The Bride's Awakening - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,65

back to face her resolutely. ‘And so it continues even now, as you’ve undoubtedly seen. Which is why I am here.’

Ana met his gaze levelly. ‘You have something to ask me.’

‘Yes.’ Bernardo took a breath and gestured to the wine he’d poured, glinting in their crystal goblets. ‘You have tasted my own vintage, Ana, and as an experienced vintner you know it is good. Vittorio is determined never to let me have any control or authority in Cazlevara Wines. God knows, I can understand it. I have not proven myself worthy. I have done things I regret, even as a grown man. But I cannot live like this, under my brother’s thumb. Everything is a grudging favour from him. It wears me down to nothing. And to know he would never market this vintage simply because it is mine—’

‘Surely Vittorio wouldn’t be so unreasonable,’ Ana interjected. ‘He is a man of business, after all.’ How well she knew it.

‘When it comes to me and my mother, he is blind,’ Bernardo stated flatly. ‘Blind and bitter, and I can hardly blame him.’

‘So what are you asking of me?’

‘You’ve done some experimenting with hybrids, yes?’

‘A little—’

‘If you passed this wine off as your own creation, he would accept it.’

‘And I would take the credit?’

Bernardo lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. ‘That does not matter so much to me. It cannot.’

Ana stared at Vittorio’s brother, saw the weary resignation on his pale face. She had no doubt that he’d been petted and spoiled as a child, and he’d made his brother’s life miserable—more miserable than it already was—well into young adulthood. Yet now she saw a man who was over thirty and resigned never to prove himself, never to have the satisfaction of excelling in a job he was created to do. The injustice and sorrow of it twisted her heart.

‘I will not take credit for your own hard work, Bernardo.’ He nodded slowly, accepting, his mouth pulled downwards. ‘This wine is excellent, and you deserve to be known as its creator.’ Ana took a breath. ‘So you can either market it under the Viale label or, as I’m sure would be much more satisfying, under the Cazlevara one. This bitter feud between you and Vittorio must end. Perhaps, if he sees how well you have done, he will be convinced.’

Bernardo leaned forward. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘Why don’t you prepare to market the vintage? Vittorio has given me authority over the vineyards while he is gone.’ Ana knew her authority was more perfunctory than anything else; he hardly expected her to change things, or implement strategies such as the one she was suggesting. ‘I can arrange a meeting with some merchants in Milan. Start there, and see what happens. By the time Vittorio comes home, God willing, you will have something to show him.’ And, Ana added silently, God willing, Vittorio wouldn’t be too angry with her. God willing, this feud would finally end and their marriage could continue, grow, work. If he loved her—and she was desperate now to believe he did—his anger would not rule the day.

His love would.

Hope had lit Bernardo’s eyes, erasing the resigned lines from his face. He looked younger, happier already. ‘What you are doing is dangerous, Ana. Vittorio might be furious. In fact, I know he will be.’

‘This feud must end,’ Ana said firmly. ‘It is the only way forward for any of us. I am not biased by childhood slights the way he is. And I’m sure,’ she added with more confidence than she felt, ‘my husband will see reason once I have spoken to him.’

It had been a long, hard week, courting the South American merchants. They wanted to rely on their own wines; they were dubious of a European import. Yet, finally, with honeyed words and persuasive arguments, meetings and dinners and tastings, Vittorio had convinced them.

Now he was home and eager—desperate—to see Ana. As his limo pulled up to the castle, Vittorio nearly laughed at himself. He was acting like a besotted boy. He was besotted, utterly in love with his wife, and it had taken a week apart to realize just what he was feeling.

Love.

He loved Ana, and he’d felt it in every agonising second he’d spent apart from her, when he’d kept looking for her, even though he knew she was thousands of miles away. He’d felt it when he’d reached for her at night, and both his body and heart had ached when his arms remained empty. It