Revenge at Bella Terra by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

deck hovered in midair. The panorama cut across Bella Valley rather than down its length, over the lazy loops of river that wound through orchards and vineyards. Here and there, a farmhouse dotted the landscape, but from this deck’s view, the town might not have existed. On the other side of the valley, the hills rose, terraced with vines, and behind them the mountains stood densely wooded, cool and shadowy.
    “Amazing,” she whispered. She sniffed the air, turned to him, and grinned. “It’s so perfect it looks like a cheap painting. How you must love living up here!”
    “I do.” And he liked that she appreciated what he had and was vocal about telling him.
    She turned back to the vista. “How much of it is yours?”
    “The view is all mine.”
    She chuckled softly.
    He might as well tell her. As a Di Luca bride, she had the right to know. “What with marriages and mergers, the Di Lucas own their share of the valley. Bella Terra resort is ours and sits on the street downtown, with seventy acres of grapes stretching behind it into the hills. The rest of the winery land is in parcels here and there, scattered across the landscape and up into the hills. Altogether I manage about four hundred twenty acres.”
    She whistled softly. “Those are valuable holdings.” A lot of women had thought so. A lot of women had tried to convince him that marriage without a prenup would prove his love. A lot of women had miscalculated . . . for he hadn’t loved any of them.
    Now Chloë’s voice changed, became speculative. “I’ll bet your ancestors did anything necessary to get this land and hold it.”
    Startled at the direction of her thinking, he asked, “Why do you want to know?”
    “I’m a writer. I like to know what people do, and why.”
    He thought of all the years and all the threats to the Di Luca dominion, and thought, too, how close he teetered to losing everything his family had fought to possess. “You’re right. My ancestors did whatever it took to keep their land.”
    “How about you? What would you do to keep your land?”
    He stared at her profile. The breeze ruffled her sheared head and carried a hint of spicy, feminine scent to his nose. The sun kissed her pale complexion and made the rusty freckles that decorated her nose and cheeks glow. Her gaze was steady, her lips faintly smiling.
    Did she know about the trouble he was in? The contract he’d signed? Was she acting on a suspicion, or was she clueless?
    Regardless of what she knew or suspected, he saw no point in lying. Any one of his acquaintances would bust that story wide-open. “If there was a threat, I’d protect my family first, then my land, because . . . what’s mine is mine.”
    “So it’s not about the money?”
    “I don’t value the money for money’s sake, but for what it gives me.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Security.”
    She waited as if expecting him to say more. She looked at him, saw he was through speaking, laughed, and nodded. “I’ve always thought that people who say money doesn’t buy happiness have never been without.”
    He had, he thought, passed some kind of test.
    She pushed the conversation back on track. “Is all your acreage planted in grapes?”
    “We’ve got a few old orchards around Nonna’s house, but yes, four hundred and ten acres are vineyards, mostly red, mostly zinfandel and Sangiovese, with some other varieties mixed in. We even grow a few whites.” He knew pride rang in his voice.
    “Are whites more difficult than reds?”
    “I create unique wines. Whites are more difficult to make worthy of note.”
    “I understand. But I like cabernet,” she said mildly.
    “I do, too, but they grow better in the next valley over, so when I make cab, I buy those grapes.” She wasn’t looking at the view now; she was looking at him, eyes sharply attentive, and he realized he’d started telling her about his family, his lands, his expertise, trying to get her attention, strutting like a peacock.
    It