“There must have been some reason why they didn’t want to visit.”
“All I know is that Anton made every effort to stay in touch. He called and invited them, but they were too busy all the time. With what, I don’t know. Neither of them has a job. But they didn’t even humor him by suggesting they’d try to fit in a trip some other time. The only time Connor ever called was to ask for money. It was hard on Anton, and I believe he might have been testing them over the past few years. He gave them every opportunity to come and learn about the winery, but they always said no. I suspect that just confirmed to him the fact that they didn’t care about him or this winery.”
I turned to Maria. “So you think he might have wanted to teach them a lesson by giving everything to me? Or that he was being vengeful?”
“He certainly could be vindictive sometimes. He was ornery in the end. Reclusive.”
“But why not teach me a lesson?” I asked. “Because I certainly wasn’t a loving child.”
Maria gave me a look. “Maybe it wasn’t you he was thinking about when he rewrote the will.”
I rubbed at the back of my neck. “You think it was my mother, for whatever reason. Guilt, maybe. Atonement?”
Maria shrugged. “Someone around here must know what happened between them.”
I walked back to my chair, sat down, and drummed my fingers on the tabletop. “How did they even meet?”
I thought about Connor’s accusations suddenly and felt a surge of panic. He was, at that very moment, calling lawyers and probably private detectives to help him prove his claim—that some crime had been committed, which would overturn the will.
What if my mother had threatened Anton in some way? What if this was going to get ugly and Connor was going to drag my mother’s past into the spotlight or paint us as gold diggers? Maurizio Wines was a big name. It could be a juicy story back in the US.
Poor Dad. It would kill him to learn the truth that way.
“I feel a little nauseous,” I said and put my head between my knees.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No. I think I just need to find the letters the lawyer was referring to. I need to find out what really happened.” The sick feeling in my belly was still there, but I forced myself to sit up regardless. “Maybe you could help me with that?”
“Sì. I want to get to the bottom of it too.” Maria began to tidy up the water jug and glasses. “Let me show you around the villa today. You should know what you’ve inherited. Later, I’ll ask my husband to take you around the vineyards and show you the wine cellars.”
“Thank you, Maria. I feel like you’re my only friend right now.”
She glanced at me meaningfully. “No one should be without friends.”
After gathering the water glasses onto a tray, she carried them out of the room.
For a long while after she was gone, I sat alone, staring at the wall, thinking and reflecting. What were Connor and Sloane doing at that moment?
Probably not retreating. Not when there was €100 million at stake.
A terrible wave of guilt washed over me. What right did I have to take away their inheritances? Even if they were horrible, selfish children, I certainly wasn’t any more deserving.
I really needed to understand what was happening here. Those letters needed to be found.
CHAPTER 7
LILLIAN
Tuscany, 1986
In the decades following that tragic summer in Tuscany, Lillian Bell often wondered: What if she’d had a crystal ball? Would she have canceled the trip? Or never suggested it in the first place? Or would she have given herself over to fate, regardless of the consequences?
In the spring of 1986, Lillian and Freddie Bell were living in Tallahassee, Florida, and heading into their fifth year of marriage. Admittedly, when Lillian had first met Freddie, she didn’t have it all together. She had suffered a difficult upbringing with parents who were alcoholics in dead-end jobs they both hated. They stayed together “for the sake of the baby” when they should have split up at the outset, early into the marriage, because all they ever did was scream and fight and drink, then scream and fight and drink some more.
Lillian’s father finally left when she was ten. She never saw him again, but rather than feeling frightened and abandoned, she’d wished he had left sooner. Or that her mother had been the one to leave.
Maybe it was something in her mother’s DNA that made her stick by her husband, year after year, enduring verbal abuse and backhanded smacks to the face.