“What’s all this?” Sloane asked, moving along groups of wine bottles stacked against the walls on wooden slabs.
“It’s a very special room,” Fiona explained. “These are collections from the harvest year of a child’s birth. It was a tradition started by the Maurizio family, who owned this winery before your father did. Some of the bottles are very old, as you can see. Look at the dates on the plaques. But come over here.” She beckoned to Sloane. “This collectionis for you.” Fiona removed the plaque from a hook on the wall. “Your father wanted you to have this. There are bottles here for Connor as well. I’ll make sure he gets them.”
Sloane stared at the dusty plaque with her name and date of birth written on it and couldn’t fathom what she was looking at. She picked up a bottle and rubbed the grime off the label. “My goodness. This artwork ... it’s one of his paintings. I remember when he used to paint when we were small. I would paint, too, in his studio. He’d let me use his brushes and oils. I’d make a terrible mess, but he was never cross with me. He told me how talented I was.”
Sloane’s heart lurched painfully at those fond memories.
Fiona moved deeper into the room. “Come over here. There are two more recent collections you should see.”
Sloane read the names and dates on the plaques. Mesmerized, she turned to Fiona. “These are for Evan and Chloe.”
“Yes.”
Sloane picked up a bottle, saw another of her father’s paintings, and bowed her head with grief. “I should have brought them here. They should have gotten to know their grandfather and seen what he created.”
“They’re here now,” Fiona replied.
“But it’s too late.” With another rush of sorrow, Sloane set the bottle back in place.
“It’s not too late. You can tell them about him, show them pictures, and share stories you remember.”
They looked around for a few more minutes, examining some of the older bottles.
“I know this is difficult,” Fiona said in a quiet, understanding voice. “I’ve noticed that you keep saying what a good daughter I was, but what you need to know is that I wasn’t perfect either. I’ve been feeling the same way as you, wishing I had come here and gotten to know Anton when he was still alive. I’m always going to regret that I didn’t makethat effort, but I was too busy resenting him because it was easier and less complicated.”
“That’s how I felt,” Sloane said. “It was easier not to face any of that.”
“And though it’s important to look forward, not back,” Fiona added, “I also think it’s important to reflect on past mistakes and learn from them. It helps you move forward in the right direction.”
Evan approached and tugged at Sloane’s sleeve. “Mom, can Chloe and I go explore?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t leave the building without telling me.”
“We won’t.”
As soon as the children were gone, Fiona regarded Sloane curiously. “Have you made any decisions about your marriage?”
Sloane sighed. “That’s a tough one. Connor thinks I’d be crazy to divorce Alan, and he doesn’t think I’ll go through with it. Lord knows I’ve never followed through before, but something feels different this time. Maybe it was coming here and remembering the person I used to be. Or meeting you and seeing how relaxed you are about the money. Whatever the reason, I feel like I can’t let the prenup keep me from doing what’s right. Money shouldn’t be the reason I stay with Alan, at the cost of my dignity and self-esteem. I want to be a good mother—the kind of woman who’s not a doormat and can’t be bought. I want my kids to know what it means for a woman to be strong and independent. I just hope I can figure out how to be that kind of woman. I feel like I’ve been locked away in Alan’s ivory tower for the past ten years, and I’m terrified of what will happen when I leave it. I don’t know what to expect, and I don’t know how to do any of this on my own. I’ve never even had a job.”
“You’ve been a mother. That’s a big job.”
Sloane shrugged, as if she didn’t think it would count for much out there in the real world.
“Well, it’s never too late to start fresh,” Fiona replied. “On that note, I have something to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
Fiona strolled to the collection of wine with Sloane’s name on it. “This place is part of your heritage, and your children’s, and I’m your half sister. Evan and Chloe are my niece and nephew. So I asked Mr.Wainwright to write a new will for me. I’m setting it up so that you, Evan, and Chloe will be my heirs and inherit this place one day.”
Sloane wasn’t sure she’d heard Fiona correctly. “What did you just say?”
Fiona faced her. “I don’t have children of my own, and I’m not sure I ever will. If I do, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it and divide the winery up appropriately, but for now, I want to make sure this stays in the family.”
Out of the blue, a childhood memory emerged from somewhere deep in Sloane’s consciousness. She felt her father’s strong arms scooping her up to carry her on his shoulders across an olive grove. She had felt safe and loved in those days, comfortable and at home. She realized she hadn’t felt that way in many years.
Fiona continued. “And believe me when I say that I want you to come here and visit as often as you like. Your rooms in the villa will always be yours. I mean it, Sloane. I’ve been an only child my entire life, and this has been an incredible experience for me ... coming here and getting to know a part of my life I never knew existed. The villa can be a home for you, or a second home if you want to live in London or LA or wherever.”
Sloane inclined her head. “You’re not planning to sell? Connor thought you might. That’s what he would have done if Dad had left it to us.”
