Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
And then I would have no way of saving either sister.
I worried about Ella’s safety. Her father had all but announced he’d be arranging a marriage for her next. Inwardly, I cringed at the idea of that sweet girl married off to some obnoxious, possibly violent, crony of her father’s.
If I were completely honest, the primary reason I pushed to have Antonia here as soon as possible was to get Ella here as well, under my control. The moment the wedding was over, I would be Antonia’s husband, family to Ella. That would give me hopefully just enough leverage.
Especially if I offered to pay her father’s bride price and found a husband for Ella.
I took another sip of wine.
My father hadn’t raised an idiot. I knew I was dancing into a minefield, given my attraction to Ella.
I hoped for the sake of our future marriage that I was right about Antonia only acting out as a reaction to her father and that, separated from his influence, she would become more like Ella.
There were so many times I would have sworn I saw Ella reflected in Antonia’s eyes.
More than once, I had even…
No, it was obnoxiously American Hollywood ending to even think it.
It was not possible that the girls had switched.
For starters, I couldn’t see Ella mistreating poor Lucia that way.
On the other hand, Antonia was either an extremely accomplished actress or had dramatically inflated the rumors about her level of sexual experience with all her overt propositions and brash talk.
There was no denying my babygirl’s response to my touch at times.
As if she were shocked to her core at some of my more inventive bedroom games.
Is it possible?
Once more, my mind wandered to the possibility the sisters had switched positions.
I had witnessed firsthand Ella’s willingness to shield and protect Antonia. While also witnessing Antonia’s equally selfish and self-centered demeanor. The precise type of personality who would strong-arm and take advantage of, say… a more kindhearted sister.
It would also explain my supposedly very much so no longer a virgin bride’s insistence on no traditional sex until the wedding.
I didn’t have to ponder the reasons. It was no secret Antonia wanted this wedding even less than I did, but did that mean she would go to the lengths of forcing her sister to replace her?
No.
Not possible.
No matter how much I might secretly wish for it.
I rubbed my eyes again. There was no point in this type of wishful thinking. The die was cast. The agreement set. Antonia would be my wife in less than a month. Hoping for a different outcome, even one as outlandish as the two sisters switching places, was pointless and borderline cowardly. I gave my word I would marry Antonia, and that was what I was going to do.
After draining my glass, I rose to pour another.
While I was standing, I poured a generous amount of Nocino over ice, at least enjoying the burst of vanilla, cardamon and citrus peel scent, if not the taste, as I gave the cocktail shaker a vigorous shake. I turned and replenished first Bianca’s, then Enzo’s glass before holding out the ramekin of deep crimson cocktail cherries for them to select as a garnish. As I did so, I shook off my strange musings and focused back in on their conversation.
Enzo turned to me. “Are you getting to the destemmer-crusher tomorrow?”
With a toss, I threw the empty wine bottle into a nearby recycle bin as I answered. “Yup. I’m going to need a few of the men to disassemble the fittings, clamps, and seals in order to get to the differential switch.”
Uncle Barone asked, “Do you think it blew because of a strain on the crushing component?”
“I do. I’ll know more tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Well, I can spare Alfonso and two others, but no more. Right now, my priority is pruning back the vines and getting rid of the dry brush. If we wait much longer, we’re risking a fire in late spring.”
With each passing month, as the temperature warmed, orographic lifting would lead to air being forced up our side of the mountain, leading into thunderstorm season. And thunderstorms meant lightning.
Every winery in the area took the possibility of a brush fire from a lightning strike very seriously, which was why after the harvest, it was common to take a brush mower to the wide, dry brush areas to cut down the fire fuel while also cutting back the vines.
“Understood. I’ll only need them for an hour or so in the morning and then again later, after I’m done installing the new part. Just in case, I already ordered a new one. It arrives on the afternoon train.”
He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
Before our conversation could continue, music floated down to us from an upper bedroom. It was the deep, mournful notes of a cello.