I sat staring at him, stunned, staggered, and shaken by this newfound connection to the past. “I’m glad I found you,” I said, “because no one in Anton’s family or at the winery seemed to know I existed—at least not until this week. And no one has been able to answer questions about what happened between him and my mother. She wasn’t able totell me anything before she passed, so needless to say, I’m curious about that.” I gazed out at the distant blue horizon. “And thank you for being so welcoming this morning. I haven’t been very popular with certain family members back at the winery, so I appreciate this.”
“Because of what was written in Anton’s will,” Francesco said perceptively, gazing out at the water as well. Seagulls screeched in a flock as they circled a fishing boat just off the coastline. “I confess,” Francesco said with hearty laughter, “I would have liked to be a fly on the wall when Connor and Sloane learned what Anton had done.”
I regarded him with surprise. “You didn’t like his children?”
“It’s not that. I loved them because they were Anton’s, but they grew up to be very lazy and ungrateful. They expected to inherit the whole world without ever having to lift a finger and without ever giving anything to their father in return, and God knows he tried to be a part of their lives. They must have been flabbergasted.”
“They were,” I told him, “but they’re not going down without a fight.”
He looked at me curiously. “A fight? What sort of fight?”
“They want to prove that Anton was unduly influenced,” I explained, “or pressured into changing his will. They can’t understand why, after thirty-one years, he would leave the bulk of his estate to me—an illegitimate child he’d never met. I’m surprised too. Anton was never a part of my mother’s life for as long as I was alive, and she only told me the truth because she was dying. She wouldn’t share many details. She was hanging on by a thread at that point, so I always assumed it was something ... I’m not sure how to say this, Francesco. I assumed it was something ... unpleasant.”
Francesco’s head drew back as if I had swung a punch at him. “You thought Anton forced himself on her?”
I chewed my bottom lip. “I don’t know. Maybe I thought that. I was only eighteen when she told me that my dad, who I adored, wasn’t my real father. It was a shock, and I didn’t know how to processit, and then she died within hours, so I didn’t get a chance to have a proper conversation with her about what happened.” I reflected upon my thoughts and feelings over the past twelve years. “I was too young for all of that. I was grief stricken and angry. It was a shock to hear it, and I felt betrayed—for myself and on my father’s behalf. Maybe I still feel betrayed.”
Francesco watched me with sympathy. “I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.”
I looked up. “Did you know her back then?”
“Sì.She was a very important person at the winery, and important to Anton.”
“In what way?”
He regarded me with a frown of disbelief. “Do you really know nothing about what happened between them?”
I shook my head. “All I know is that she spent a summer in Tuscany so that my dad could research his first book and that she worked at the winery as a tour guide.”
Francesco tapped his finger on his temple. “She was much more than a tour guide. She had a real head for business and a great nose for wine.”
“Really,” I replied, surprised. “I only ever knew my mother to be a caregiver to my father. She occasionally worked outside our home, but only part-time, temporary positions. She never revealed any personal goals or career aspirations.”
“If it weren’t for your mother,” Francesco said, “Anton might never have gained a foothold on the American market for his wines. He was one of the first European winemakers to really understand how to sell effectively in North America.”
I sat forward. “Are you telling me that he felt he owed my mother something for the success of his wine business? That she was responsible for it? Is that why he left it to me?”
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.”
