My confession, All Improvisio Amore, Ezio's Theme, Just Give Me a Reason, When You Say You Love Me, Frozen Heart and Death Of Parents.

I had to re-write the opening scene in the kitchen several times, because every time I thought it was finished and re-read it, it was terrible. I was really scared thinking that maybe, just maybe, this fic had died on me.

But I think I was wrong, so no more bad thoughts! Read! Read!

The Gay Brother

Remembering Gilbert and Papa Valenti

It was an accident.

Accident.

A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T.

Or something like.

It was an accident, it had all been an awful, terrible accident.

But that didn't make it not Ludwig's fault.

Ultimately he had to call Gilbert to come pick him up from downtown where he'd been left. At least he had his cell-phone, and at least it was still charged, because Ludwig wouldn't explain where he'd gone or what was wrong and he wouldn't say any of the things that needed to be said without his brother standing right there in front of him.

Physically, literally, in front of him.

"Lutz, what's wrong?" Gilbert was hung-over, and he was annoyed about being made to venture out into the sun and come so far from home just to find him. But when they met on the side-walk outside the small café where Ludwig had taken refuge from the light there was something else under the pale complexion and squinting blood-shot eyes.

It was just a shadow and it was very briefly there and gone again, but he'd seen it, and maybe the nostalgia of having an older brother who was a stronger brother was what made Ludwig just give up his pride and break. He saw Gilbert look at him seriously, and watched him stand there patiently, and remembered the years where he hadn't needed a father or a mother or a partner because he'd had Gilbert, and his brother for one day under the oppressive sun was himself again.

Because Ludwig shattered in public of all places, because he was ashamed and he was exhausted, he was sick from the sins he'd committed and he stank of the poison that had permitted them. He cracked and he broke and he fell apart at ten o'clock in the morning on a busy city street, adulterer and drunkard and bastard all wrapped up in one disgusting package of stale beer and lost credit cards.

And Gilbert was there to pick him up again.

Piece by vile, wretched piece, the brother Ludwig had lost to a desert night knelt down and picked him up off the dirty side-walk, strong hands that didn't quiver or jump around holding him tight in their grip and lifted him into the car.

He was gone again for the drive that was silent and sickening, that jumpy, erratic person who'd taken over Gilbert's life making a return and telling Ludwig, awkwardly, to just lay in the back-seat and sleep or something.

But then he was back when they reached the house, and he bullied Ludwig into a hot shower he didn't want in a room the guilt nearly locked him out of. And his brother was still there with a mug of hot milk and sugar, the kind he'd once made as a bed-time treat for a small child with no other guardian to look after him. Milk and hang-overs weren't supposed to mix, but the plain piece of toast that went with it and the bottle of water left by the bed were there to sooth his body as his tortured mind scratched its fingers raw searching for every ounce of comfort those memories could bring him.

Ludwig crawled from Feliciano's abandoned bed to the spare room on their house's second floor. He spent the rest of the day in bed.

And he cried.

Being walked in on with little more than a sheet around his waist, honestly, wasn't at all how Feliciano had planned to start his day. Failing to either leave a message or just man-up and call Ludwig again also didn't do much to help him feel better.

When the unwanted guest peeked out the living-room window after his shower and saw absolutely no sign of his brother's truck… well, now he was 0 for 3 and still in the red from yesterday.

Hearing his sister-in-law announce that "Vargas men are all cut from the same cloth!" just added a level of conflict to his morning that succeeded in making him feel even less welcome within the villa walls, and he really hadn't thought that was possible. By the time he actually worked up the courage to step into the kitchen where Alice and her sister were eating breakfast, Feliciano had just barely talked himself out of just giving up and crawling back into bed for the rest of what was going to be a miserable day.

"Carlino's not so bad, I hope." Interrupting them with his own comment, Feliciano realized that if he fell asleep again in this house he'd probably wind up murdered. Furthermore it wasn't Chiara's words themselves that left him completely fed up and miserable, but the sheer violence with which she used them in that statement. "God protect him if he is, right?"

