I slid the letter back into the box. “As far as my dad is concerned, I’m not sure, but as far as the will is concerned . . .” I met Marco’s gaze directly. “I’m going to give these letters to the lawyers and tell them everything that Francesco told me today. That should take care of any suggestion of undue influence. It’s proof of what Anton really wanted, and he deserves to get what he wanted for once, because he certainly didn’t get it during his lifetime. Then I’m going to go knock on Connor’s door and tell him to stop tearing my house apart.”
I replaced the lid on the shoebox, though I knew there was still one more letter at the bottom. But I was not prepared to read it yet, because the seal had not been broken and it was intended for my mother. The return address said Anton Clark, Maurizio Wines . According to the postmark, it was mailed shortly before my mother’s death. It was stamped Return to Sender .
CHAPTER 26
ANTON
June 12, 2005
Dear Lillian,
I just finished reading your letter and I will write the same thing I write every year: Please let me come and help you. Let me meet our daughter. I don’t know how it would be possible to explain it to her, but maybe there is a way? Please let me share your burden. I would shoulder it all if you would let me.
Even as I’m writing this from a thousand miles away, I can feel your reaction. You’re afraid I’m going to break my promise to stay away. Please, don’t let yourself worry. That is the last thing I would ever want—to cause you any fear or concern. I gave you my word. I will never reveal that I am Fiona’s real father, and my word is true, but I need to say something I have never said to you before, because I never wanted to add to your burdens. Maybe it’s the wine tonight. I’ve probably had too much, and the moon is full, which always makes me think of you. But here it is: With every day that passes, I feel like I am slowly dying. Your letters break me apart because I share your sorrow—the guilt over what happened to Freddie and the agony of being separated from you. I wish we could be together to comfort each other, but maybe that’s not what we deserve. Maybe the fates have decided that we stole a lifetime of happiness that one summer. We used it all up and there is no more left for us.
Since you left Tuscany, nothing is the same. There are no words to describe my loneliness which grows worse with every passing year. The loss of you was devastating, but it came on top of the loss of my children. What man could survive that? As you know, Kate was brutal in the divorce. Connor and Sloane have no interest in coming to visit me and I still don’t understand what I did wrong as a father. It was Kate who left me, not the other way around, and I believe now, without a doubt, that she only married me for my money. All I ever wanted was to be a normal family and raise our children here, on the vineyard. I think Kate must say bad things about me . . . I don’t know. Or maybe the children just prefer the city and their new stepfather, who’s richer than I ever was. I am lost. I love them and I miss them. I wish they would come here. I’ll keep asking. I’ll invite them again next week.
You asked about my artwork. The answer is no, I haven’t picked up my paintbrush since you left because whenever I see beauty in the world, I don’t want to capture it because it reminds me of you and my children and everything that’s gone. There is no one to share it with.
Maybe this is my punishment for falling in love with a married woman. I wanted too much, and what happened to Freddie is the cross we both must bear. You are drained and worn out, and I am without you and without my children . . . Connor, Sloane, and Fiona.
I am sorry for all this. I don’t want to add to your burdens. Whatever the case, I am in awe of your strength, your sacrifice and devotion to your husband, so I will soldier on, waiting for the day when we will see each other again.
But I must ask . . . perhaps it’s time for a brief reprieve? I miss you, Lillian, and the waiting is tearing me apart. Please consider it. If you could put my promise to you into a drawer and push it closed, even just for one day, I would come to you. No one would have to know. No one but us.
Yours,
Anton
CHAPTER 27
SLOANE
Tuscany, 2017
Seated at the dining room table with the lawyers, Sloane was first to finish reading a copy of her father’s final letter to Lillian Bell. The room was quiet as a tomb as Connor, Fiona, and Maria continued to read. When Fiona set down her copy, Sloane turned to her, and her voice shook as she spoke. “I guess this is the proof you were looking for.”