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“I only have a few minutes,” she says, taking a seat in front of my desk. “But it’s getting close, and I have to nail down any changes by the end of the week.”
The global launch will take place in Porto, with a swanky party at Antonio and Daniela’s house, where Valentina and I grew up. It sends a loud and clear message that Antonio, who owns the oldest and most revered port house in the valley, and Daniela, who holds the most important vineyards in the country, are fully on board.
They’ve been supportive both privately and publicly, but this inaugural event is akin to warning the naysayers to get with the program or suffer the consequences. It’s a huge fucking deal, and Valentina has personally seen to every detail.
“Before we begin,” I murmur, coming around the desk and taking the seat next to her. “How are you?” I ignore the grimace as I turn my chair to face her.
“I’m great,” she replies, again with that fake smile, “and so excited about the party and the launch.” She holds out a manila envelope. “It’s a hard copy of the packet I emailed you last night. It was late when I sent it, and I wasn’t sure if you saw it.”
“I did. No changes. It’s perfect the way it is. You’ve done such a great job with the marketing. I’m proud of you.”
“It’s not like I did it alone,” she replies, dismissing the praise. “But it’s going to be epic.” Her eyes light up, and for a few short seconds the smile she flashes me is real.
“It is. I’m so happy we got to do this together. The first of what I hope will be many modern initiatives.”
She doesn’t respond, and I don’t push. It’s too early for that—the wound I inflicted, when I interrogated her husband in the caves, is still too fresh. Any discussion we have will likely end with her angry and hurt. She’ll demand a promise that I’ll never do something like that again, and I won’t lie to her.
“I have to go,” she says, standing and smoothing her skirt.
“I’ll see you Saturday night at your dad’s birthday party.”
Her face contorts like it did when she learned her mother’s horse, Zeus, had to be put down. For a moment, I’m sure she’s going to cry. But she swallows hard and composes herself. “I won’t be there.”
I won’t be there. Family is everything to Antonio and Daniela—everything. They’ve instilled that value in all of us.
“It’s your father’s birthday. Don’t punish him or your mother for something I did. If it makes it easier for you and Marco”—I manage to say his name with more geniality than I feel—“to be there, I’ll stay away.”
“You didn’t do anything to Marco that my father didn’t sanction. He knows it, and I know it.” She holds up her hand when I open my mouth to speak. “But that’s not why I won’t be there. Marco has business in Athens and needs me to accompany him.”
Sure he does. Fucker. “We’ll miss you.”
She lifts her chin and takes a breath before she nods. “I’ll miss everyone too.”
“I thought I heard your voice,” Lexie cries, sweeping into the room and embracing Valentina, who gifts her a huge grin—not a fake one. As angry as I was at Lexie, I’m glad she has Valentina’s back.
“Do you want to get coffee?”
“I have an appointment,” Valentina replies, “but how about if we meet at my apartment in an hour?”
Lexie glances at me, and I nod. While my hands are tied regarding Valentina’s security, the guard stationed outside the door will check the apartment before she enters.
“Perfect,” Lexie coos. “I want to steal those cute red sandals for your dad’s party—unless you’re wearing them?”
Valentina freezes.
This should be interesting.
“Valentina and Marco will be in Greece this weekend,” I pipe in before Valentina has an opportunity to change the subject. I want to see the interaction between them on this.
“You’re not going to your dad’s birthday party?” Lexie’s eyes are wide, and her tone drips with incredulity.
Valentina pales. “I—I’ll have lunch with him before we leave on Friday. It’s his actual birthday. I have another meeting, but I’ll see you upstairs in an hour.” She rushes out the door before there can be any more questions.
“Her parents are not going to be happy,” Lexie mutters, mostly to herself.
Quite the understatement.
Her brow furrows, and the wheels are turning, but she shares none of it with me.
