you will continue to honor Lillian’s wishes until I am gone.
Sincerely,
Fred Bell
My blood ran cold. “Oh my God.”
“What is it?” Marco asked.
“This letter . . . it’s from my dad. He’s telling Anton about my mother’s death, but he knew . . .”
“He knew what?”
I couldn’t breathe. I could barely think straight. “That I wasn’t his daughter. That I was Anton’s.” I glanced up and frowned with shock and bewilderment. “If he knew about that, he never let on to my mom. She thought it was her secret. All her life, she was trying to protect him from the truth, but he knew . . . he always knew . . . and he pretended to believe that I was his.”
“But how could he have known,” Marco asked, “if your mother didn’t tell him?”
“Maybe because everyone says I look so much like Anton,” I replied. “It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out, given that he knew they’d had an affair and he was away in Paris. But why would he pretend not to know? Why would he never confront my mom about it?”
I read the letter a second time, which caused a fresh flood of anger to surge through my body. “And then he kept the truth from me because he wanted me to stay at home and look after him. He says it right here in black and white.” Lowering the letter, I turned to Marco. “I always felt so guilty about keeping that secret from him. I did it because I was protective of him, just like Mom was, and I didn’t want him to be hurt, but he knew the truth all along. And he didn’t care that I might want to know I had another father. That I might want to meet him.”
Marco shifted into a lower gear as he slowed down at a sharp turn. “We’re about five minutes away from Montepulciano. What are you going to do?”
I slid the letter back into the box. “As far as my dad is concerned, I’m not sure, but as far as the will is concerned . . .” I met Marco’s gaze directly. “I’m going to give these letters to the lawyers and tell them everything that Francesco told me today. That should take care of any suggestion of undue influence. It’s proof of what Anton really wanted, and he deserves to get what he wanted for once, because he certainly didn’t get it during his lifetime. Then I’m going to go knock on Connor’s door and tell him to stop tearing my house apart.”
I replaced the lid on the shoebox, though I knew there was still one more letter at the bottom. But I was not prepared to read it yet, because the seal had not been broken and it was intended for my mother. The return address said Anton Clark, Maurizio Wines. According to the postmark, it was mailed shortly before my mother’s death. It was stamped Return to Sender.
CHAPTER 26
ANTON
June 12, 2005
Dear Lillian,
I just finished reading your letter and I will write the same thing I write every year: Please let me come and help you. Let me meet our daughter. I don’t know how it would be possible to explain it to her, but maybe there is a way? Please let me share your burden. I would shoulder it all if you would let me.
Even as I’m writing this from a thousand miles away, I can feel your reaction. You’re afraid I’m going to break my promise to stay away. Please, don’t let yourself worry. That is the last thing I would ever want—to cause you any fear or concern. I gave you my word. I will never reveal that I am Fiona’s real father, and my word is true, but I need to say something I have never said to you before, because I never wanted to add to your burdens. Maybe it’s the wine tonight. I’ve probably had too much, and the moon is full, which always makes me think of you. But here it is: With every day that passes, I feel like I am slowly dying. Your letters break me apart because I share your sorrow—the guilt over what happened to Freddie and the agony of being separated from you. I wish we could be together to comfort each other, but maybe that’s not what we deserve. Maybe the fates have decided that we stole a lifetime of happiness that one summer. We used it all