Chapter 4: Three Thousand Dollars

The annual wine dinner was held in early April, on the terrace of the first winery my father ever bought.

By then my lawyer had cancelled every authorization I had ever signed for other people.

Nobody at the company had called me.

The invitation came anyway, on thick cream paper.

I wore the black velvet dress my father used to say made me look like a vintage worth keeping.

Rain had darkened the stone. The vines beyond the terrace were green and wet in the last light.

Buyers filled the long tables, along with the managers and the old clients and the heads of the other families.

Every year, my aunt or I gave the first toast.

When I was nine, Aunt Agnese had stood beside me and introduced me as my father's daughter.

Twelve years ago she had stood beside Donata and introduced her as the woman who would run the wineries.

This year the printed program listed two names.

Donata Bellandi and Ruggero Paoli.

I read the card twice and put it down beside my plate.

My aunt waved to me from a table near the stage.

Before I could cross the terrace, the host called Donata up.

She wore a long dark gown.

Ruggero stood beside her while photographs of all eleven wineries slid across the screen behind them.

"Thank you all for your loyalty," Donata said, lifting her glass.

"Ruggero and I will lead our new partnerships together. Bring your supply questions and your expansion plans to us."

The sales director stood first and toasted her.

Three buyers followed him.

My aunt clapped. She didn't look at the program, and she didn't look at me.

When the speeches ended, people drifted toward the stage.

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