The vineyard rolled out like a dream—golden vines tangled beneath a fading sun, kissed with the scent of ripe grapes and dust. Sienna Moretti stood at the edge of the tasting terrace, arms folded across her chest, pretending she wasn't annoyed.
The wine wasn't bad.
The company, however...
"Heavy on the oak, light on the character," the man next to her murmured, swirling his glass like he owned the place. "A bold attempt, but trying a little too hard."
Sienna arched a brow. "Wow. You sound like a walking wine manual. Do you always critique like you're writing a breakup letter?"
The man turned to her with a slow, amused smile. He had dark, unruly curls, a jawline made for stubbornness, and a voice smooth enough to bottle. "Only when someone hands me overpriced mediocrity in a glass."
She laughed—sharp and short. "You must be a hit at parties."
"Only the good ones."
The festival crowd buzzed around them, glasses clinking, soft jazz playing in the background. But for a moment, it was just them, locked in a battle of smirks and sarcasm.
"I'm Sienna," she said finally, extending a hand, daring him.
He took it. Warm. Calloused. Firm.
"Luca."
Neither offered a last name.
Neither realized they were about to collide in more ways than one.
Somewhere beyond the hills, a vineyard waited for rescue. A history simmered in silence. And two hearts—wounded by legacy, pride, and secrets—were about to find each other under the same sky.