Freddie pushed away from the sink. “Coming to bed?”

It had been a long time since they’d made love. She couldn’t even remember the last time. She was usually asleep when Freddie came to bed after a late-night writing session. He was a night owl and she was an early riser, but tonight, each of them, for reasons of their own, felt impassioned.

She followed him to bed, got under the covers, and slipped out of her nightgown.

Afterward, when Freddie rolled onto his back and fell into a deep slumber, Lillian listened to the sound of his breathing and was surprised by a feeling of emptiness she had never experienced with her husband before. It left her frustrated, both sexually and emotionally, and resulted in a sense of foreboding that kept her awake until dawn.

CHAPTER 12

FIONA

Tuscany, 2017

It was walking distance from the main hotel facilities to Maria Guardini’s honey-colored Tuscan villa, nestled cozily between a grove of chestnut trees on one side and a straight row of towering green cypresses on the other. The sun was just setting as I made my way along the gravel drive and up a narrow set of stone steps. Twilight cast a golden glow on the house, and I stopped to smell the pink roses outside the front door before I knocked.

No one answered, but when I smelled the delicious aroma of meat cooking, I remembered that Maria had told me to come around to the back of the house. I made my way there and found her spreading a white linen cloth on an outdoor table beneath an ivy-covered trellis.

“There you are,” she said, smiling warmly. “Welcome.” She kissed me on both cheeks.

“I didn’t want to arrive empty handed,” I said, “so I picked some wildflowers along the way.” I held them out.

“Perfect for the table,” Maria replied. “Come inside.”

Maria led me into the kitchen, where Marco stood at the stove, stirring a pot of something. “Ciao, Fiona.”

“Hi, Marco.”

An older Italian man in a well-worn corduroy blazer entered the kitchen from the back terrace. He stomped the soil off his boots and held up a wicker basket. “Success!”

Maria greeted him with a firm kiss on the mouth. “Fiona, this is my husband, Vincent. Vincent, this is Fiona Bell, Anton’s daughter from America.” She gave him a look and raised an eyebrow.

Vincent set the basket on a wooden chair. He strode toward me, took hold of my face with his big calloused hands, and kissed me hard on both cheeks. “Benvenuta. Welcome.”

Joy bubbled up inside me, and I laughed. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Vincent returned to the wicker basket and handed it to Maria. “Porcini mushrooms were everywhere.”

“I’ve never loved you more,” she replied.

“The best mushrooms of the year,” Marco explained.

“I take it you didn’t get them at the store?” I asked, amused.

Vincent laughed, as if I had just told a hilarious joke. “I found them in the woods, not far from here. A prime location every year. Maria will cook them up for you, nice and fresh.” He passed by Marco at the stove and gave him a playful rub on the head. “Soup smells delicious. What a feast we will have. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will go and change into something more comfortable.”

Maria smirked at him before he disappeared up a narrow staircase at the back of the kitchen.

“He’s in a very good mood tonight,” Maria explained as she set the basket on the worktable.

“Why is that?”

“Do you have to ask? Neither of us expected Anton to be so generous this morning. It feels like we won the lottery.”

“I’ve been feeling that way myself,” I replied. “Thank you for having me for dinner. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Sì. We need to wash these beautiful mushrooms, then slice them very thin, like paper. Here’s a good knife. You wash and I’ll cut. Then we will cook and eat the most delicious pasta you’ve ever tasted in your life.”

I exhaled with laughter. “Pinch me, Maria. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

CHAPTER 13

SLOANE

Sloane dressed for dinner, then unscrewed the cap of her mascara and leaned forward over the sink, closer to the mirror. She was about to touch the brush to her lashes when Chloe screamed from the bedroom. Sloane jumped and nearly gouged out her eyeball with the mascara brush.

“Chloe, don’t scream like that!” She leaned forward again and whispered under her breath, “That child is going to put me in an early grave.”

Chloe howled and sobbed. “Mom!”

Taking her daughter’s cries more seriously the second time around, Sloane dropped the mascara brush into the sink and ran out of the bathroom. “What’s wrong?”

Chloe scrambled off the bed and held out her phone. “Why did Daddy send me this?”

Evan walked in with his hand buried in a bag of potato chips. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know yet.” Sloane snatched the phone from her daughter. She looked at the picture on the screen and sucked in a breath. “Oh my God. What is this?”

“I don’t know!” Chloe sobbed and wrapped her arms around Sloane’s waist.

Focusing closely on the image, Sloane recognized her husband’s private parts along with a text message. Hey baby, are you in the mood for this tonight?

Sloane’s heart dropped like a stone with stomach-churning speed. Almost immediately, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. It startled her, but she knew who was calling. She pulled it out and checked the display.

“It’s your father,” she explained to Chloe, fighting to remain calm and in control when her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer and she had no idea how she was going to manage her temper over the next few minutes. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this, sweetheart,” she said, stroking Chloe’s shiny blonde hair. “I’m going to keep your phone for a minute and go talk to Daddy.” Sloane pointed at Evan and snapped her fingers. “Put on a movie for her, will you? Hurry up.”

While Evan dashed to the television, Sloane went into the bathroom, shut the door, and answered her husband’s call.

“Alan, what the hell?”

He spoke in a panic. “Are you with Chloe? Is she on her phone right now?”

“Not anymore,” Sloane replied.

“Shit. Did the text come through? Did she see it?”

Sloane cupped her forehead in a hand and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Always, with Alan and his many indiscretions, she felt heartbreak, sadness, emptiness, and most of all humiliation. She had become rather adept at keeping her chin up and pasting on a happy smile while hiding her anguish and turning a blind eye. Today, however, she felt something entirely different. Something new.

“Yes, she saw it, you idiot. What is wrong with you? I feel like I’m going to throw up right now.”

“It was an accident,” he insisted. “I swear I didn’t mean to send it to her.”

“No?” Sloane’s blood began to boil hard and bubble over. “Well then, that makes it totally fine. Who did you mean to send it to? Never mind, I don’t want to know the answer to that question.”