These Tangled Vines(13)

“I know, but look at her. Clearly, she’s addicted. They both are. Alan didn’t want to give them phones until they were older, but all their friends had them, so I couldn’t say no. Now I think he was probably right. It’s going to melt their brains, and heaven help me when they hit the teen years.”

“Listen to you,” Connor said affectionately, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a tight squeeze. “What a good mama you are, all concerned about their welfare.”

“Just wait until you have kids.”

He raised both hands in the air. “Oh no. Not me. I’m never having kids.”

“Oh, right. I forgot,” she replied. “You’d have to enter into a committed, loving relationship in order for that to happen.”

He wagged a finger at her. “Not so. I could follow in Dad’s footsteps, have a few illegitimate rug rats, and never even have to meet them.”

Sloane laid her hand on the tree trunk and frowned. “Do you think there were others, besides Fiona?”

“Who knows?” Connor replied. “Dad was a spectacular cornucopia of secrets.”

They were quiet for a moment, standing in the shade of the olive tree. Sloane shrugged out of her blazer. “Have you seen her yet?”

“No, but the girl at reception said she checked in last night. They put her in room seven. Fourth floor.”

“Did they now?” Sloane draped her blazer over her arm. “What do you think he left to her, anyway? The lawyer said it was a piece of property.”

Connor slowly paced around on the grass. “Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t even know what else he’s accumulated lately. He was always picking up vineyards here, there, and everywhere in different regions, adding to the brand. Maybe he left her a little patch of something in Chianti territory. A cute little yellow house with green-painted shutters. Or maybe he left her a flat he bought for one of his mistresses. Or it could be one of the London properties.”

Sloane frowned. “No. He wouldn’t have. Do you think?”

Connor shrugged. “I don’t know. He rewrote the will in the UK. Maybe that’s why.”

Sloane’s mouth fell open slightly, and she inclined her head. “Connor. You don’t think he would have left her the Belgravia house, do you? Where would we stay when we went there? Ruth lives all the way out in Richmond. Not with Aunt Mabel, surely. I’d rather stick needles in my eyes. Dad knew that.”

Connor removed his sunglasses and polished the lenses. “Do you know what Aunt Mabel’s house needs?”

“What?”

He put his sunglasses back on and squinted up at the sky. “A wrecking ball.”

Sloane felt a little guilty for chuckling. “I can’t disagree. At least it would get rid of the embarrassing eighties vibe she’s got going on in the kitchen.”

Connor looked down at the grass. “That would be cruel, though. Poor Aunt Mabel loves that moldy old dump.”

“Some people just can’t be helped.”

Chloe laughed out loud and inched closer to her brother to show him something on her phone. Evan glanced at it, was unresponsive, then returned his attention to his own screen.

“Look, how adorable is that?” Connor said. “They’re sharing. See? They’re not complete social misfits.”

“You’re a skunk.”

“No. That would imply that I smell bad, and we both know that I smell great today.”

“Do you?” Sloane replied. “What is that you’re wearing? Eau de Gigantic Inheritance?”

Connor sniffed his wrist and held it out to Sloane, who also sniffed it. “It’s nice, you have to admit.”

“Sure.” Sloane glanced back at the villa, which stood majestically against the blue sky, and stared at it for a long time.

Connor watched her with some concern. He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Earth to Sloane. You’re not going to get all sentimental on me, are you?”

“And change my mind about selling?” she asked. Keenly aware of his scrutiny, she chose not to answer the question.

“Sloane!”

She turned to him. “What?”

“I don’t like the look on your face.”

“Why not?”

He narrowed his eyes, as if warning her, and she surrendered with a sigh of defeat.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “What if it’s a mistake? Maybe we should think about it before we call the sales agent.”

“No. We’re not doing that. Are you insane?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know . . . we had some good times here, didn’t we? When we were kids? Don’t you remember when Dad used to let you drive the tractor around the vineyards? And Maria . . . she was always so good to us. It was nice to see her after all these years. She looks good, don’t you think? She put on a little weight, but otherwise she’s aging well.”

Connor placed his hand on Sloane’s shoulder and squeezed it, none too gently. “You’re just emotional after the funeral. Trust me, it will pass.”

“Will it?” She raised an eyebrow as she touched the soft leaves of a low-hanging olive branch. “What if we keep the winery and run the business together? Think about it, Connor. It’s a well-oiled machine with all the managers in place. His driver—what’s his name? He said it would be business as usual without Dad here. They have everything under control. If we keep it, we could come here whenever we want, and our kids could get away from LA and learn something about farming and wine making and Italian cooking. It would be so much fun for them.”