Francesco closed his eyes, laughed softly, and shook his head. “No, that’s not what I am saying at all.”

“Then what are you saying?”

He scratched the back of his head. “I cannot believe you don’t know. But it’s Anton’s fault for taking his promises so seriously, even beyond the grave.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Francesco reached across the table and took hold of my hand. “Your mother was the great love of Anton’s life. The only woman he ever truly loved, and that included his wife. He didn’t want to let your mother go—it killed him to do it—but he did, because he loved her so much.”

“I don’t understand.”

Francesco sat back. “Is your father still alive? The one who raised you, I mean.”

“Yes, and he means more to me than anything, which is why this is all very upsetting to me. He never knew my mother was unfaithful. She begged me to protect him from the truth, and I’ve kept that promise all these years. He has enough to deal with in his life, every single day. I don’t want him to learn about this and be hurt by it. He’s been through enough. He doesn’t deserve that.”

Francesco’s cheeks reddened, and my heart stilled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked. “Did you know my dad?”

He slowly shook his head. “No, I was never introduced to him. I never spoke to him, but I know what happened to him.”

A strange numbness settled into the tips of my fingers and toes. “You’re referring to his accident?”

“Sì. I was there that day. I know everything.”

I stared at Francesco intently. “I hope you’re going to tell me.”

He slowly nodded. “Oh yes, Fiona. I’m going to tell you. I’m going to tell you everything, just as Anton told it to me.”

CHAPTER 22

LILLIAN

Tuscany, 1986

“Why didn’t you call me more often from Paris?” Lillian asked Freddie, after the waiter opened a bottle of wine at their table and poured two glasses. She wondered if things might have been different if he had called every night instead of only once a week, at best.

“It was long distance,” Freddie explained. “And you know what my writing schedule is like. I always seem to be just getting started when you’re getting off work.” He wagged a finger at her. “But I did call a bunch of times when you didn’t answer. You were probably up at the villa.”

He watched her intently over the rim of his glass as he sipped, and she wondered uneasily if he suspected something.

Freddie narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think I was cheating on you in Paris, do you? Because I was alone in the city of love? Or should I say the city of amore?”

He was just teasing her, but still, Lillian couldn’t bring herself to look at him. On the one hand, she felt terrible for cheating on him, but on the other, she was devastated over the loss of Anton. That afternoon, her heart had broken into a thousand pieces.

She looked down at the place setting in front of her. “Of course I don’t think that.”

After a moment or two, Freddie grew pensive and serious. He reached for his glass and raised it. “We never made a toast. To our summer in Tuscany. And to me finishing my book. Here’s to the next one.”

Lillian raised her glass as well. “The next one?”

“Yes.” He took a generous sip of his wine and set down his glass. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Lil. I already have an idea. It’s not quite a sequel, but it’ll be about one of the secondary characters. I don’t have anything written down yet, but it’s all up here.” He tapped his forefinger on his temple. “And I promise this one won’t take me as long to write, now that I know what I’m doing.”

She stared at him with a niggling sense of dread, a troubling feeling of time slipping away, of waiting endlessly for the things she wanted out of life. Her lips parted slightly.

Freddie reached for her hand and squeezed it. “And I want to ask you about what you said today—about taking that sommelier course. I’m sorry if I didn’t sound supportive. You just caught me off guard, that’s all. But if you want to do that, you should. I want you to do what makes you happy, and we don’t even have to have kids if you don’t want to. I know how hard it was for you last time when it didn’t work out, so if you just want us to pursue our passions and not be parents, that would be totally fine with me. Maybe it’s how we’re meant to live our life together. Either way, I’ve always wanted to support us financially with my writing, so I’m going to need to write another book and another one after that. It’s what I want to do with my life. I know that for sure now. Coming here was the best thing we ever did.”

Lillian swallowed uneasily. On some level, she had always known that Freddie wouldn’t write just one book. He wanted to be a career novelist, which meant he would continue to write every day, forever and ever. He would disappear emotionally into the all-consuming cave where creation occurred, leaving her behind in the real world to live like a person who lived alone.

Maybe that’s why she longed so desperately for a baby. She had wanted to fill up her world.

“Of course, you’ll need a follow-up novel,” she replied in the way she always did, supporting his dreams, hiding her own true desires.

But why? Was it because she knew, deep down, that he didn’t care about her desires to begin with? That he only cared about his own dreams?

Did he even love her? Or was he just afraid of being alone? Of being abandoned, like his mother abandoned him years ago?

The first course arrived. It looked enticing, but Lillian had no appetite. She’d been on the verge of tears all afternoon and had to force herself to pick up her fork.

They ate in silence until Freddie sat back and inclined his head at her. “So . . . do you want to hear it?”

“Hear what?” she asked, feeling devastated in more ways than she could possibly comprehend.

“My story idea.”

Lillian was often Freddie’s sounding board. She had never minded in the past, and it was probably the most solid pillar of their relationship—the hours they spent brainstorming about his book.

“Fire away,” she said, feeling numb and detached.

He launched into a description of the plot, but she found it difficult to follow. Not because it was convoluted. It was probably plotted more skillfully than his first book. But her emotions were in a tither. She couldn’t get her mind off the heartbreak she felt over losing Anton, nor could she overlook the fact that Freddie had not the slightest understanding of what she truly wanted out of life.

She wanted to be a mother. It was what she’d always wanted, ever since she was a little girl. She wanted to build a happy home that was different from the one she had grown up in. To do that, she needed to love, respect, and understand her husband deeply, and she needed him to love, respect, and understand her equally in return.

It was clear to her now that Freddie was not that man. He didn’t want to be a father. He only wanted Lillian to take care of him—and to never leave him.

That night, Lillian couldn’t sleep. Freddie, on the other hand—due to the extra glass of Madeira port he’d ordered with dessert—had fallen into a deep, snoring slumber as soon as his head hit the pillow.