Wed on His Terms: Million-Dollar Marriage Merger. Charlene Sands

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. I’ve always been thankful for that. I’ve had the love of the best two people on earth. A child can’t 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 …

      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 “Crush and Maceration.”

      The crush in vintner’s 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. It’s 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 couldn’t bear seeing him tease and joke with other girls, but I kept my innermost feelings hidden, hoping one day he’d 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, Rena’s emotions so bold and honest on the page. He knew he’d hurt her but just how much he hadn’t 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 it’s 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 that’s 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 I’d 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 “Corked.”

      He knew what that meant. He forced himself to read on.

      Wine that is “corked” has been contaminated by its cork stopper, causing a distinctly unpleasant aroma. The wine is ruined for life. It’s 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 you’d invested time and energy with that bottle.

      Wine shouldn’t 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 Rena’s feelings. He had to find out what happened to her after he’d left her. He continued to read, sitting stiffly in the chair, woodenly reading words that would haunt him.

       “Rod called today, after his first big sale. It killed me to talk to him, I felt selfish for wishing he’d flop in his high-powered position in New York. I was dealing with my mother’s terminal cancer, needing him so badly.”

      After reading Rena’s story, which ended abruptly when Rena’s mother died, Tony slumped in the seat. Drained, hollowed out by what he’d learned, he simply sat there, reliving the scenarios in his mind.

      Eventually Tony logged off of his computer, leaving the disk behind, but Rena’s 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 o’clock as planned, his disposition in the dumps. “Did you find anything unusual?” he asked his brother.

      â€œNo, not unusual. Dad did screw a lot of people over, but I’ve never seen it so clearly as now.”

      Tony groaned, his mood going from gray to black in a heartbeat. “I was hoping I was wrong.”

      â€œNo, you’re not wrong. Your instincts are dead-on.” Joe shuffled papers around, comparing notes he’d written.

      â€œLooked 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 I’ve 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 couldn’t compete.”

      Tony winced, hearing the truth aloud. “I’d asked Dad to leave Purple Fields alone. To let them make a living. But I’m betting he did it to spite me.”

      Joe’s brows rose. “You think he singled them out because you chose a different career?”

      â€œHe’d never approved of my choices. He didn’t want me to succeed. He wanted to dictate the course of my life, and it pissed him off that I wouldn’t listen to him. I chose racing over him.”

      â€œYeah, Dad was angry when you took off. He wanted to hand down his business to his firstborn son. Hell, he wasn’t too fond of me not sticking around either. I’ve got a head for business, not grape growing.”

      Tony’s lips curved halfway up. “You’re a computer geek, Joe.”

      â€œAnd proud of it,” Joe added, then focused his attention back on the subject at hand. “Dad 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€œDoesn’t make it right. Hell, he made millions. He didn’t need to shut down his competition.”

      â€œApparently, he didn’t see it that way.”

      Tony let go a frustrated sigh. “At least there’s something I can do about it. I’m going to renegotiate those contracts. We’ll sell our wine at a fair price, but we won’t undercut anyone, especially Purple Fields.”

      Joe nodded and leaned back in his chair. “That should make Rena happy.”

      â€œYeah, but it won’t make up for all the past pain this family put her through.”

      â€œYou’re not just talking about Dad now, are you?”

      Tony took a steadying breath and shook his head. “No. But I plan to make it up to Rena. Whether she likes it or not.”

      â€œThose