These Tangled Vines(7)

“They didn’t know?”

“Not until the other day.”

I let out a breath. “I see. Were they very upset? Because I’ve been worried that I might be walking into a hornet’s nest.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck and chewed on his lower lip. “I can’t guarantee that you won’t be. It depends what the will says.”

“The will . . .” I paused. “Do you know anything about that?”

He shook his head. “No one does, but there’s been plenty of talk around here the past few days. Anton was a wealthy man, so there are many expectations.”

My poor brain needed sleep, and I couldn’t seem to form a response. It had been less than forty-eight hours since I learned that Anton owned a winery and the inn I was staying in. Exactly how wealthy was he?

Marco tried to leave again.

“Wait.” I grabbed hold of his sleeve. “Do you know who will be there when the lawyers read the will? I’m assuming his other children. What are their names?”

“Connor and Sloane,” Marco replied. “Connor is the younger one. He’s here on his own. Sloane is here with her two children, but her husband stayed behind in America.”

I tried to process this. Connor and Sloane would be my half brother and sister. The children would be my half nieces and nephews. As I’d grown up as an only child, it was a strange thing to conceive of.

“There is also Mr. Clark’s ex-wife,” Marco added. “Mrs. Wilson. She came for the funeral as well.”

“They’re divorced?” I asked. “Since when?”

He shrugged. “Not sure, exactly. They separated before I started work here, when the children were very small. I met Mrs. Wilson for the first time at the funeral today. Maria would know more about all that.”

“Who’s Maria?”

“The housekeeper at the villa. Her father-in-law, Domenico Guardini, was the vineyard keeper when Mr. Clark bought the winery years ago. Now her husband, Vincent, takes care of the vines.”

“I see. And where is the villa? Will Maria be there in the morning when the lawyers come?”

“Sì , she will be there. It’s at the top of the hill, end of Cypress Row, easy walk from here. But you should sleep now, Ms. Bell. You had a long journey. No need to worry.”

“Thank you. But please call me Fiona.”

He nodded and was quick to leave, as if he had a dozen other things to attend to. I sensed he was an efficient person.

Closing the door behind him, I turned to look at the gigantic bed and sighed with exhaustion. After that, I must have set a record opening my suitcase and changing into my pajamas.



I groaned at the sound of my cell phone alarm. Reaching across the soft pillow, I hit snooze and wondered what fresh new hell this was. My body felt like a block of lead. I tried to calculate what time it was back home in Tallahassee. Two in the morning?

Almost instantly, I fell back into a deep, dense slumber.

The shriek of my phone woke me again nine minutes later. Knowing that more sleep was out of the question, I rolled onto my back and forced myself to rise because I didn’t want to miss breakfast. More importantly, I wanted to find my way to the villa early to get the lay of the land before the lawyers arrived.

Groggily, I shuffled across the wide-plank floor to the window, where I pulled the heavy velvet drapes aside. Expecting sunlight beyond panes of glass, I was instead presented with oak shutters that blocked out the light completely. I jimmied the latch and pulled one shutter open, then let out a gasp of shock. The view . . . was this even real?

Before my sleepy, squinting eyes, a medieval castle town stood high on a lush green mountaintop. The stone buildings and towers were framed by blue sky. Low to the ground, a misty white ribbon of fog crept across olive groves and grape vineyards. Bells began to chime from a cathedral somewhere on the hilltop, and a flock of swallows fluttered out of the tall cypress tree near the swimming pool below my window.

I was awestruck and couldn’t speak for a few seconds. No wonder famous people had stayed here. This was a million-dollar view. It was like waking up in the middle of a live-action Cinderella movie.

Letting my eyes fall closed, I breathed in the fresh scent of the September air, the grass and dew, and urged myself to appreciate this week of total freedom. I would not let myself worry about Dad back home. Dottie had everything under control. I needed to remember what she had said—that I deserved a week off.

The bells in town stopped ringing, and then all I could hear was the calming whisper of a breeze through the olive grove. Eyes still closed, I inhaled another deep, cleansing breath, then finally forced myself to step away from the window and head for the shower.

A short while later, I made my way downstairs to the dining room, where a buffet breakfast was laid out with pastries, yogurt, cereal, eggs, and a platter of sliced meats and cheeses. A long table, large enough to seat thirty people for a formal dinner, was dressed up with a white tablecloth and bouquets of fresh flowers. As soon as I reached the sideboard to pick up a plate, a young woman from the kitchen approached me. “Caffè? ”

“Sì, grazie ,” I said. “I’ll have an Americano, if you have it?”

She smiled and nodded and returned to the kitchen. I then filled my plate and sat down across from a young couple.

“Good morning,” I said as the server returned with my coffee and set it down in front of me.