The prayer was not a joke. He'd lost the humor to be glib and let his mellow tone make that point for him. The dismal silence that swallowed the kitchen and its occupants was proof of its effect.

Seated at the island in the middle of the kitchen the same one where a few nights ago he'd shared a quiet meal with the same girl. Alice had her nose buried in a glass of apple juice, wide round eyes moving between Feliciano where he was standing in the doorway and her sister. She looked bashful, but Chiara only had the decency to purse her thick dark lips without actually looking sorry. She simply couldn't bother to be sorry.

"I…" So Alice piped up with something different. "I didn't mean to interrupt your call earlier." It was almost an apology, but not one that helped very much. She was just trying to break the silence her sister was ignoring, because Chiara had already decided that his presence just wasn't worth acknowledging: she was more interested in stirring the small cup of coffee by her elbow and looking down at the magazine open and folded over on the counter beside her. Feliciano knew he was watching her closely, and he knew she knew he was watching, but it was like a train wreck: he wanted to know what she'd have to say next, and he wasn't going to let her catch him off-guard with it.

So it was a shame Alice took her turn with him instead, because even if he had been looking at her Feliciano would never have expected the words that came out of her mouth:

"Is your wife doing alright?" She shocked him into looking at her again, Alice's hands shaking slightly as she poured a fresh glass of juice and then offered it to him. He didn't even correct her this time, because if she would honestly rather talk about his life in Germany than whatever was going on here, then he didn't know if he should accept the distraction or fight his way to the truth. What was going on in this town?

"I'm not sure." So he answered slowly, moving cautiously across the thin ice spread across the conversation and accepting the glass as some sort of peace offering. "I was just sent to voicemail, I didn't bother calling again." Hadn't bothered because he hadn't known what to say…

"I guess you'll be waiting for a reply today then, won't you?" His gaze had begun to slowly drift back towards the older sister, but Alice forbade him from wandering back down that path and pushed him awkwardly along this one.

"Not really." But he resisted, it felt like he had to. "I was going to leave my phone here to charge." He made himself taste the juice, focusing on the tartness of the apples and not the sweetness that followed.

"You still want to go out?" Alice looked and sounded so surprised that Feliciano almost forgot about the tension with her sister. She lifted her head up off her hand where her chin had been resting, brown eyes watching him curiously as she shook her long bangs out of them so she could see clearly. Her fascination was almost uncomfortable, but he made himself ignore it as an effect of his bad mood.

"Of course." It was better to answer her question quickly, so he did it with a shrug and stopped either of them from dwelling on the issue. "I'm only here for a few more days, I'd rather make the most of them." Which probably also included not picking a fight with Chiara, but all the secret-keeping was getting to him.

"If you're so set on going-" But of course, ignoring Chiara didn't remove her from the room or, by extension, the conversation. "-then you can pick up something to eat along the way: I'm not cooking for you two."

Feliciano felt his jaw set itself tightly behind his lips, drinking his juice again so he wouldn't have to look down at Lovino's disapproving wife. Chiara stood up with a huff, sweeping her coffee cup over to the sink where she started the hot water with a knock against the tap.

"Mama and I will be down at the winery later this afternoon when she gets back from town." And that almost sounded like a warning…

"Would you like to see it?" The winery? Alice's question surprised him because he hadn't thought of it. But when he found his eyes caught up in hers again he noticed a light where it hadn't been before. It was that sincere, hungry kind of glow that he'd seen once or twice in the art-world: from collectors or young artists, anyone who felt they had something worth revealing and showing to the world. Pride had a way of saturating the air around a person and making their soul swell up and sing. And if they were so caught up in whatever it was, then the easiest way to please them was to give in and take a look: to show that their obsession was worth your time and attention too.

"I'd love to, actually." So if Feliciano was being given an opportunity to please someone he wanted so much to be on better terms with, then he was honestly happy and maybe even a little bit blessed to take it. "Your car or mine?"

