Free Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) by Giuliana Sica

when he moved in with me, things took a turn for the worse.
    I still loved him at that point. Hell, I loved him for months after we broke up. But he didn’t want my help. He slumped into depression and blamed it on everything but himself.
    It was right after we got back from Barossa. That trip is the last good memory I have of us together.
    He couldn’t stop drinking —I even caught him throwing empty bottles of whiskey into the neighbor’s trash one evening—and he blamed me. His envy of my blossoming career and my hard work left such a bitter aftertaste, I could not help him. My words fell like deaf stones into the waters of his drunken stupor. He chose to keep on drinking; no matter how much pain he caused us. But there was nothing I had done to bring this on. He was battling his own private demons.
    My help rejected, my love useless, I slipped into co-dependency. I hated myself. I loved him. I hated myself for loving him.
    And then it happened. I caught him cheating and told him to leave. We had been together for over five years. He never forgave me.
    I was heartbroken.
    Ask Evalena. She was there and caught the tail end of the comet.

CHAPTER 7
    I spent the day exploring the winery, escorted by an extremely informative and most courteous Dom. I shrugged off some of the painful memories and plunged my thoughts into musty-scented cellars full of aging wooden barrels and decanters ready to be sampled.
    It was mid-afternoon when I remembered Frank’s invitation to an informal tasting.
    I hurried to the cellar’s entrance in the main kitchen where the scent of the tarragon beef stew we had enjoyed for lunch still lingered. By the pantry I found the door I was looking for, opened it, and took the stairs down. The temperature dropped by at least fifteen degrees as I stepped onto the bare brick floor. Naked light bulbs hung from the raw-stoned ceiling, casting shadows in alcoves where dusty wine bottles rested; each alcove was numbered, named, and dated with plaques. I glanced at some Grand Reserve bottles dating back to the 1960s.
    Frank and the boys had gathered around an ancient rustic table where opened bottles of Shiraz stood at attention like obedient soldiers. Frank had a couple of half-filled decanters in front of him and was pouring thick purple wine into Riedel glasses.
    Greeting me, they shifted around the table to make room. I mumbled an apology for being late and bumped into Nicolas on my left. He winked at me. I cracked a grin and then turned serious as Frank cast a sidelong glance at us.
    The wines that benefit from decanting are usually the robust reds, such as the most mature red Bordeaux, Italian Barolos, and, occasionally, Australian and California reds. Shiraz (known in France as Syrah) also responds well to decanting. Decanting, in addition to filtering out sediment, aerates the wine, allowing it to breathe or, as they say, ‘open up,’ which enhances the flavor.
    The Shiraz grape appears to be named after a city in Persia (Shiraz) where the grape variety probably originated. It was brought into Southern France by a returning crusader, Guy De’ Sterimberg. He became a hermit and developed a vineyard on a steep hill where he lived in the Rhone River Valley. It became known as Hermitage. This is the sort of story I fell asleep to as a child. The occasional princess tale intruded once in a while but my mother always had an uncanny ability to lace true history with fantasy at our bedside and those stories I truly enjoyed. As I pursued my sommelier studies, all grown up, I mused every time I discovered and validated real tidbits of history she’d so skillfully woven between her vivid imagination and immeasurable knowledge. Only later was I able to figure out and distinguish that she was the creative part while my father and Joséphine had provided the historical facts.
    The Shiraz grape produces a tannic, purple wine with a peppery flavor that was originally used to bring strength to Grenache wines in