“Your uncle Connor and I used to play hide-and-seek down here when we were your age,” Sloane told them.
“Can we do that?” Evan asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Ask your aunt Fiona. It’s her winery.”
Fiona turned and walked backward, smiling, spreading her arms wide. “Of course you can! Why do you think I brought you here? You can come here anytime you like, as long as you don’t pull a plug out of one of those big barrels we just passed, or you’ll flood the place.”
“We won’t,” Chloe replied.
Fiona led them to an ancient oak door at the end of the last corridor and dug into her purse for a key. “This is a very old hiding place,” she said, inserting the key into a wrought iron lock and pushing the door open on creaking hinges.
Rapt with fascination, Sloane, Evan, and Chloe followed her inside.
“What’s all this?” Sloane asked, moving along groups of wine bottles stacked against the walls on wooden slabs.
“It’s a very special room,” Fiona explained. “These are collections from the harvest year of a child’s birth. It was a tradition started by the Maurizio family, who owned this winery before your father did. Some of the bottles are very old, as you can see. Look at the dates on the plaques. But come over here.” She beckoned to Sloane. “This collection is for you.” Fiona removed the plaque from a hook on the wall. “Your father wanted you to have this. There are bottles here for Connor as well. I’ll make sure he gets them.”
Sloane stared at the dusty plaque with her name and date of birth written on it and couldn’t fathom what she was looking at. She picked up a bottle and rubbed the grime off the label. “My goodness. This artwork . . . it’s one of his paintings. I remember when he used to paint when we were small. I would paint, too, in his studio. He’d let me use his brushes and oils. I’d make a terrible mess, but he was never cross with me. He told me how talented I was.”
Sloane’s heart lurched painfully at those fond memories.
Fiona moved deeper into the room. “Come over here. There are two more recent collections you should see.”
Sloane read the names and dates on the plaques. Mesmerized, she turned to Fiona. “These are for Evan and Chloe.”
“Yes.”
Sloane picked up a bottle, saw another of her father’s paintings, and bowed her head with grief. “I should have brought them here. They should have gotten to know their grandfather and seen what he created.”
“They’re here now,” Fiona replied.
“But it’s too late.” With another rush of sorrow, Sloane set the bottle back in place.
“It’s not too late. You can tell them about him, show them pictures, and share stories you remember.”
They looked around for a few more minutes, examining some of the older bottles.
“I know this is difficult,” Fiona said in a quiet, understanding voice. “I’ve noticed that you keep saying what a good daughter I was, but what you need to know is that I wasn’t perfect either. I’ve been feeling the same way as you, wishing I had come here and gotten to know Anton when he was still alive. I’m always going to regret that I didn’t make that effort, but I was too busy resenting him because it was easier and less complicated.”
“That’s how I felt,” Sloane said. “It was easier not to face any of that.”
“And though it’s important to look forward, not back,” Fiona added, “I also think it’s important to reflect on past mistakes and learn from them. It helps you move forward in the right direction.”
Evan approached and tugged at Sloane’s sleeve. “Mom, can Chloe and I go explore?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t leave the building without telling me.”
“We won’t.”
As soon as the children were gone, Fiona regarded Sloane curiously. “Have you made any decisions about your marriage?”
Sloane sighed. “That’s a tough one. Connor thinks I’d be crazy to divorce Alan, and he doesn’t think I’ll go through with it. Lord knows I’ve never followed through before, but something feels different this time. Maybe it was coming here and remembering the person I used to be. Or meeting you and seeing how relaxed you are about the money. Whatever the reason, I feel like I can’t let the prenup keep me from doing what’s right. Money shouldn’t be the reason I stay with Alan, at the cost of my dignity and self-esteem. I want to be a good mother—the kind of woman who’s not a doormat and can’t be bought. I want my kids to know what it means for a woman to be strong and independent. I just hope I can figure out how to be that kind of woman. I feel like I’ve been locked away in Alan’s ivory tower for the past ten years, and I’m terrified of what will happen when I leave it. I don’t know what to expect, and I don’t know how to do any of this on my own. I’ve never even had a job.”