Alice didn't answer him because Chiara muttered something harmless under her breath and stepped out of the room without another word. Her sister's attitude was unsavoury and Feliciano's mood was still rotten, but then he saw the way an angel reached down and lightly pinched Alice's round cheek next to the rim of her cup.

And maybe that made Feliciano's morning a little bit better than it had been before.

Getting out of the house took no time at all once it was decided. He'd said he wanted to leave his phone behind, but in reality he brought it with him just in-case Lovino tried to call him. He didn't know what he'd do or say if Ludwig contacted him instead…

Feliciano wanted to talk about Lovino almost as badly as he wanted to avoid mentioning his partner, but the topic was forbidden and they both searched for a way to keep those distracting topics at bay. The first distraction was the easiest one, because it also worked very hard to dispel the dreary, bitter cloud that had been building around his head all morning.

Feliciano had rented an old white convertible for his stay, but the car remained behind in the villa courtyard when he and Alice left. Instead, they climbed into the cute little blue Fiat that Alice owned, Feliciano settling into the passenger seat next to her. The white purse she'd grabbed was tossed carelessly into the back of the car once the keys were taken out, and those were in the ignition before he could decide whether or not to bother with the seatbelt.

"Is it new?"

"I told you there's better money in wine." Her smile was fast and easy, genuine because she didn't even think before giving it to him. It took a chip off the wall of 'what the fuck is going on here?' and let them settle in their seats before the engine woke up with a crackle of gears and exhaust.

And then they were off, immediately, with barely a change in speed between pulling a wide arc around the courtyard and veering off under the wall to reach the road. It brought an unwitting smile to his face when Feliciano knew her foot never touched the brake as they sped off under treetops and bright sunshine. There was a cross on a string of rose-quartz beads swinging from the rear-view mirror, the gems glowing in the light as the engine picked up speed and made the rough gravel road smooth out with the tires hurrying across the jagged pieces.

"The winery first?" He asked again, comfortable with the fast speed down a familiar rural lane.

"Unless you've changed your mind, then of course."

"You can't talk to me about chocolate wine and then not expect me to try it."

"Do you like sweet wines now?" The engine whirred a little louder until with a change of gears it quieted back down to a persistent purr, the car jostling a little over a rough patch before a sweeping turn down the side of a hill brought them in contact with a main road and asphalt. Feliciano knew they weren't more than a kilometer or two from their destination, and both sides of the road were dominated by grape-vines and sunshine.

"Not so much, but I like them a little softer than I used to."

"Papa used to say we could serve you vinegar and you wouldn't know the difference."

"Well! Respectfully then, I disagree!"

She could talk about her father without falling into silence, and by the time the winery's entrance came screaming up at them along the paved road, Feliciano's vocabulary and taste for the cultivated drink had finally returned. He watched Alice press her palm flat on the twelve-o'clock position the wheel and turn it easily with her fingers spread, one toe tapping the brake for the first time since they'd left just so they could clear the narrow corner before she pressed the gas again and the car revved up and sped forward, kicking up dust and grit behind them and clouding the path. Feliciano had his elbow resting on his open window, catching the scent of the rosebushes traditionally planted at the end of each row of vines as they sped by. It was a beautiful day…

The winery was a newer building than the homestead they'd just left, but it was only a technical feature. There had always been a structure present and Feliciano could remember Alice's father taking every opportunity when they'd been younger to tell them about the explosion that had levelled the original building.

It was a local legend about a Nazi battalion taking over the area during the war, only to be smoked out in the middle of a hot summer night by partisans who set the munitions depot on fire. It was a fabulous story complete with a local girl being taken hostage and her Partisan lover defeating Nazis with wit and charm, but it was ultimately false. He'd never heard the real story because that was a Valenti family secret, but the old structure had burnt down in the sixties: a little too late for the Reich.

