Wed on His Terms: Million-Dollar Marriage Merger. Charlene Sands
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and topography of a region that uniquely influence the grapes. A wine with a certain terroir cannot be reproduced in close resemblance of another, because the terroir is not exactly the same. Much like the DNA of a person each wine has a one-of-a-kind profile.
I guess I came from good terroir. That is to say, my parents were solid grounded people, rich, not by monetary standards but by life and vitality and a grand love of winemaking. My roots run deep and strong. I come from healthy stock. Iâve always been thankful for that. Iâve had the love of the best two people on earth. A child canât ask for more than that.
My parents, like the trellis system of a vine, show you the way yet cannot dictate the path you will ultimately choose. As I grew I felt their protection, but as I look back I also see the strength they instilled in me. After all, a new vine needs to weather a vicious storm now and again. It needs to withstand blasting winds, bending by its might but not breaking.
I remember a time when I was in grammar school â¦
Tony read the chapter, smiling often as Rena portrayed anecdotes from her childhood, relating them to the ever-growing vines, taking shape, readying for the fruit it would bear.
He skimmed the next few chapters until he came upon a chapter called âCrush and Maceration.â
The crush in vintnerâs terminology is when the grapes are harvested, broken from the vine by gentle hands. The crush happens each year between August and October, depending on the kind of grapes that are growing in your vineyard. For me, the crush happened only once. Itâs that time in your life when you break off from the ones that graciously and lovingly nourished you to become your own person. I was sixteen when that happened. I grew from an adolescent girl to womanhood the autumn of my sophomore year. The day I met my first love, Rod Barrington.
I had a big crush on Rod from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was new to our school, but his family was well known in the area. Everyone knew of the wealthy Barringtons, they owned more property in our valley than anyone else.
While my friendship with Rod grew, I fell more and more in love with him. For a young girl, the pain of being his friend nearly brought me to my knees. I couldnât bear seeing him tease and joke with other girls, but I kept my innermost feelings hidden, hoping one day heâd realize that his good friend, Joanie Adams might just be the girl for him.
Tony read a few more passages, skimming the words on the page quickly, absorbing each instance that Rena relayed in the story, vaguely recalling the circumstances much like Rena had written. It was clearly obvious that though Rena had changed the names, Rena had written about his relationship with her, reminding him of the love they once shared. As he read on, the smile disappeared from his face, Renaâs emotions so bold and honest on the page. He knew heâd hurt her but just how much he hadnât known until this very moment.
In winemaking once the grapes are gently crushed from the skins, seeds and stems, allowing the juices to flow, maceration occurs. The clear juice deepens in color the longer itâs allowed to steep with its counterparts, being in direct contact with stems and seeds and skins. Time blends the wine and determines the hue and flavor, intensifying its effect.
And thatâs how I felt about Rod. The longer I was with him, the more direct contact I had with him, the more I loved him. He colored my every thought and desire. I knew Iâd met the man of my dreams. We blended in every way.
Tony skimmed more pages, his stomach taut with regret and pain. He stopped when he came to a chapter titled âCorked.â
He knew what that meant. He forced himself to read on.
Wine that is âcorkedâ has been contaminated by its cork stopper, causing a distinctly unpleasant aroma. The wine is ruined for life. Itâs spoiled and will never be the same. Fortunately for wine lovers, only seven percent of all wine is considered corked or tainted. A sad fact if youâd invested time and energy with that bottle.
Wine shouldnât let you down. And neither should someone you love.
Tony ran his hands down his face, unable to read any more. But a voice inside told him he had to know the extent of Renaâs feelings. He had to find out what happened to her after heâd left her. He continued to read, sitting stiffly in the chair, woodenly reading words that would haunt him.
âRod called today, after his first big sale. It killed me to talk to him, I felt selfish for wishing heâd flop in his high-powered position in New York. I was dealing with my motherâs terminal cancer, needing him so badly.â
After reading Renaâs story, which ended abruptly when Renaâs mother died, Tony slumped in the seat. Drained, hollowed out by what heâd learned, he simply sat there, reliving the scenarios in his mind.
Eventually Tony logged off of his computer, leaving the disk behind, but Renaâs emotions and her silent suffering while he was winning races and pursuing his dreams would stay with him forever.
He met Joe at the office at six oâclock as planned, his disposition in the dumps. âDid you find anything unusual?â he asked his brother.
âNo, not unusual. Dad did screw a lot of people over, but Iâve never seen it so clearly as now.â
Tony groaned, his mood going from gray to black in a heartbeat. âI was hoping I was wrong.â
âNo, youâre not wrong. Your instincts are dead-on.â Joe shuffled papers around, comparing notes heâd written.
âLooked to me like Dad deliberately undersold cabernet and merlot to the retailers to drive Purple Fields out of business. We make five kinds of wine, but he chose the two Purple Fields are famous for to undercut them. From what Iâve found, he sold for a slight loss for at least ten years. He knew he could sustain those losses without a problem, while Purple Fields couldnât compete.â
Tony winced, hearing the truth aloud. âIâd asked Dad to leave Purple Fields alone. To let them make a living. But Iâm betting he did it to spite me.â
Joeâs brows rose. âYou think he singled them out because you chose a different career?â
âHeâd never approved of my choices. He didnât want me to succeed. He wanted to dictate the course of my life, and it pissed him off that I wouldnât listen to him. I chose racing over him.â
âYeah, Dad was angry when you took off. He wanted to hand down his business to his firstborn son. Hell, he wasnât too fond of me not sticking around either. Iâve got a head for business, not grape growing.â
Tonyâs lips curved halfway up. âYouâre a computer geek, Joe.â
âAnd proud of it,â Joe added, then focused his attention back on the subject at hand. âDad was an all-around brute. I bet he used the same tactics on half a dozen other small wineries to drive them out of business.â
âDoesnât make it right. Hell, he made millions. He didnât need to shut down his competition.â
âApparently, he didnât see it that way.â
Tony let go a frustrated sigh. âAt least thereâs something I can do about it. Iâm going to renegotiate those contracts. Weâll sell our wine at a fair price, but we wonât undercut anyone, especially Purple Fields.â
Joe nodded and leaned back in his chair. âThat should make Rena happy.â
âYeah, but it wonât make up for all the past pain this family put her through.â
âYouâre not just talking about Dad now, are you?â
Tony took a steadying breath and shook his head. âNo. But I plan to make it up to Rena. Whether she likes it or not.â
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