Sloane shook her head. “I don’t feel very rich right now. All I feel is alone and stuck in a bad marriage because I signed a prenup where I’d get nothing if I left my husband. And I’m terrified about how I would raise my children without a father. On top of that, I’m convinced that my own father hated me because I never came to visit him, and that’s why he cut me out of his will. So I suppose it depends on your definition of the word rich. And Fiona . . .” Sloane turned to me. “As far as money goes, it’s all relative. I don’t know what your situation is, but if you have a roof over your head and a brand-new van, a homeless person might consider you to be rich as Croesus.”

I drew back slightly. “Wow. Okay, you win that round.”

We sat in silence, each of us watching the children.

“I didn’t mean to suggest,” I said, after a time, “that having money means you’ve lost your right to be unhappy. Life sucks sometimes, whether you’re rich or poor. And I’m sorry about your marriage. It’s always sad when a relationship doesn’t work out. I wouldn’t actually know about that from experience. I’ve never been married, but—”

“My husband sent a dick pic to our daughter last night,” Sloane bluntly announced.

I regarded her with surprise. “He did what?”

“Not on purpose,” Sloane explained. “Apparently, he meant to send it to a woman he’s been screwing behind my back. No idea who she is.”

I tamped down my surprise. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed hard, and I had the sense that she was fighting to hold back tears. “Obviously, I’m angry with him, but I’m angry with myself, too, because it’s not like I didn’t see this coming. My husband was always a flirt. Even on my wedding day, I knew deep down that he wasn’t capable of being faithful to me for the rest of our lives, but he was so handsome and successful, and I was completely infatuated with him, so I went through with it anyway. I just stuck my head in the sand, telling myself everything would be different once we were married. That he would change and settle down. Become a family man.”

“That’s gotta be rough.”

“It is. Especially when I look at those beautiful kids, who don’t deserve to grow up in a house where their mother is an emotional wreck all the time, completely insecure and heartbroken and trying to hide it. How am I supposed to be real with them when I’m faking everything? I’m trying to pretend that our life is perfect and beautiful so that all my friends will envy me. But honestly, who cares what they think? Wouldn’t it be more fun to just let my natural hair color grow out and eat pasta without worrying about looking bloated the next day?”

“I do love pasta,” I said. “What color is your hair?”

She removed her sun hat and showed me her roots. “It’s brown, not black.”

I bent to look closely and nodded without judgment.

Sloane put her hat back on and sighed heavily. “You know what they say. Women often marry some version of their fathers, and according to Mom, our father was a lady-killer of the highest order.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if handsome, wealthy men are even capable of being faithful to one woman for the rest of their lives when younger women are always throwing themselves at them.”

I struggled to find the right words. “I wouldn’t know anything about that either. I’ve never really known any handsome, wealthy men. My ex was a regular Joe. He had his faults, but at least he was faithful. And I never met our father, so I have no idea what he was like.”

Sloane sat forward and pulled off her hat. “Evan! Don’t hold your sister’s head under the water! Do you want her to drown?” She sat back and let out a breath of frustration. “How am I going to do this on my own? I’m doomed.”

“That’s not true,” I assured her. “I think you’re going to be just fine. Obviously, you’re good at keeping a watchful eye on things. I mean, look . . . Chloe’s not drowning.”

“Maybe not, but her parents might be splitting up, and she’s going to have to live in two different homes and probably always blame herself for what’s about to happen to her family because she screamed her head off when the dick pic came in.” Sloane tipped her head back to rest on the lounge chair and watched a cloud float across the sky. “Call me a pessimist, but I have a feeling the traditional institution of marriage is a dying pipe dream.”

“Let’s not lose hope,” I replied. “Lots of couples spend their entire lives together and are very happy. My parents, for example. Even though my dad came with a lot of challenges, my mom was devoted. She would have done anything for him. I’m sure they’d still be together today if she hadn’t passed away.”

Sloane gave me a look. “I don’t want to be insensitive, but aren’t you forgetting the fact that you were only born because your mother cheated on your dad?”

I thought about that for a moment and couldn’t deny that Sloane had touched on something. Maybe I did look at my parents’ marriage with rose-colored glasses.

But how could I not? All I remember is how my mom doted on my father every day of her life, until she passed that baton to me.

“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t think it was quite like that. I mean, it wasn’t an actual affair. I don’t know what it was exactly, but . . .” I thought of the special wine collections that Anton had created for my mother and me—which he’d kept hidden and locked away for thirty years—and shook my head. “What am I saying? I don’t know anything anymore. I have no idea what happened between them.”

I’d always thought I had it all figured out—that my mother’s relationship to my biological father was a one-night stand, at best, or possibly nonconsensual. But after seeing the secret wine cellar, I had to consider the possibility that I might have been wrong about their relationship and wrong about Anton Clark as a whole.

An oncoming train of regret was picking up speed.

With more questions than ever knocking around inside my head, I sat up, swung my feet to the ground, and donned my T-shirt. “I should get going. I’m sure your brother is up at the villa at this very moment, searching through boxes and files for those mysterious letters from my mother.”

I pulled on my shorts, slid my feet into my flip-flops, and started off, but I turned back to say one more thing.

“Sloane, no matter what happens with the will, you shouldn’t worry. At the very least, you’ll have a house of your own in London with family nearby and quite a bit of money in the bank. You can raise your children with a clean slate.”

“Connor wants to sell it,” she told me. “He wants the fast cash.”

I stepped a little closer, wanting sincerely to help. “I see. Well, you could always take your half of the proceeds and start fresh somewhere new.”

“But I love that house,” she argued, “and so do the kids. It’s the only place we have left that actually feels like home.” She glanced around and looked up at the hilltop town of Montepulciano in the distance. “I never brought them here. I wish now that I had, because it’s very special. You’re lucky, Fiona. Don’t take this for granted.”