These Tangled Vines(65)

“We did,” she replied, “but now I’m not so sure anymore.” She laid her hand on her belly. “He’s my husband, Anton.”

Anton tried to reach out to her, but she backed away from him.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Is it? I’m about to tell my husband that I’ve been having an affair—that I’ve been sleeping with another man in our very own bed. Poor Freddie. He has no idea.”

Anton gestured toward a sofa. “Let’s talk about this. Come and sit down.”

“No.” She started pacing again. “If I sit down with you, you’ll touch me or kiss me, and I’ll forget about everything—my life back in Tallahassee, my wedding vows . . .”

“Then tell me what to do,” he said. “Do you want me to talk to Freddie?”

Her eyes flashed to meet his, and she scoffed bitterly. “Are you joking? No, Anton! You’ve done enough.”

Her voice was cold and exact, and she felt the pointed cruelty of her words like a dagger to his heart.

Part of her regretted it. She didn’t want to hurt Anton, because he was right. Nothing had changed. She was still madly, passionately in love with him. She could feel the energy from his body, just a few feet away, and all she wanted to do was dash into his arms.

An excruciating longing rose up inside her like a hot fire, clouding her judgment. She didn’t dare look at Anton. If she did, she would crumble. She would fall into him, apologizing, telling him that she didn’t mean it.

Instead, she reminded herself that she was a married woman who had become infatuated with a handsome, older man who was also her wealthy boss. It happened because her husband had been neglecting her and because this place was like something out of a fairy tale.

She had indeed lost touch with reality. She had been seduced by beauty. But it wasn’t real. This wasn’t her life. Freddie was her husband and she loved him, and he loved her.

Lillian stopped pacing and met Anton’s frantic gaze. “This was a mistake.”

The space between them crackled with electricity. Lillian was horrified by the sound of those words on her lips, but she couldn’t take them back. She told herself that she had done the right thing to have spoken them.

“We have to end it,” she added, in case he didn’t understand.

“No.”

“Yes. We shouldn’t have let this happen. We took it too far, Anton. You must realize that. I don’t know what we were thinking. You’re my boss, and I’m married, and you have a wife and children. This was wrong.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” Panic flooded into all her nerve endings. “I have to go.”

She bolted for the door, but he blocked her path. Their eyes met with feverish intensity. He took hold of her arm, and she melted instantly. All her resistance fell away.

“Leave him, Lillian.” Anton pulled her close and touched his forehead to hers. His jaw was unshaven and rough. She felt the heat of his breath on her lips.

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know it’s not, but you have to do it.”

She couldn’t pull away. Tears streamed down her cheeks. One last time, she told herself. One last kiss . . .

Her hands slid up to his shoulders, and she couldn’t hold back. Desire eclipsed everything. Anton backed her up against the wall and kissed her fiercely until she let out a sob.

“Please, Anton. I have to go.”

He dragged his mouth from hers and stepped back, his chest heaving.

Somehow, she found the strength to turn and walk to the door.

Outside, the sun was blinding in her eyes. The heat made her feel dizzy. Or maybe it was the aftershocks of Anton’s kiss and the chaos of her emotions.

She tried to tell herself that she had done the right thing—that she was a married woman. What she felt for Anton was just a temporary sexual attraction.

Freddie was her husband of five years. He was a good, kind man, and he didn’t deserve to be betrayed. She couldn’t leave him.





CHAPTER 20


SLOANE


Tuscany, 2017

While Connor made off for the garage behind the villa in search of Lillian Bell’s mysterious lost letters, Sloane took her children to the winery gift shop. The sun was high in the sky when they left the villa, and beyond the iron gate, tall cypresses swayed in the wind. The path down Cypress Row was as familiar to Sloane as the back of her hand, and she recalled a pink bicycle she rode when she was young, back and forth from the villa to the wine cellars. It boasted a shiny silver bell and blue foil tassels, like a cheerleader’s pom-poms, that dangled from the grips of the handlebars. How she loved to pedal fast down the hill, racing with her cousin Ruth while Connor followed on his three-wheeler.

She was pleased to see Evan running ahead, shouting “I’ll race you!” and encouraging Chloe to keep up. Sloane jogged as well, and soon they circled around the bend and arrived at the main parking lot, out of breath and laughing. Sloane recovered and led them to the large stone building that housed the main inn, dining room, and gift shop.

“Let’s see if we can find some souvenirs to take home for your friends,” she suggested, not entirely sure they could find age-appropriate gifts in a winery gift shop, but it was worth investigating.