Chapter 2 The Will & the Vineyard

The lawyer's office was in the back of a weathered stone building, tucked between a café and a flower shop where sunflowers leaned lazily toward the morning sun. Lexi stepped inside, already regretting the espresso she'd drunk too quickly. Her nerves buzzed, her stomach twisted.

The room smelled of lemon polish and old paper. Shelves crammed with leather-bound volumes lined the walls. The air was cool, but Lexi felt the heat rise beneath her collar.

"Signorina Thompson," a woman said warmly. She looked up from her desk and stood. "I'm Elisabetta Rosini. I handled your grandfather's affairs."

Lexi shook her hand. It was small, dry, professional.

"We can begin whenever you're ready," Elisabetta said.

Lexi nodded, her throat suddenly dry.

They sat at a long oak table. A leather folder waited between them. Elisabetta opened it slowly, as if handling something sacred.

"Your grandfather updated his will six months ago," she said. "He left everything-the house, the vineyard, and all related assets-to you."

Lexi blinked. "Everything?"

"Everything."

A silence settled between them. Lexi hadn't expected this. She had assumed she'd get a portion-maybe a token memento. Not the whole vineyard.

"I don't know the first thing about running a vineyard," she said.

Elisabetta offered a soft smile. "Your grandfather believed you would learn. And he made provisions. There's also a note. For you."

She slid a sealed envelope across the table. Lexi stared at her name, written in bold strokes she recognized instantly.

---

My dearest Lexi,

If you are reading this, then I am gone, and you are home.

Yes, home. I know you think New York is your home now, but this vineyard is in your blood. It has waited for you. I have waited for you.

There will be things you do not understand yet. Things I couldn't explain in time. But trust the vines, and trust your instincts. And maybe, just maybe, trust the man I brought here to help.

With love, always, Nonno Giovanni

---

Lexi folded the letter slowly, pressing her fingers against her eyes.

When she left the office, the sun was high and hot, and the flower shop smelled like basil and blooming roses. She paused outside and exhaled.

Home. Was this really her home?

---

Back at the vineyard, Étienne was already in the field, clipboard in hand. He didn't see her approach.

"Do you always start work before breakfast?" she asked.

He turned, lips curling. "The vines don't care about my stomach. Nor yours."

Lexi rolled her eyes. "Well, I have good news and bad news."

"I like to suffer first. Bad news."

"I own the vineyard."

Étienne raised an eyebrow. "And the good news?"

"I'm not selling it. Yet."

He gave her a slow, approving nod. "Then we should begin."

Lexi glanced at the vines. Green, wild, sun-drenched.

"Where?"

"Where all good things begin," he said, handing her a pair of pruning shears. "With your hands in the dirt."

---

The first vine Lexi touched felt oddly alive. Not in a creepy way, more like a subtle energy, a pulse of history beneath her fingertips. The leaves were still damp with morning dew.

"You have to be gentle," Étienne said behind her. "But not afraid."

Lexi turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. "Is that vineyard advice, or French flirting?"

He grinned, unbothered. "Oui."

She hated how easily he disarmed her.

As the morning wore on, Lexi moved slowly through the rows, clipping dead tendrils, brushing her fingers across the bark, trying to remember what it had felt like as a child-when her grandfather would lift her up and say, "These are your sisters. Treat them well."

---

Flashback:

She was seven, sitting on the kitchen counter while her grandfather kneaded bread. The smell of flour and grapes mingled in the air.

"Why do you talk to the vines, Nonno?" she'd asked, swinging her legs.

He'd wiped his hands on his apron and kissed the top of her head. "Because everything that grows listens, piccolina. Especially when it grows from love."

---

They broke for lunch beneath a fig tree. Étienne pulled a basket from the back of his car-bread, cheese, tomatoes still warm from the sun, a chilled bottle of white wine.

"You came prepared," she said, half impressed.

"This is Tuscany. We live to eat."

Lexi hesitated before taking a seat across from him. The shade cooled her flushed cheeks.

"Tell me something," she said, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. "Why did he hire you? There must be dozens of local oenologists he could've chosen."

Étienne looked thoughtfully at the wine in his glass. "He said he needed someone who wasn't afraid to challenge him. Someone who would listen to the vineyard, not just tradition."

"And you fit that perfectly, huh?"

"I have been known to break a rule or two."

Lexi smiled despite herself. "Well, Giovanni definitely didn't break rules. He was the rule."

Étienne chuckled. "Then we had... spirited discussions."

A breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Lexi felt the weight of silence return, that odd sensation that she was in the middle of something bigger than herself.

"Why do I feel like everyone knows something I don't?" she murmured.

Étienne didn't answer right away. Instead, he refilled her glass and looked out over the vines.

"Because maybe he left you more than land. Maybe he left you a mystery."

Lexi frowned. "What kind of mystery?"

"The kind that lives in the roots. The kind that doesn't show itself right away."

He stood, brushing off his pants. "Come. There is something you need to see."

---

They walked deeper into the vineyard, farther than she'd gone in years. Past the newer rows into a section where the vines were older, their trunks thick and knotted.

"These are the originals," Étienne said. "Planted by your great-grandfather."

Lexi ran a hand along the rough bark. The vines seemed to hum with history.

"This part of the vineyard was sealed off two years ago," he continued. "Giovanni said the soil here had turned. But I think he was hiding something."

Lexi raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"That," he said, pointing to a locked cellar door half-covered by ivy.

It looked like something out of a Gothic novel. The rusted handle, the heavy wood, the way the earth seemed to press around it protectively.

"Did he ever mention this to you?"

Lexi shook her head. "No. But I haven't been here since I was sixteen."

Étienne knelt, pulling out a small key from his satchel.

"Where did you get that?"

"From his wine journal. Taped to the last page."

The lock clicked open.

Lexi hesitated at the threshold. A strange chill rolled out, like the past itself was exhaling.

Inside, it was dark, the stone walls dripping with moisture. Shelves lined the perimeter, dusty bottles with faded labels stacked neatly. In the center stood a table. On it, a single bottle with a red wax seal.

"What is this?" Lexi whispered.

Étienne lit a small lantern. "Your grandfather's secret vintage. He called it Vita Vecchia."

"Old Life," Lexi translated.

"He never sold it. Never even entered it in competition. I think it was his most personal creation."

Lexi stared at the bottle, something twisting in her chest.

---

Flashback:

She was twelve. Rain lashed against the windows as she sat curled in her grandfather's study. He was scribbling in a notebook.

"You're writing secrets again," she said, peeking over the top.

He smiled. "Not secrets. Recipes. For something the world will only taste when it's ready."

---

Back in the present, Lexi reached for the bottle but stopped short.

"Why did he hide this?"

Étienne shook his head. "That's for you to find out."

As they emerged into the golden light of late afternoon, Lexi felt changed.

The vineyard was no longer just a piece of land. It was a puzzle. A legacy wrapped in vines, grief, and secrets. And maybe, just maybe, love.

She looked at Étienne.

And she knew one thing for sure: she wasn't leaving. Not yet.