“Marcello told me you’re the smartest of them all, but they worry about you doing your own thing.”
“Because I don’t do things by consensus, I do what I think is best. They don’t like it—”
“Because you’re the youngest?”
“And because you’ve met them. You know how it is. Too much discussion. Too much tension. It’s a waste of time and energy. If something needs to be done, I’m going to do it. End of story.”
“You don’t feel isolated?”
“No. I love it. It’s far better now that they are out of the fields and winery, and they can focus on fashion, and merchandising.”
“And yet I saw the report Enzo had prepared for our meetings last August. Your wineries are outperforming, and outearning, what the three of them do...combined.”
“Now it does. It wasn’t always that way.”
“But you have to be pleased.”
“I’m not competitive, at least, not with them. I like to be successful, but not at their expense.” He glanced at her, black lashes framing those startling silver eyes. “They’re my older brothers and my sister. I look up to them. I respect them. I just want to do my part now—” He broke off, drew a breath, “It’s time to do my part, to ensure my family’s success.”
It wasn’t a villa, but a proper castle, she realized as they turned off the main road and began driving up a hill to the castle with a square tower in front of them, while tidy rows of grapes covered the hillsides.
“That’s your home,” she said, because it was the only building nearby, and what an impressive structure it was. The tower was made of stone, while the plastered walls were a soft creamy yellow, surrounded by tall stone exterior walls.
“It is,” he agreed.
The castello was positioned on a hill with sweeping views of Val di Greve, and with access to both Florence and Siena, it had most likely been a strategic stronghold for centuries.
“From the square tower, it must date back to the eleven hundreds.”
“There are some disagreements regarding the age of the castello itself, but historians all agree that the central tower is from the twelfth century. Some sources claim the castle as it is today dates from the early fourteen hundreds. We know from ancient records that the castello has been inhabited since 1456, and it was during that time period it earned its name, Castello Mare Scotti, for a descendent of the Medicis.”
“When did you buy the property?”
“It’s been almost ten years. The castle and grounds were a mess, in need of serious restoration, and while the vineyards were still producing grapes, they also needed to be replanted. Overhauling the orchards made sense—and those have become quite profitable. The restoration of the castello is more of a labor of love, an ode to Tuscany. I’ve lived many places now, but nowhere else is like this place. Chianti Valley is without a doubt home.”
“More so than Florence?”
“I enjoy Florence. It’s elegant and filled with art and history, but I’ve discovered I prefer the country over the city. My family had a big estate outside Florence when I was growing up, and my brothers have divided it between them, but that estate has never resonated with me, not the way Castello Marescotti resonates. From the first time I walked the property, I knew it was meant for me.” Brando flashed a wry smile. “The family said I was crazy. Livia emailed me a half-dozen listings of available properties featuring palaces and villas in excellent condition, many with land attached, but none of them were right. Marescotti was mine. I often spend weeks at a time here. One day soon I hope to live here full-time.”
“What about your house in Florence?”
“I’ll still go for a special night, or a weekend, but once I have children—” He broke off and shot her a meaningful glance as he slowed to pass through the ten-foot stone walls with the huge iron gate. “I’d like to raise them where there is space to run and play.”
Staff appeared as Brando parked. Someone claimed the luggage. Someone else took the car keys and then the car. A housekeeper ushered them through the front door, offering to show Charlotte to her room, but Brando said he’d take her himself.
Sunlight poured through the windows flanking the front door, and the staircase rose in the middle of the great hall, the staircase three levels of dark gleaming wood against pale yellow walls. Framed oil canvases hung on the walls while an enormous Venetian glass chandelier cast sparkling light everywhere.
She followed Brando up a flight of stairs to the second floor. They walked down the hall to the second door on the left. Her bedroom was luxurious as well as spacious, with plastered walls and thick dark beams set into the ceiling. The rose silk curtains framed tall windows, and the bed was covered with a matching silk coverlet. Fresh roses filled a vase next to the bed, and more roses nestled in a low bowl on the antique dressing table.
“Would you like a brief tour of the house and gardens?” Brando asked. “Or are you too tired?”
“Not too tired. I’d love to see your place. I heard so much about it last fall.”
They exited her bedroom, stepping back into the hallway, which was sunny and bright thanks to a trio of tall windows lining the wall. The windows overlooked fertile vineyards and tidy orchards.
“How much of this land is yours?” she asked, pausing at one of the hall windows.
“Almost everything you can see from this spot.” He pointed to a distant hill topped with another castle. “See that castello? That is my nearest neighbor, and his property starts at the bottom of his hill and continues for one hundred and ten acres that way. Everything from here, to that hill, is mine.”
“How many acres do you have?”
“A little over two thousand, but it’s in chunks and clusters as I’ve purchased available property in the valley.”
Her eyebrows arched. “That is significant land for this area, isn’t it?”
“I’ve been buying land when I can. Most of it is devoted to grapes, but not all. I also have a large olive orchard, and we have bees, and produce honey, too.”
He led her back downstairs through the reception rooms and grand salons and smaller sitting rooms, as well as through the dining room, and the kitchen staffed with a head chef and an assistant. They walked through kitchen gardens, their shoes crunching the gravel paths, before entering a small orchard with fruit trees. At the back of the fruit orchard were the beehives, and they found one of Brando’s gardeners, who also was the chief beekeeper, just finishing repairing the rain cover on one of the hives. Brando greeted him warmly and introduced Charlotte before they continued, returning to the path with the worn tiles. The smooth red-tiled path led them away from the house to a small chapel with its own square bell tower. They peeked into the chapel with its stained glass and dark wooden pews, before he led her back down the path, cutting through rose gardens and a topiary garden to end up at an enormous infinity pool with a jaw-dropping view of the valley. Elegant wrought iron loungers lined one side of the pool while a fountain happily splashed away in a far corner, creating tinkling sounds.
The valley was that of dark green rolling hills and picturesque villages and grapes. The terrain was more rugged than Napa, with high mountains in the distance. “You have a bit of paradise here,” she said.
“I’m quite partial to it. I focus well here. In fact, I enjoy my work so much that it doesn’t feel like work.”
“That’s the best sort of work, when it feels more like a passion.”
“Do you feel that way about your work?”
“Sometimes. It depends on the clients. And the crisis.” She flashed a smile. “Sometimes the crisis element overwhelms everything else and all I feel is adrenaline.”
“Did you feel that way working with my family?”