They’re on the terrace inside the winery, the vineyard behind them lush, golden and emerald green under the beat of the afternoon sun. Draco has his nose in their latest serving of Chianti. "I’d imagine it would get a little samey after a while but—yes," he says. He swirls his glass. Sips from it. Turns to gaze over the railings at the rolling hills. "It’s nice not to rush out to the boat, isn’t it?"