The new winery was a concrete building with a steel roof, two stories high and prettied up by Alice and Chiara's father to make it more appealing to tourists and travellers. The flat, square nineteen-sixties face now had red brick decorations around each of the sorry square windows, indigo shutters bolted to the solid white walls for aesthetics and an attempt to make it seem more like a converted house, not a brisk business frontier. A wide square drive hedged with new green shrubs and marked with half-sunken stones was functional for tour buses and tiny cars, the makeshift garden doing its best to add appeal to what had once been just a concrete square with a concrete path to a concrete door.

"I like the awning!" A white and purple banded banner was new to Feliciano's eyes, his sunglasses resting on his nose as he looked up at the decoration fluttering under the sharp steel eves. It wasn't much for blocking the sun or rain, but that was what the proper awning of the same material stretched over the entry-way was for. The two large, classical terracotta pots that had always stood to either side of the shallow red steps and tall black door had been cleaned up with their grapevine motifs restored by black paint and fine varnish, their tops spilling over with real vines and ferns that Feliciano touched idly with one hand as they passed.

"You'll like the air-conditioning more." The one thing this place had always lacked in summer. Feliciano watched Alice fuss through the wide belly of her purse looking for her keys when they found the front door locked, the soft leather falling to her hip with its strap on her shoulder, a white blazer cut short over her hips making the hourglass of her figure stand out strongly, hips rolling under the loose blue fall of her knee-length skirt as she led the way and he followed. He'd left his jacket in the car and almost felt under-dressed in just a polo tee-shirt, touching the blue stripes over his stomach once to make sure it was still properly tucked into his jeans.

The bulk of any winery's staff belonged out in the fields tending the vines, or in the back with the machines that did the pressing and fermenting and calibrating. It was too early to worry about the front of house and Feliciano could tell just from how easily Alice swept him through the familiar foyer that she didn't expect to run into any of her staff. The foyer was a long rectangular room that ran along the front of the building, sparse seating and a large oak bar dominating the chamber that boasted wine racks, bottles, and pamphlets in little brass stands. The winery's awards were proudly hanging on the brick wall behind several mounted casks of wine, and a portrait of Alice's grandfather, the Valenti Winery's founder, was mounted high over a display of sealed bottles capped in gold: the finest years the establishment had to offer.

On the one hand coming here felt like stepping onto hallowed ground, but on the other it was a windfall of memories trying to remember who was faster: Alice or Lovino, Carlino or Chiara, Feliciano or any of their parents when they were caught racing at full speed across such a wide room that had always, without fail, been at least one or two degrees cooler in summer than the scorching heat outside under the sun where play was actually permitted. How many times had he slammed into that corner in the wall where the room broke down into a small corridor? Too many, because his shoulder was hurting just thinking about that time his collar-bone had snapped in retribution.

So there was no running this time, but Alice took a quick moment to duck behind that long bar and locate a pair of clean wine-glasses for tasting with. They weren't going to drink much: just taste, so breakfast could wait until they were finished here. Excited in his own way to get this chance, as Alice took him down the hallway that had always led to the grown-up parts of the building Feliciano listened to her explain all the little things that had changed since he'd last been here.

The way they'd modernized and upgraded a lot of the technology in the brewery: the new presses and machines for washing and prepping the grapes when they came in from the fields. A security upgrade had happened sometime too.

A locked door and a digital key pad on the wall earned a lot whistle of appreciation from him, because Feliciano could distinctly remember the way he'd once just had to jiggle the doorknob a certain way to gain access down into the industrial cellar.

"We already produce almost twice as much as we did a few years ago; papa started the process, so Chichi and I just made some adjustments." And now Valenti wine was sold across the region, and they were pushing their way into Rome with his Uncle Mario's help and connections.

"Chiara and Lovino keep the businesses separate, don't they?" The winery and the restaurant. It made sense to partner up since Papa Valenti and Feliciano's uncle had been good friends for a very long time, the only change he'd sensed at the Pinwheel had been the way that relationship was now exclusive. Instead of carrying Valenti wine and one or two others from the area, Lovino only served his guests wine with his wife's label on the bottle.

