“I’ll try not to,” I replied, thinking of the sales agent named Roberto who had offered me €90 million for the winery. He was still waiting for me to return his call. “And as for that house you love in London . . . if it feels like home, then you should buy Connor out, take ownership, and live the life you want to live. Don’t accept defeat just yet. Remember, your husband sent a dick pic to your daughter. That’s not okay. Did you get a screenshot?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me. He’s not going to leave you in the lurch. He’ll probably buy Connor out for you and maybe even rethink whatever’s written in the prenup, as long as you agree to keep quiet about what he did. So get yourself a good lawyer. Okay . . . I gotta go.” I turned to jog off the pool deck just as Evan knocked the beach ball out of the water, sending it bouncing toward the fence.

“I’ll get it!” I shouted, running to fetch it. I picked it up and served it back like a volleyball.

“Grazie!” Evan said, jumping to catch it.

“Prego!” I replied gregariously, then hurried to the gate.

“Mom, who was that?” I heard Chloe ask.

Sloane watched me close the gate, then waved for her children to come out of the pool. “Come and sit next to me, both of you, so I can explain who she is.”

I turned to look back as I walked up the grassy hill and saw Sloane holding Chloe on her lap. Suddenly, both children turned and looked at me. They waved.

I smiled and waved back.

As I continued up the hill, I felt more determined than ever to find those letters.

CHAPTER 19

LILLIAN

Tuscany, 1986

Another week went by, and Freddie didn’t bother to call. At least that’s what Lillian told herself. Maybe he had called. There was no answering machine in the guest suite, and she wasn’t often at home. She was either working at the front desk, conducting tours, or helping in the fields during her off hours—for no other reason than the pure pleasure of it. There was something addictive about pruning vines and snapping off suckers. It was incredibly satisfying. And of course, it was an excuse to work alongside Anton during the day, though there were others around as well.

He and Domenico taught her all sorts of things about planting and growing grapes. She was a keen student, absorbing information like a sponge.

“I love it here,” she said to Anton one night after dinner at the villa, as they walked back to her suite. “I love everything—the food and the wine and the olive groves and the grapevines and the musty smell of the cellars. I can’t blame you for wanting to buy this place. It takes hold of your soul.”

He reached for her hand and kissed the back of it.

“And I was thinking,” she continued. “If you really wanted to make this place your own, to create your own history here, you could set aside some special collections for your two children and add them to the private cellar, like Mr. Maurizio did. You could put your own special labels on them to set them apart.”

Anton stopped on the road and regarded Lillian with wonder. “You amaze me. It’s a marvelous idea. We’re about to start bottling the wine from the year Connor was born, and bottles from Sloane’s birth year are aging in the cellars. I know which is the very best blend from that harvest. That’s what I will choose for her. Thank you.”

“I can help with labels, if you like,” Lillian offered.

He nodded, and she saw, in the bluish light of the moon, a look of admiration on his face. “You’re leaving your mark on this place too,” he said. “You’re creating your own history here, and I’m glad.”

They walked in silence for a moment until he asked, “Have you heard from Freddie?”

Lillian stiffened at the mere mention of her husband’s name. How easy it had become to let herself forget that she was married. She was not without guilt over what was happening—flashes of shame and remorse sneaked up on her quite frequently—but it was a two-way street. Freddie had made it clear many times over the years that her happiness was not his primary concern. Her value to him was in the many ways she supported him, financially, creatively, and emotionally.

“No,” she said. “I suspect he’s gone deep into the writing cave. When he gets inspired, he has a tendency to forget about the world. The real world, I mean. Me included.”

Their footsteps tapped lightly over the dirt road as they followed the glow from the flashlight.

“What will you say to him when he finally does call?” Anton asked. “Or if he simply shows up without warning.”

“He won’t do that,” she replied. “He’ll want me to pick him up at the train station, and the last train from Paris gets in at eight forty every night.”

“What if he takes a taxi to surprise you?”

“He wouldn’t do that either,” she replied. “He’s not romantic like that. Although . . . I suppose . . . you never know. Maybe he’ll be sitting on the sofa holding a bouquet of flowers for me when we walk through the door. That would be awkward.” She shook her head at herself. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny. I don’t know why I said that. I’m not being cavalier about this, and I don’t know what I would do if he showed up unexpectedly.”

The windows were dark when they arrived at her apartment, so they went inside, confident that Freddie had not returned.

Later, they lay together in her bed beneath a light cotton sheet, facing each other.

“He’s not going to stay away forever,” Anton gently mentioned.

Lillian closed her eyes. “I know. But I don’t want to think about that right now.”

“We have to eventually. What will you do, Lillian?”

She rolled onto her back and watched the ceiling fan spin slowly. “I don’t know. I’m so happy here. I’ve never felt this happy. It’s you, of course. I’m crazy in love with you, and every day I wake up in a state of total bliss. But I also love the work I’m doing here. I love giving the tours, watching the grapes grow, pruning the vines, learning about wine making. I can hardly wait for the harvest.” She turned her head on the pillow to look him in the eye. “This is going to sound corny when I say it, but I feel like this is my calling.”

Anton wove his fingers through hers and kissed her hand. “I feel the same.”

She rolled onto her side again, facing him. “But I’m married. And so are you.”

“Not for long,” he replied. “I’ll be free soon.”

Her heart trembled with uncertainty. She was afraid to hope, afraid to dream.

Anton inched closer to her. “I believe this is the reason why we’re both here, in Tuscany, at this moment. It’s not a coincidence. It’s why you met Freddie when you did, because he was writing a book set in Italy. It’s why your timing was off with him—that he didn’t want to start a family when you did. That’s why you convinced him to come here to finish his book. And it’s why I was driving behind you when your car went off the road. All of it happened so that we could find each other in extraordinary circumstances . . . so that we would understand the importance of it.”

Lillian squeezed his hands. “Are you saying this is fate?”