The Perfect Someday (A standalone novel ~ Book three in The Mathews Family) (15 page)

“Hello,” she called out aft
er passing several vacant rooms that had been full of partygoers the night before. Tracy stretched her neck from side to side, rubbing out a kink.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Lisa hollered.

Walking beneath a huge archway trimmed in white tumbled stone, she entered into a kitchen fit for a chef or possibly two. Voices filling the room came from a thin TV suspended on the wall. Lisa rested her elbow against the counter dunking her teabag in a red mug, her long blonde hair wrapped up in a decorative clip.

“Tea
, coffee or espresso?”

“
Espresso, please.” She let out a long yawn. “It’s so quiet. Where is everyone?”

“Gone.”

“Already? Nobody said goodbye to me. I didn’t think they were leaving until tomorrow morning.”

Lisa
pushed a button on the impressive looking espresso machine, grinding the perfect amount of beans. “Shayla’s been in bed for two days with the flu. Tommy and Tess left early to drop JC off in Vegas so she could help with the twins. Your mom came in to say goodbye, but you were sound asleep next to your computer.”

“Oh
, gosh. I hope Shayla’s okay. I knew Richard had a fever, that’s why they weren’t able to be here for the party. I wish they would’ve woke me up.”

Tracy flinched when Lisa reached for the back of her head,
snatching a yellow sticky note from the long tangles. The note read;

Maybe a little Italy is exactly what you need!

This opportunity sounds perfect for you!

I know you’ll tackle it head on!

Go For It
!!!

Love ya, JC
xoxo

A heartfelt smile lifted at the corner of her mouth, followed by a small frown. “I wonder if JC needs help with the twins?”

“They’ll be just fine. John’s there,
and he can change diapers two at a time. How did your research go last night?”

“Overwhelming, t
hat’s how it went! I had no idea making wine was so complicated. It should have a…a…a whole country named after it.”

“
It’s called Italy,” Lisa replied smartly.

“If you would’ve brought this up a few days ago, I would’ve been better prepared.”

Lisa tossed her a
condescending eye roll. “Can’t we just skip past the You should have warned me part and get to the Thank you, Auntie Lisa?”

“I don’t think I’ll be passing out praises just yet.”

“Really? Well let me enlighten you.” She whipped her finger in checklist fashion. “The reason you haven’t accepted the job offers that have been thrown at your feet is because they are exactly that…a job. It’s my understanding, after chatting with your mom and Tommy, that you’re not interested in a nine-to-five, sit in a skyscraper, day-in day-out humdrum job with a large company where you, even though you’re utterly brilliant, would get lost in an elevator full of grey suits.”

“True. I want a career, but I want to feel passionate about it. I’m willing to start at the bottom. And I love the idea of building something. I just don’t want to be
in a beige cubicle.” A flitter of excitement rippled through her tummy. She paused, “I want to make a difference.”

L
isa gingerly poured the sienna espresso into a cup topped with steamy milk and garnished with froth. She handed Tracy a small white cup, leading her to the window. “No beige cubicle here.”

Tracy peered out over the sleepy Tuscan countryside. The rural scenery stretched on for miles. “I’ve never really considered working outside the states.”
A small fissure of vulnerability began cutting its way to the surface. “I don’t have any experience in—“

Lisa cut her off.
“The only way to gain experience is through life lessons. You have a wealth of knowledge in that brain of yours. Stop being so damn stingy. Share it. The Giovanni’s need help.” 

Out of the corne
r of her eye, she saw Benny saunter into the kitchen and then quietly retreat. “Hey, where are you going?”

He froze. Folding one arm over the other, Benny gave a small insignificant shrug of one shoulder. “Nowhere. I just don’t want to interfere with Lisa’s pep talk, mental strategies—”

Tracy interrupted, “Mental strategies?”

“Prepare to be mind-fucked for the next thirty minutes
, kid. She’s brutal.”

“And don’t
forget relentless,” Lisa chided proudly.

“The first time she gave me
The Talk
I felt like I had just survived an intense dosage of self-confidence taken straight from a playbook of an NFL locker room during the Super Bowl. I swaggered into the studio like I owned the place and damn near demanded the job, convincing the producer I was the
only
man for the part.” He winked at Lisa, showering her with a million dollar smile of appreciation. “That film won me an Oscar.”

Lisa blew him a kiss and then pointed for him to keep
on moving.

“Good luck
. Listen to your Auntie. She’s a very wise woman.”

“Look, you have to start somewhere. This is the
perfect
career opportunity. You can save one winery at a time. You love to travel. If you establish a good reputation as a business consultant for a vineyard or winery, it can take you anywhere in the world. France, Argentina, Australia, Germany, New Zealand, Mexico…they all export wine. Hell you could even go to Bora Bora! Your options are limitless.” She splayed her fingertips wide lifting them to the heavens. “The market for wine is changing, expanding into infinite opportunities.”

Insecurities slowly unravel
ed. “I need to learn
the language
.”

“You’
re in the right place,” Benny assured. “Lisa’s a wine expert.”

“I prefer the term wine connoisseur. A mere hobbyist who enjoys fine wine.”

“I understand the business side, but wine has an entire dialect of its own.”

Lisa eased her shoulders back and clasped
her fingers to her waist, morphing into a full on
Red Carpet
pose. A prideful grin ignited into an aura of haughtiness. “Well miss smarty-pants, let me take you to school.”

Tracy
spent the afternoon stuck in the cellar, her head swirling in a vortex of information. Lisa enlightened her in the definition and understanding of everything
wine
. Cult wine, super wine, color, bouquet, taste and then there are the levels in which the wine is classified. IGT, DOC or DOCG. She felt like she suffered from a hangover without uncorking a bottle.

