Noah’s heart gave a little pang, but he shoved it down.
They retreated to a little corner near a row of those wine-dispensing machines where you could get little tastes of a bunch of different wines.
Angela bit her lip but didn’t speak up, so Noah did.
“Nonno and Nonna seem happy to see you and Jake,” he said.
“And you,” Angela said. “You know they always liked you.”
“So what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
But Noah knew that face.
“Angie…”
She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear, which she always did when she was trying not to be confrontational. Which was funny, given how much of her life she spent in a courtroom, being confrontational on purpose.
“Did you have to bring your friend along?” she finally asked. “This was supposed to be family time.”
“I thought you were okay with it,” he said. “You didn’t say anything. And Jake was so excited.”
“I didn’t want to be rude. But we’re trying to figure out our future. Jake’s future. It’s hard to do that with an audience.”
She glanced back toward the barrel, where the wine tasting seemed to have been interrupted by Jake wanting to examine Ramin’s tattoos. Ramin stood with a patient smile on his face as Jake traced the black script with a finger.
Noah wanted to freeze time so he could draw this picture-perfect moment.
But he couldn’t.
“I can ask him to leave,” Noah said, though everything in him hated the idea.
“No! No. I’m fine with him along. I just don’t want this to be our whole trip.”
“It won’t. I promise.”
He caught Ramin watching them, gave a little smile and wave. Ramin turned away and stuck his nose back in his glass.
Noah’s heart ached.
It had felt like providence, running into Ramin again, after all these years. Three times, no less! That had to be some kind of miracle. A second chance to rekindle a friendship that Noah hadn’t even realized he missed.
Noah needed friends. Especially if he’d be losing Jake.
“Come on. Let’s try this wine.”
fifteen
Ramin
The Barolo was beyond exquisite. Notes of licorice and dark red fruits basically punched him in the face.
Granted, the bottle cost €600—even more than the Ornellaia—so if ithadn’tpunched him in the face, he would’ve been shocked. And Maria had just opened it without a second thought, all because he was a friend of Noah’s. Who did things like that?
“I love Barolo.” Maria stuck her nose in the glass, swirled it, took a long sip herself, then fixed Ramin with a sparkling smile and a wink. “It’s a tough life.”
“It’s a tough life,” Ramin agreed. Drinking Barolo on a sunny day in Bellagio. He could get used to this.
