Dishonorable

She was sweet and innocent and scared.

And I would still tear her world down brick by brick.

She didn’t realize what I would do to her family’s business. She thought I’d take her inheritance and run. She thought she was saving her sister by sacrificing herself. Well, if she didn’t hate me by the time the inheritance came due, she would once she understood what I would do. It would be too late by then, though.

Not that it mattered. She was right when she said I wasn’t seeking absolution. I had no interest in forgiveness. Hate and betrayal had burned any goodness, any honor, right out of me.

And I couldn’t care less if she hated me.

It was after ten in the morning when Sofia came downstairs. Maria and her staff were already busy baking, and I had just come inside to get a second cup of coffee. She’d wound her wet hair up into a messy bun and wore a pale pink sundress and looked more than a little uncomfortable walking into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” I said.

She flushed, then cleared her throat. “Good morning.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Um, coffee, please.”

“Fresh baked bread for breakfast?” I asked.

She glanced at the counter where Maria had set a basket of breads and small cakes. “It smells wonderful.” She looked at Maria and repeated the same in Italian. It was heavily accented, and the sentence was out of order, but it worked. Maria nodded her thanks.

“Headache?” I asked, making sure she knew I remembered the night before.

“I’m fine.”

Liar. “Well, if you happen to get one later, there’s aspirin in that cabinet. Come on, we’ll eat outside.”

I carried our coffee cups, and she followed me out. I watched her take in the surroundings, the beautiful rise and fall of the hills, the vast green fields. The dead vineyard. We sat down at the table, and she took a piece of bread and buttered it.

“Your brother said he was going to the seminary?”

“Yes. He wants to become a priest.”

“He’s only twenty-four. I guess I’ve only ever known priests to be old men.”

“Our mother was a devout Catholic. She must have passed some of that to him.”

“And you don’t even believe in God.”

I shrugged my shoulder.

“You’re not close with either of your brothers. Really? Not even with Damon being a twin.”

I shook my head.

“I guess I can’t imagine that. I don’t know what I’d do without Lina.”

An awkward silence stretched out between us.

“I have some business at the neighboring farm, so I’ll be gone most of the day.

“Can I come with you? I don’t want to sit here alone all day.”

“The seamstress will come in the afternoon to fit the wedding dress.”

“A wedding dress? I assumed it would be a civil ceremony.”

“In front of God and man.”

She didn’t pursue that conversation. “You said you’d give me a tour.”

“Later.” I checked my watch.

“I’m finished now. I won’t make you late.”

She swallowed her coffee and left the bread. She really did need to eat. “Finish your breakfast. I can wait a few minutes.”

After she ate, I led the way to the large garage. It was built in the same style of the house and had enough space for three cars, but two of those were loaded with old equipment for the vineyard we no longer used. In the third stood the truck I’d been working on, a 1970s Chevy.

“That’s very old. Does it still run?” she asked when we neared.

“I hope so. I spent last night and two hours this morning working on the thing.” I’d been up since half past five.

“You didn’t get much sleep.”

I shrugged a shoulder.

She touched the rust and peeled off a layer of old paint, then opened the door and climbed in as I settled behind the driver’s seat.

“Is it safe?”

“I wouldn’t drive you around in it if it wasn’t.”

She stole a glance when I said it, then fastened her seat belt. The engine hiccupped then roared to life, and we drove off.

“I hope you don’t mind the wind.” I had both windows rolled all the way down. “Couldn’t quite get the AC working.”

“No. I like it. How big is the property?”

“About two-hundred acres. A hundred of that is vineyard.”

“That is no longer in use. What a waste.”

“It is a waste.”

“Maybe you could start again, replant…rebuild your mother’s memory.”

My throat felt tight, and it was hard to swallow. “These fields here are rented by neighbors,” I said, ignoring what she’d just said.

“Are those cows?”

“Yes. Half a dozen or so. They don’t have the space, and we do, so it’s an easy trade.”

“And it’s nice to see the animals. Any horses?”

“Do you ride?”

She shook her head. “Just a handful of lessons, but I like it.”

I nodded.

“What’s that?” She pointed in the distance to a stone building.

“Chapel. It’s been there as long as the house.” We pulled up to the building, which was missing part of its roof. I shut off the engine, and we climbed out.