I am fascinated. “Leaving Italy and exploring wine country around the world taught me a lot.”
She listens, I notice. She’s curious. She wants to know. It’s not just small talk. In fact, I have a feeling that my wife hates and avoids aimless conversations.
“We do think very highly of ourselves and our wine in Italy don’t we?” She refills my glass with wine.
“We make good wine.”
“Certainly! But I have drunk some excellent Pinot Noir in Santa Ynez in California, Chenin Blanc in South Africa, Sauvignon Blanc in New Zealand….”
The way Alessia carries herself, the way she dresses and speaks, is at odds with how learned she is.
Maybe,idiota, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover?
I’m confronted with my own shallowness—and how easily and cruelly I dismissed Alessia while she’s been living a life that I should admire.
“Did you ever want to have your own estate?” I ask her.
She waves a hand around. “Tenuta Pietra Alta is mine.”
“Well, it’s part of the House of Alighieri.”
“And that’s mine, too,” she says with quiet certainty. “Papà may have all kinds of opinions about women winemakers, but the trust is very clear. The estates pass to the heirs, to us. The House of Alighieri can only be inherited by blood.”
There’s no bravado in the way she says it, no triumph. She’s merely stating a fact.
The House of Alighieri Holding, theSocietà Agricola,the family trust, is 100% owned by the Alighieri family and can be passed only by blood. That’s written into the trust, which holds the land, estates, the brand, and the legacy assets.
When Cantina Alarico was folded into the House of Alighieri, I received a handsome payout that sets me and future generations up for life, as well as equity in the operating company, which handles production, distribution, and global sales. I am CEO by contract, not ownership. I monetized my entry into this historic company—and won the dynasty only by marriage.
So, ultimately, I have a seat at the table. A salary that would make most men comfortable for life. But I don’t own any of this, and I never will. The vineyards, the land, the legacy—those belong to her and her sisters.
To our children, if we have any.
To blood.
All this time, I’ve been looking down on Alessia for marrying me so she could remain a winemaker, while I stepped into the lofty title of CEO. But now I know with uncomfortable clarity that I didn’t marry into power. I married adjacent to it. That realization is humbling—a much-needed kick in the ass.
“You are a very impressive woman, Alessia.” The words slip out before I can weigh them, parse them.
She blushes.
“I know.” I let out a long breath. “I know I didn’t start for us well.”
She leans forward, forearms resting on the table. “You told me you wouldn’t be faithful.”
I did say that. I’d been angry then—resentful, defensive. I’d told myself I was being forced to marry the dull sister, whom I believed no one wanted. As if she were being handed to me because no one else would take her.
Cristo!
My arrogance really did know no bounds.
“I’m sorry for that.” I cup her cheek. “Alessia, I haven’t been unfaithful. Not once. Not this entire time.”
Doubt flickers in her eyes.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” I add. “I have no reason to.”
She pulls back slightly, shaking her head. “But?—”
