His hands at the small of her back invited her closer, pulling her snug against him. “If you were mine, I’d never leave you, and I would do anything to make you happy.”
He stared at her for a few heart-stopping seconds, gauging her expression, seeking permission to move things a step further.
She did not discourage him.
Anton lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and searching, hungry with passion. Her arms slid up and around his neck, and she returned the kiss with reckless abandon. She wanted to take hold of him and never let go, for this moment to go on and on.
This time, she didn’t think of Freddie. It was as if he had ceased to exist because Anton had taken up all the space in her world. She hadn’t known emotions like this were possible.
Finally, she drew back and took Anton by the hand. She led him to her bedroom, dark except for the moonlight streaming in through the open window. Her heart raced as he gathered her into his arms and eased her onto the bed. He moved over her like a shadow, filling her with rapture and joy.
They made love through the night, pausing only to sleep for brief spells until one of them woke and reached for the other. Breathlessly, Lillian whispered in his ear, “Is this even real?”
“I don’t know. It feels like a dream.”
They shared Lillian’s bed until the sky brightened at dawn. Then they rose and got dressed, walked hand in hand across the dewy grass to sit on a stone wall overlooking a vineyard on a sloping field below. The sunrise bathed the Tuscan hills in a soft pink mist. Anton and Lillian marveled at the beauty of it, and in that perfect moment, there was no knowledge of pain or unhappiness anywhere in the world. They were together in their own private version of heaven.
CHAPTER 18
FIONA
Tuscany, 2017
It wasn’t easy to keep a secret that made your heart want to burst out of your chest. Ninety million euros. Cash in hand. A done deal without an audit. I could board a plane back to Florida in a week, and this secret of mine—and my mother’s—would be swept under the rug forever.
But how would I explain the money to Dad? And what would I do with it? Split it with Connor and Sloane? How would I divide it?
Walking briskly across the parking lot toward the gift shop, I looked down at my feet and listened to the sound of my sneakers crunching over the clean white gravel. The movement grounded me and reminded me that none of this was set in stone. Connor still wanted to fight the new will, so I would be wise not to let any dreams of financial freedom get too out of hand.
I entered the gift shop and found a dark-haired woman on a stepladder, filling a top shelf with bottles of wine. She wore navy trousers and a red golf shirt with the Maurizio Wines logo on the breast pocket.
“Buongiorno ,” she said, climbing down. “You must be Ms. Bell?”
“Yes. I’m here to meet Vincent Guardini. But please call me Fiona.”
She approached and held out her hand. “I’m Mia, the gift shop manager. It’s nice to meet you.” We shook hands. “Vin’s already here. He’s in the office. Vin! Fiona’s here!”
He walked into the shop through an open door at the back and smiled warmly at me. “What a beautiful morning for a walk in the vineyards, sì? ” He kissed me on both cheeks. “You’ve met Mia?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Let’s get started, then. First, let me show you the office. Come, come.” He beckoned for me to follow him through the back into a large room with half a dozen cubicles and large windows that let in plenty of light. “Everyone, this is Fiona Bell, Anton’s daughter from America. Our new owner.”
People stood up from their desks, and Vincent introduced me to each person individually. Then he took me into a separate office to meet the sales-and-marketing manager.
Afterward, we walked outside to the parking lot, where Vincent led me to his car—a cute little blue Fiat with a dent in the side.
“Are we going somewhere?” I asked.
“Many hectares to see,” he explained. “Quicker to drive.”
I slowed my pace. “Vincent . . . I wonder if you wouldn’t mind taking me to the wine cellars first. Remember that key I showed you last night?”
“Sì. ”
“I have it in my purse, and the suspense is killing me.”
He stopped and regarded me with understanding. “We can’t have that. We will go. The cellars are this way.”
He led me up the gravel road past the chapel to the little hamlet of medieval buildings. We climbed a set of stone steps to a terrace that took us to a large door with a keypad lock.