since I have been here, you have made an appearance at this property twice,” I snapped. “I know that on those days you have never once walked through your land, getting to know the people that put their blood, sweat and tears into your wines. I have been here but a short while, and I know more of the farmers and winemakers than you, who has had this estate in your life since you were born!”
I got to my feet, staring Zeno down. “You have a gift in this land, Zeno, in all of the land you own. Your winemakers are exceptional, as is the product. If the buyers are leaving, it is down to you and you alone. These wines are better than any of the competitors can provide.” I was shaking with rage. “Maybe instead of traveling to the South of France with whichever baronessa had taken your fancy that week, you should have been here with your father, sharing in the business that allows you to live in such a way. My father moved, Zeno. He left his beloved Italy to expand the business he built with your father. As his daughter, I am ashamed that all he sacrificed is going up in smoke. And this sham of a marriage isn’t going to fix it!”
“Are you finished?” he hissed, his face reddening with fury.
“No, there is one more thing.” I stepped toward him until I could see perfectly into his eyes. “It is time you started to care about this business before you are its ruin. Many people will suffer, thousands will lose their very reason for being if you let this ship sink.” Drawing one last fortifying breath, I pointed at him and spat, “It is time you began living for this vineyard, instead of living by it. You happily reap the rewards yet do nothing to earn them.” I dropped my hand. “So start trying!”