I halted in my tracks and strove to remain calm. “That is an attractive offer.”
“Sì, it is, signora. You could be on a flight home to America in less than a week. A very rich woman!”
My eyes followed the horizon from west to east. A heavy pink haze was hanging over the distant rolling fields. A butterfly fluttered across the rosebushes at the edge of the terrace. “I’ll need to think about that.”
“The offer will hold until midnight tomorrow,” Roberto pronounced. “May I inform my client that you are considering it?”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “Of course. But you should know that the family may be contesting the will, so I can’t guaranteeI’ll even be in a position to sell to anyone. Can I ask who’s making the offer?”
“My client prefers to remain anonymous.”
I strolled slowly back across the terrace, taking extra long strides, then hopped across some flagstones, three at a time. “I understand, but Iwillneed to know who I’m selling to, if I decide to sell.”
“I will pass that along,” he said.
“Please do. And give me time to think about it. I’ll call you tomorrow if I’m interested.”
“Very good, signora. Enjoy your day.”
“I will, and same to you, Roberto.”
I ended the call and stood immobile for a moment, completely unable to move. I felt a little dizzy and faint at the amount of money Roberto was waving in front of my face. Crouching low to the ground, I hugged my phone in a prayer position and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Holy moly,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 17
LILLIAN
Tuscany, 1986
A flat tire outside Siena caused a bus tour group to cancel a morning visit to the winery, which left Lillian with nothing to do.
“Take the morning off,” Matteo suggested. “Your next group doesn’t arrive until two. Go for a swim in the pool.”
“Are you sure?” Lillian asked. “I could help out in the shop.”
“For what purpose? There are no customers.” He waved her away. “Trust me, this place will be crawling with tourists in July. You should take advantage while you can. That’s an order, soldier.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
A half hour later, Lillian was stretched out on a lounge chair in her blue bikini, reading a novel and sweating under the hot Tuscan sun. All the hotel guests were elsewhere, wandering around the shops in Montepulciano or driving to Florence in their air-conditioned rental cars, so it was blissfully quiet on the estate.
When it grew stiflingly hot, Lillian got up and dived into the deep end of the pool. She swam laps while she thought about Freddie inParis. What was he doing at that moment? Writing? Walking around the city? Did he miss her? Or was she out of sight, out of mind?
Moving through the cool water, she reached the far end of the pool, turned, and pushed with her feet to propel herself back in the other direction.
Her thoughts changed direction as well. An image of Anton sitting on her sofa the night before—drinking rum and talking about covered wagons full of the “stuff of life”—materialized in her mind.
She had never known a man who spoke that way about relationships. After he had gone, she’d slipped into bed and opened the window to look out at the clouds passing in front of the moon. The rain-scented air refreshed her body and soul, but she couldn’t sleep, so she had spent the next hour comparing Anton to Freddie.
It wasn’t a fair comparison. Anton was ten years older, more worldly and experienced in life, wealthier, and devastatingly handsome and sophisticated. Freddie wasn’tunhandsome, but he was thin and lanky, neither wealthy nor sophisticated. He was her husband, however, and Anton was someoneelse’shusband, not to mention a father to two children. That was where Freddie won the day—because they were lawfully wed—and Lillian worked hard to remember her wedding vows as she struggled to fall asleep.
Now, out of breath from swimming fast and hard, she climbed out of the pool and padded across the deck to her chair, where she twisted her long hair to squeeze out the water. It dripped heavily onto her toes, splatting onto the hot cement.
The temperature was scorching hot, so she didn’t bother to towel off and decided instead that it would be best to remain wet. Sitting down and inching back on the blue seat cushion, she put on her sunglasses and reached for her novel.
Moments of hot, sticky stillness elapsed. A bumblebee flew by. Church bells rang somewhere in Montepulciano, high on the hilltop.