"Financially, yes." Alice didn't look at him when she said that, leading him down a flight of old stone steps that predated the modern building over their heads. They kept going down and more lights were flicked on by Alice's hand in the dark, florescent lamps flaring to life where they were suspended between dusty old beams and nigh-ancient brick arches.

The floor down here was dirt, and it had always been that way. The oak barrels were almost as tall as Feliciano and resting on their sides, ten rows deep and moving back towards the stone wall where bottled wines were resting in their lattice boxes, aging and ripening under the dust and glow of the cellar.

While the entrance upstairs brought back childhood memories, Feliciano found himself hesitating down here. When he'd been very small this level of the winery had been the topic of scary dares and summer time nightmares. He wasn't sure if he'd ever quite forgiven Chiara and Alice for that time he'd come down here looking for them late one night with a party going on upstairs, only to have them drop a sheet on his head from on top of one of the massive wooden kegs. He couldn't remember how old he'd been, he just knew he hadn't dared venture down here alone again until he'd been at least sixteen. And again: that had been on a dare.

As an adult there was less to be scared of, but not nothing. There were other memories down here, slightly brighter, others softer, and they left a chilly feeling on his skin as Alice's voice casually told him about the flow of product from these barrels to their buyers.

"We bottle most of it on site still, but unless Chiara and I build a proper bottling facility we're going to start sending more of it by truck to a nearby plant for that step."

"It's incredible how much you've expanded." Just the amount of new land they'd taken hold of over the last ten years, the physical expansion of the winery was incredible. "How far are you planning to go?"

"We have a few perspective clients further east, and I've been travelling more trying to look for partners in the bigger cities." Milan, Florence and Turin then, not just Rome. Feliciano found himself going quiet as he thought about it, pride that didn't belong to him kicking around in his stomach, trying to blossom with a kind of affectionate warmth he probably didn't have a right to share. He wasn't proud because he'd had something to do with it; he was proud because people he knew and who worked so hard for something were beginning to see the rewards for it. "We're still very small, but it doesn't hurt to dream of a national brand, does it?"

"Believe me, Alice, if I had the money I'd invest it in a heart-beat." And somehow with the transition from his mouth back to his ears, those words soured so strongly in the air that with Alice looking across the bottles of wine on the wall, she very well could have been searching for a bottle of vinegar. It was nothing she did or said that caused it, in fact, Feliciano didn't notice her react to his statement at all. It was his own mind that turned:

'Ludwig would rather cut off his own foot than invest in Italy.' Wine was always a safe investment in a wine-drinking country, but foreign investments in a small, rural business were not. Feliciano's teeth were locked and he was trying to unclench them under the dry hum of the lights overhead.

He knew Alice was smiling as her fingers brushed dust off labels, a small table had appeared through the murky light at rest against a large brick pillar, clearly placed here for special guests and potential buyers. It was a place to set down the glasses and paperwork anyone had, clean to suggest that it was used often and wiped to keep dust or grit from collecting on it. While his hostess made a delighted sound and challenged him to try the wine before handing over his money, Feliciano worked on prying his jaws apart so he could speak and act normally again. Now was not the time for Ludwig.

The heavy knock of a glass bottle landing on the wooden surface pulled him out of his thoughts, some of the tension seeping out of his face as he drifted forward and picked up the vessel. Alice was busy looking for another one on the long rack, breathing out through her lips and murmuring names and dates under her breath.

"That one was very popular last year; your brother sold every bottle he bought from us." A white wine which boasted a softer, subtler undertone of vanilla. He'd already said he wasn't partial to sweet wine but Feliciano understood why she chose it when she clarified how Lovino had used it. Selling the wine was different from serving it, because not every glass of wine a patron drank was necessarily paid for: he'd used that trick yesterday on his own, hadn't he?

"Go ahead and open it- aha!" he put the bottle down, actually, because Feliciano saw her reaching up and placing one foot on an empty row of lattice trying to strain her fingertips around the neck of another bottle. The soft soles of his running shoes scuffed the dirt and stones of the earth floor as he hurried over to her, placing a hand on her side to stop her from pulling the whole rack down on them both. He knew they were sturdy, but still.

