Rising from the sofa, I sighed and took hold of his hand. “Please don’t feel that I’m leaving you, Dad. I’m still your daughter, and I’ll love you forever. But I need to do this. I need to go out there, into the world, and figure out what I’m capable of.”
“I want that for you too,” he replied shakily, with tears in his eyes. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll be so proud.”
I kissed him on the forehead and hugged him, then wiped the tears from my own eyes and prepared myself for a new beginning.
EPILOGUE
FIONA
Tuscany, one year later
Maria found me in the studio, paintbrush in hand, standing before an easel that had once belonged to Anton. It was a tool he had carried across unknown distances to paint colorful fields of sunflowers and poppies or sunsets over Tuscan vineyards. I hadn’t done that yet—painted outdoors—but I had learned to never say never. Perhaps one day I would venture outside to paint Tuscany as well.
Until then, I was overjoyed to have a studio of my own, surrounded by boxes full of my father’s canvases, for which I had great plans. I was discovering that, like my mother, I had a rather good head for business. One of my current projects was an upcoming art auction, which would showcase my father’s paintings while raising the profile of Maurizio Wines. I planned to donate the proceeds of the auction to the local hospital in Montepulciano.
Today, however, my focus lay elsewhere—on the canvas before me, illuminated by a muted light filtering in through the windows from an overcast sky.
“How’s it coming?” Maria asked as she walked in.
“Come and take a look.” I was never shy about showing my works in progress to Maria, because she seemed to love everything I painted, which fueled my confidence and creativity. “Although there’s not much to look at just yet,” I added.
She stood beside me, contemplating the canvas, which was mostly blank. “You’re only just getting started.”
“Sì.I’ve been sketching. But can you picture it? Try to imagine here”—I waved my hand over the middle section—“when I start adding the colors of a sunset.”
“I’m sure you’ll make it very beautiful,” she said. “I don’t know how you do it. I’m always surprised and amazed by what you come up with.”
“So am I,” I said with a laugh. “It’s just trial and error most of the time.”
Maria looked out the window at the tall cypresses swaying in the wind.
“So what’s up?” I asked, studying the angles of a few charcoal lines on the canvas.
Maria sat down on the windowsill. “I came up here to tell you that Sloane just called.”
My heart gave a little leap. Sloane and I had grown close over the past year. She often called to talk about her divorce from Alan, and sometimes she vented about her challenges as a single parent. I was not a parent myself, so I enjoyed the vicarious experience when it came to my niece and nephew. I was sympathetic and in awe of Sloane’s strength and patience in dealing with everything.
“What did she want?” I asked, wondering why she had called the villa when she usually called my cell phone directly. I suspected it had something to do with the fact that it was on this day, exactly one year ago, that Anton had passed.
“She wanted to surprise you,” Maria replied, “but I told her I was terrible at keeping secrets.”
I laughed as my cell phone rang in my pocket, causing me to jump. Quickly I retrieved it and answered. “Hello?”
“Hi,” Sloane said. “It’s me. Let me guess. Maria is standing right next to you. She couldn’t resist, could she?”
I laughed. “You know her too well.” I moved around the easel and winked at Maria.
“Did she spoil it?” Sloane asked. “The surprise, I mean?”
“Well ... kind of ... yes.”
I heard the sound of Evan’s voice in the background asking Chloe if she had any more bubble gum.
Sloane paused before she spoke again. “Okay. So here’s the deal. I’m at LAX with the kids, and we’re at the gate, waiting to board an overnight flight. We arrive in Florence tomorrow.”
I pressed my hand to my heart. “That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me neither.”
