Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole

One

Vera

“Hey, Mom,” I whispered to the picture on the wall.

Every time I came home, her memories wrapped around me like the warm hugs she gave me every chance she got.

“Can I take your purse?” Irene, my father’s maid, asked.

“Of course, thank you.”

I passed off the small bag but held on to the leather folder I’d brought with me, looking around the black and white tiled foyer that had been my only home outside of college. Despite my mother having passed away ten years ago, the bright sunset of peonies she always loved decorated the round table in the foyer.

“They always were your mother’s favorite,” my father’s deep voice greeted me from the stairs.

“Papa.” I watched the man who acted as my own personal playground descend the stairs. As always, he wore a dark suit, but since it was Saturday, no tie. A man has to relax a little.

“She always claimed this room needed a burst of color to liven it up a bit.”

“Even though she picked out the color scheme in the first place,” I said, laughing.

He laughed with me, closing the distance to pull me into a hug. “It’s good to have you home, Verana. I wished you’d stay.”

I bit back my initial retort and forced a smile. “I like being on my own.”

“So independent, just like your mother.”

At that, a real smile stretched my lips. “Thank you.”

“Although, I’m not sure what she would say about your attire,” he grumbled.

And just like that, the smile faded. “There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”

He scrunched his nose in distaste, taking in my cream cardigan, striped blouse, and pearls—and cut off jean shorts.

“College away has made you forget your appearances. Everyone is always watching, Verana.”

It’d been nice to be away in Pennsylvania. To just be me and not worried about being on my best behavior in New York.

“Businesses are always waiting for the Marianos to slip up, and a family’s reputation is just as important as the company’s in the shipping industry. We must lead by example.”

“Yes, sir,” I responded dutifully. They were the same words that had been drilled into my head since I was little. As one of the top shipping companies from an overly traditional Italian family, I was always reminded of my place—of my role in this world.

“Now, come. Let’s eat. I had Antonio make your favorite.”

“Mama’s stuffed meatballs?” I asked like a little kid.

His smile was the only confirmation I needed, and I almost ran to the dining room. We sat at our long wooden table, and Irene poured his glass of wine before looking to him for approval to fill mine.

Sometimes the traditions and etiquette hung around my neck like a noose, but it had been my life for so long, I’d grown used to it.

“I missed you at graduation,” I said after he’d taken his first sip.

He winced, focusing his attention on the food being brought out rather than me. “I explained that. Work has been hectic, and I had an opportunity for a meeting I couldn’t pass up.”

Not having him there had been hard but expected.

He allowed me to go to college as a way to check a box—to keep me busy and brag to his colleagues about his daughter. Not because he ever intended on me working at Mariano Shipping. As his daughter, my role would be a figurehead—a socialite who sat on charity boards and planned events. My role as a woman would be to marry a man who would benefit our company—one chosen by my parents.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

I loved our company. I loved the shipping industry. Add in that it was one of my last ties to my mother, and it was no wonder I went to school for business marketing.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Verana.” The response never changed, and I never pushed the boundaries—until now.

With a deep breath, I opened the black file, extracting a thick, cream paper. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

I slid the paper across the slick wood and held his questioning stare, my chin high. He looked down, and his curiosity shifted to a scowl.

“What is this?”

“My resume. I wanted to give it to you personally, although I submitted one to HR also.”

“You turned in a resume to Dane?” he asked.

“Yes.” His scowl weighed down my confidence, but I pulled my shoulders back and pushed on. “As you can see, I graduated with Magna Cum Laude. I partook in multiple business societies, even starting a new one that has