The Levi’s left the following morning for LA
, leaving Tracy free reign of the Villa. Upon leaving, Benny gave strict instructions. “Don’t be afraid to use anything, make yourself at home. Take advantage of the full gym at the end of the west wing. There’s a sauna and a cold plunge too. You can drive whichever car you’d like, but
only
take one of the black vehicles.”

Tracy
had brought nothing to wear for a job interview. After hitting the treadmill and stair-climber, she decided to go shopping for a few outfits. Flipping the light switch on in the garage, illuminating not two, but six outrageously sleek black vehicles ranging from a sporty SUV to a racy sport car she’d never heard of. Each boasted of luxury at its finest.

“Sure, okay, I’ll just take the black one
,” she murmured, grabbing the keys to the Range Rover.

Tracy enjoyed
the morning shopping in a village thirty minutes from the Villa. The distinct aroma of fresh bread and robust coffee filtered through the streets of the quaint village. She meandered in and out of charming boutiques, filling a few bags with business-chic attire.

Catching her reflection in a window, Tracy stopped
abruptly, taking close inspection of her appearance. Jeans, boots, fitted sweater and hair pulled up in a ponytail. Peering through the window, beyond her own image, a woman rose from a salon chair. The woman slipped her designer bag into the crook of her arm, her dark hair sweeping along the edge of her jaw. The inverted cut oozed sleek sophistication.

Before she realized
it, Tracy sat in the same seat draped in a cape.

An hour later, she examined her reflection outside the salon window. A radiant
grin lifted at the corners of her mouth. Tracy swung her head from side to side. New long bangs swept across her forehead and framed her face.

A gigg
le rose in her throat as she ran her fingers through the razor cut edges. “Go for it.”

****

The next morning, Tracy drove right past the small romantic sign reading
Castlello Giovanni.
It was nearly hidden amongst the wilted winter vines of ivy, fifteen yards from the entrance. She flipped a U-turn on a short straight stretch of windy road.

A
t the end of a gravel road, the stately fortress was nestled into the hillside. The renaissance structure towered above the unspoiled rolling hills of the vineyard. Small imperfections in the stone and shutters, distressed from years of exposure, only added to the castle’s charm. The tidy property held a warm, romantic feeling of aged character.

Sporting a fresh new look,
a mental file packed full of information, and a newfound confidence, Tracy hit the pavement at Castlello Giovanni in patent leather platform peep-toe pumps. Exiting the Rover, she smoothed the creases on her cocoa brown tweed skirt. She opted for a smart business approach wearing a modernized flat front pencil skirt and matching jacket over a cream colored turtleneck.

Passing by
empty stucco planters, Tracy followed the sidewalk lined with dense box-cut shrubs leading from the parking lot to a door at the side of the castle. The door, weathered and grey, was in need of attention. She glanced around to see if she overlooked another entrance, but ultimately decided it had to be the right door and knocked before entering. “They need a sign. A big sign. And fresh coat of stain on the door.”

T
he intimate ambiance of a dreamy era gone by changed as she stepped over the threshold into a small, somewhat dull, reception room. Waiting to be greeted, she made careful observations of a room untouched by time. Two chairs covered in faded green upholstery filled the corner of the small room and a large showcase displaying the estates wine encompassed the far wall.

Tracy stepped around a small
reception desk, squinting to read the labels under the umber glow of the chandelier suspended from the rafters high above. She drew a long breath through her nose. Her sense of perception was awakened by the earthy scent of damp dust, reminding her of the first spring rain in the dessert.
This place needs major updating.

Drawn to a
collage of black and white photos hanging on the used brick wall, Tracy looked over the family pictures, dating back several generations. A door opened at the end of the hall and heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls. She lifted a finger to straighten a few frames, nearly jumping out of her skin when a door slammed shut. The booming sound reverberated through the reception room, almost knocking the photograph from its nail.

Tracy’s
heart lurched in her throat. Her hand flew to her chest, bumping her elbow into a brass candelabra on the corner of the desk. She barely caught it before it crashed to the floor.

“Buon
giorno,” Antonio announced enthusiastically, welcoming her with a warm smile.

She leaned against the reception desk blowing out an anxiety-filled puff of air. 
“Buongiornio.”

His gaze ra
ked over the length of her body, pausing at her hand lying atop her breast, before fixating on her face. His brow arched, seeming very appreciative of the way her suit flattered her curves. Clasping both hands to the tips of her shoulder, he pulled her close placing an extended kiss to each cheek.

Instinctual tracers
of wariness skittered up the back of her spine like an icy current.

Tracy retreated from his
half embrace, extending a professional handshake. “Sorry for being late. I missed the sign at the end of the road.”

“No problem
o.” Antonio eased back onto his heels, eyeing her new appearance in a lascivious stare. “You look magnificent.”

Antonio theatric
ally gestured perfection kissing his fingers and tossing them in the air. His glimmering grey eyes took too long to rise above her shoulders. Blood powered through the vein at the side of her neck.
Those eyes. Not now!
Tracy refused to turn away, determined not to be distracted by the resemblance of the ghost from her past.

“Thank you,” she replied curtly hoping to squash any misgivings lingering in the back of his mind. “Is Mrs. Giovanni joining us this morning?”

“Ahhh, mamma, no she
will not be joining us today. I handle the business end of the vineyard since my papa passed away. My mamma, she will meet with us to go over any findings, how you say sug—“