“Fine.” Sloane turned on her heel. “I’ll go and see what’s cooking in the kitchen.”

She left the room, ever hopeful that they would suddenly realize what they were missing out on and change their minds. But no one ever followed Sloane when she said fine and stormed out of a room. Alan especially. He always just let her go.

CHAPTER 6

FIONA

As soon as the lawyers packed up and left, Ruth rolled Mabel’s wheelchair away from the table. She said they had a plane to catch and pushed her aunt out the door without a single glance back in my direction.

“They’re not happy about this either,” I said to Maria. “I can hardly blame them. No wonder they want to fight it.”

“Yes, but you heard what Mr. Wainwright said. They can’t fight it without clear evidence of blackmail or fraud or undue influence.”

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “My mother would never blackmail anyone. You should have seen how she cared for my dad every day of her life. She was a saint.”

“Except for the fact that she was unfaithful to him,” Maria gently reminded me. “Maybe you didn’t know her as well as you thought you did.”

I had no choice but to accept that Maria was right. “I don’t know anything anymore,” I said. “I didn’t expect this to happen today. I thought I was just going to inherit some dinky little plot of land somewhere, maybe half an acre with a little house on it. Not the whole kit and caboodle.” I sat forward again. “How much is this winery worth, anyway? The lawyer said there were nine hundred hectares. Is it all vineyards? Because that sounds like a lot of grapes.”

“It’s one of the largest and oldest wineries in Tuscany,” Maria replied. “My husband said it’s probably worth close to a hundred million euros.”

I blinked a few times, then lost my breath. “What did you just say?”

“That’s why Connor and Sloane want to fight this new version of the will. They’ve grown up thinking they would inherit the mother lode. Three million British pounds is a pittance compared to what they were expecting.”

I barely heard a word Maria was saying about Connor and Sloane. I was too busy doing the math in my head.

One hundred million euros?

I had no idea that Anton Clark—my actual biological father—was worth that much money. Imagine what I could do with a windfall like that! I’d never again have to worry about falling short when it was time to pay Dottie or Dad’s other home care workers. I’d give Dottie a raise so that she would stay with us forever. I could even have a life of my own, maybe get my own house and buy a new car. I could definitely pay off the wheelchair-accessible van we just purchased and get Dad a new computer with the very latest voice-recognition software. I’d get him all the bells and whistles. Maybe I would take him on a trip. His biggest bucket list item was to see Billy Joel in concert at Madison Square Garden. I could afford front-row seats!

I was starting to hyperventilate. I’d always felt a little guilty for keeping such a big secret from my dad all these years, even though it was for his own good, but surely this made it worthwhile. Never mind how I would explain the sudden change in our financial situation to Dad and Dottie when I got home. I’d figure out something.

Maria touched my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure. I think I’m in shock.”

“Me too,” she replied. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised he left you everything.”

I looked up. “But why in the world would he do that?”

This was too much. One hundred million euros. I had to be careful. I couldn’t let myself fall into the trap of thinking that I’d just struck it rich, only to learn later that it was all a big mistake and I was poor again. Certainly, it was fun to dream about buying a new house and taking Dad to see Billy Joel, but I needed to keep my feet on the ground in case this fell through in a few days’ time.

Even if it didn’t, wouldn’t it make sense to share it with Connor and Sloane?

“The letters that the lawyer mentioned . . . ,” I said.

“Maybe they explain what Anton was thinking,” Maria suggested. “Maybe he really did love your mother. Maybe she was the great love of his life.”

I shook my head at that notion, because I remembered the look on my mother’s face when she told me I was another man’s child. It was a look of regret and shame. At best, what happened between them was a one-night stand.

“Mom was only here for a summer while Dad was researching his book,” I explained. “Wouldn’t she have told me if she actually loved the man who was my real father?”

“Maybe not. Maybe she didn’t want you to think she loved your father any less. The one who raised you, I mean.”

“Fair enough.” I stood up and moved toward a large gilt-framed portrait of a Georgian family on the wall. “But if Anton really loved her, wouldn’t he have tried to fight for me or get to know me? Unless he never found out about me until . . .”

“Until your mother died,” Maria suggested. “Maybe that’s when she finally wrote to him, in those final hours, when she told you. Maybe that’s the letter the lawyer was talking about.”

“She wasn’t well enough to write a letter,” I replied, “and I was with her the whole time. Besides, the lawyer said ‘letters,’ which suggests there were more than one.” I stared down at my open palms. “Either way, why would he cut his own children out of the bulk of his estate? Didn’t he love them? I just don’t understand it.”

Maria stood and joined me in front of the painting. “I could probably shed some light on that part of it.”

“Could you?”

“Sì.” She hesitated, and her cheeks flushed with color. “I don’t like to gossip, Fiona, and who am I to judge? But I’ll be honest . . . Connor and Sloane weren’t exactly what I would call loving children. They were darlings when they were little, and I enjoyed having them come to stay, and I could forgive them for not wanting to visit when they were teenagers. They didn’t want to leave their friends. That’s natural. But I can’t forgive them for staying away so completely as adults.”

“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.”