"This one?" Shame he wasn't that much taller than her, but when Alice chirped that it was the right bottle he could at least twist it free without resorting to climbing.

"I think you'll like this one, it's a sparkling red." Sparkling? The indigo ribbon tied around the bottle's neck was fringed with white, a marketing scheme meant to emphasize the airy quality of the contents. It was heavy in his hand and the label, he noticed, was also white under the thick layer of dust. He couldn't read the date and there was something written on the side of the bottle, maybe even engraved there because he could feel something under his fingers, but he'd have to take it out into the actual sunlight and wipe it off first. It was strange to see a label that was white and gold, the Valenti family's dark indigo played down despite their crest remaining on the cap.

"Let's try the white one first?" He suggested, not even bothering to ask if it was even alright for them to open settled bottles from the depths of the winery's racks. Alice wasn't the owner's daughter anymore: she was the owner, her sister's partner, so if she decided to open up every bottle then no one would be able to tell her no. Well, no one except Chiara.

"Of course. I know you don't like whites, but trust me?" She gave him such a sweet smile that he almost forgot his hand was still touching her, and then Alice liberated him of the dark bottle before twisting away from him and heading back to the table with the light shining down on her tangled hair. She brushed a few caramel strands back behind her ear as her fingers played with the gold cap on the white wine, finding the little tab that broke the seal and revealed the cork. Feliciano was the one to see the corkscrew hanging on the wall and take it down, handing it to his hostess and settling one hand in his pocket as he watched her easily twist the screw into the soft plug and work it free. She didn't struggle with it, didn't even have to brace the bottle against her body: it came loose like she'd made a polite request and the cork felt obligated to comply.

Only a splash fell to the bottom of each glass, almost a waste until Feliciano realized that the wine would either go with them in the car into Rieti, or would be taken upstairs for service when customers arrived later today. He accepted his glass, the light stem fitting comfortably against the crooks of his fingers, and with a gentle tap together at the edge neither of them took a sip.

"You see the colour?"

"It's perfectly clear." Because Feliciano knew wine, and he was used to being the person at parties and dinners who knew the most about wine, but Alice probably knew more than him now. He'd grown up close to it, but she'd been raised to make it. "I don't smell any vanilla though."

"Deep breaths, Feliciano. Just don't get your nose caught in the glass." Oh.

"Oh, we're making big nose jokes now?" Was he offended? He felt himself laughing and the sound danced over the dusty barrels surrounding them. "My face is perfectly proportioned, thank you."

"Like a Van Gogh." Ouch!

"I'm more into the realists, to tell the truth."

"You know so much about art, but what about wine?"

Feliciano tasted the liquid gold in his hand before she could make fun of him for his red hair next, and he was surprised when the sweet notes in his nose melded with a spark of nearly sour flavour, held back from the brink by one soft, subtle, singing hint of vanilla. Breathing in across his tongue and then back out slowly trying to catch the ghost of spring, he looked down at his glass in surprise.

"That's…" but then he saw her grinning- no, he saw her preening with her cheeks squished and pinched so hard she looked like she was going to start bouncing on her toes, her eyes nearly shut as a teasing little haha~ fluttered past her full lips. "It still sounds like a gelato flavour."

"Hah! You liked it!"

"I did not."

"You did!" He did, but- "Feliciano Vargas, the unconquerable tongue, likes a Valenti white."

"I am not unconquerable, I do not hate all white wines, and why did you only give me such a little bit?" He pouted over his glass as a way of not saying outright that he'd enjoyed that taste. He wasn't so sure about drinking an entire glass without some kind of meal to balance it, but what he had just tried had, indeed, been more than he'd expected.

Alice still teased him and poured him another small splash, enough for a few more sips and a chance to actually go and talk their way through what they were tasting and smelling as they drank. One sip for the vanilla, another for the sharp tang of the grapes, this one for the blend of flavour and aroma, and a final two or three sips just thinking of foods to pair with it. Fish? Chicken? What spices? Which textures?

