These Tangled Vines(68)

“He didn’t hate you,” Maria replied. “He loved you very much, and he missed you. I know it because he used to cry about you sometimes if he’d had too much to drink.”

Sloane bowed her head. “Oh God. That’s not easy to hear.” She sat for a moment, quietly reflecting. “I should have kept in touch with him. With all of you. I’m going to regret that for the rest of my life.”

Maria shook her head. “No, don’t do that to yourself,” she said. “Just love your children and try to be happy. Be grateful for the time you did have with your father. Wherever he is now, I’m sure he’s seeing what’s in your heart today.”

Sloane squeezed Maria’s hand. “You’re still an angel.” Then she sat back and finished her espresso. “I don’t know what happened between him and Fiona’s mother. We might not ever know, but whatever it was, I think I’m going to have to learn to accept it.”

She thought of Connor’s reaction to the will and doubted he would ever accept it. He would keep fighting, or at the very least, he would be bitter about it forever. Sloane wondered if Connor had inherited more of their mother’s genes than she had, because their mother never seemed to be able to move on after a divorce without a great deal of hostility.

“I don’t want to turn out like my mom,” Sloane quietly added, “believing that everyone is the enemy and life is a battlefield and whoever gets the most money in the end wins.”

“Then don’t,” Maria said simply.

Sloane nodded and wished once again that she had gotten to know her father better.



During the walk back from her visit with Maria, Sloane called her cousin Ruth. “Did you get home okay? How was your mum on the flight?”

“She did fine, all things considered,” Ruth replied. “She’s pretty sad about your dad, though.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Strolling back along the path that circled around one of the vineyards, Sloane looked down at the sun-warmed soil beneath her feet and was grateful to have her cousin to talk to. “I’m just walking back to the villa after a visit with Maria.”

“How is she doing?”

“Good. Acted like a second mother. Makes me wish I had visited more when I had the chance.”

“Life’s not over yet. You can still visit her anytime.”

“But the winery belongs to Fiona now. I’d feel awkward.”

“I understand. That’s going to be strange.” Ruth paused. “But I have to say, it was shocking to see how much Fiona looked like a female version of your dad when he was younger. And I saw a resemblance to you too. You could be sisters. Wait a second. You already are.”

Sloane chuckled.

“So what’s she like?” Ruth asked. “We had to leave right after the meeting, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. And Mum was in shock over what your dad did. She would have preferred that he leave the business to her and me, if not you and Connor. Then at least it would have remained in the family.”

“Fiona is family, though,” Sloane reminded her. “And I’d describe her as very down to earth. Not materialistic. I talked to her earlier today, and she was surprisingly relaxed about the situation with Connor. She was basically saying, Whatever will be will be. ”

“Wow.”

Sloane sighed. “I wish I could be more like her, considering what’s going on with Alan. I didn’t tell you about the picture he sent to Chloe last night.”

Sloane relayed the story, and naturally, Ruth was shocked. “My God. And you signed a prenup. What are you going to do?”

Sloane reached the end of the path and approached the back of her father’s villa. The sight of it caused an intense feeling of loss in her, as if everything familiar and steady in her world was falling away, like a giant sinkhole beneath her feet.

“I’m not sure yet,” she replied. “But I do know one thing. I don’t want to have any more regrets, so I guess I’m going to have to do some serious soul-searching.”





CHAPTER 21


FIONA


I was on my way to Anton’s studio when I passed his bedroom door and heard a woman crying from inside. The door was ajar, so I listened for a few seconds before I knocked gently. “Hello? Sofia, is that you? Is everything all right?”

She sniffled and said, “Go away.”

I hesitated in the corridor. “Are you sure? Maybe you’d like to talk?”

She offered no response, so I pushed the door open a little and peered inside.

Wearing a clingy white dress and holding a balled-up tissue in her hand, she sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were smeared with black mascara, and the room was a disaster. It looked as if a high-fashion bomb had just exploded.

“Hey there,” I gently said. “What’s going on?”

Sofia shuddered as she inhaled and waved a hand in front of her face. “I don’t want to talk about it. You would not understand.”

I sauntered to an upholstered chair and sat down, elbows on knees. “Maybe I would.”

She dabbed at the inky wetness under her eyes and gave me an icy stare. “I know why you’re here. To tell me to leave.”

I swallowed uneasily, because that was indeed at the top of my to-do list for the day.