"You're making me hungry, Alice."

"I'm hungry too." Feliciano didn't know why it happened, or what set her off quite like that, but Alice's smile suddenly faltered. The near-joy that had buoyed her up since they'd crept down here together abruptly fled, like she'd remembered something or heard something he was deaf too in what had been gentle laughter. She wasn't looking at him when it happened however, so maybe it wasn't his fault, but when he noticed her gaze falling to the bottle still resting unopened on the table, he was more curious than concerned. "We don't have to open that one if you don't want to, there are plenty of places we can go and get something to eat instead."

"We could take it with us?" He made it a heavy question, dropping his voice where he had been casually leaning against the cool bricks. It seemed like a small thing and when he looked at the table Feliciano almost reached out for the dirty bottle again, but stopped himself. It felt inappropriate. "When was it made?"

"A few years ago." That was vague, but her voice fell when she made the admission. "It, ah…" The words failed, but Feliciano found it easier to bear because the reaction frustrated her. Alice scowled, her eyes hardening while her pink lips twisted themselves together sharply, her shoulders pushing themselves back as she placed a hand on her hip and made a soft huff. "It was one of papa's last." And that cleared the matter up completely.

"It's alright if we leave it here then." A memory like that could be very powerful, and Feliciano only very quietly let himself dwell on the comforting fact that she'd even considered sharing it with him, nevermind with the preface that he'd like the vintage if they opened it. "I don't mind. Most of your vines are reds anyways: I'm bound to be blown away by something if even the white wine was this good."

It was an awkward way to praise the drink and try to settle the issue, and maybe that was why it barely worked. Alice was more caught up in her own thoughts than with listening to him anyways.

"I don't really want to take it outside."

"Okay: I'll just put it back then." Setting his glass down next to hers, Alice's arms had been folded but now they moved like she was trying to either hug or restrain herself, hands pinned to her sides as he picked up the white-ribbon bottle and turned to carry it back to its place.

"Wait." It sounded like that word hurt her, and it felt like he was doing them both a disservice by stopping and turning around to watch her lose a fight against herself. The way Alice closed her eyes and tried to sort out what kind of shape her closed mouth was making didn't help them, but to him part of it made sense. It was hard wrestling with the loss of a parent, and even worse being around what they'd devoted themselves to. He didn't know how he'd really handle it if he was ever allowed back into his grandparents' house again: the place where his mother's garden hopefully still grew…

"Alice?"

"Bring it with us." So it was her decision, not his, and he wasn't going to try and form an opinion or give advice. It was her winery, and it was her father's memory. "If we don't open it then we don't, but its wine and we should at least give it a chance. Papa always said wine was meant to be drunk." Which was different from saying that wine was meant to be enjoyed, but Feliciano understood, and he remembered hearing those words over and over again throughout his life, even back when he'd been too young to really pay attention to them.

Alice's father didn't rest in his memories the way his uncles both did. He hadn't been a father figure or a family member. He'd always been authoritative and outside the spectrum of family, a powerful neighbour who wasn't there to make sure he succeeded and had probably pushed him more than once just to see if Feliciano would fall or break and prove himself unworthy of being near Alice. Not a cruel man, no- never. But not a man inclined to be much of a mentor or friend to his daughter's boyfriend.

But to be fair, considering the kind of memories, innocent and less-so creeping around in the shadows of the Valenti wine cellar, it made sense. When Feliciano didn't even have to stop and think about the unsavoury memories brought up with every awkward pause or broken exchange, it made sense. The cowardly, adulterous Vargas brother had no right to expect anything, filial or friendly, from the Valentis.

"We should go…" And that was why today was not the day he wished it would have been.

"Yes… lets…"

The first three pages have drafts going back all the way to December, the following nine pages were written in one day. That's how much I hated the opening scene, but now it's over with and I have a lot of drafts and outlines for the next 2-3 chapters!

If you read it, review it!