“See?” Connor said. “He knew how much you loved that house.”
“I guess he did,” she replied, sitting up again. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.” She looked sharply at me.
Mr. Wainwright turned to Maria. “As for the properties here in Tuscany . . . Maria Guardini, you have been bequeathed the house in which you currently reside, along with six hectares of land and two hundred thousand euros.”
Maria stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh, mio Dio!”
“Really? You’re kidding me.” Connor seemed taken aback but also strangely amused. “Way to go, Maria. That’s awesome for you. Congrats.”
Sloane pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s wonderful, Maria. Well deserved.”
Ruth handed Maria a tissue, which she used to dab at her tears.
“Connor and Sloane,” Mr. Wainwright continued. “Out of the UK investment portfolio, your father has left you each three million pounds.”
“Excellent,” Connor said, sitting forward to rest his forearms on the table, his hands folded.
“Mrs. Wilson, he left you the Caravaggio painting that hangs over the fireplace in the main reception room.”
Kate laughed bitterly. “Really. I begged him to give me that in the divorce settlement, but he flat out refused.”
“Don’t complain, Mom,” Connor said. “You got it in the end.”
She sat back and folded her arms. “Well, I’m glad to finally have it. I’m the one who suggested that he bid on it.”
Mr. Wainwright flipped another page. “As for the business of Maurizio Wines, which includes the winery and all its inventory, buildings, and equipment, nine hundred hectares of land in Tuscany, and all its cash holdings—this has been bequeathed to Fiona Bell.”
What did he just say?
The room fell silent, and my mouth went dry.
“What?” Connor shouted.
As if in slow motion, Mr. Wainwright picked up another sheet of paper from his stack of notes and flipped it over. In a bewildered daze, I stared at that sheet, like a leaf floating on air.
Connor stood up and pressed his open hands to the top of his head. “Tell me you didn’t say what I think you said. I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
The lawyer repeated himself, and everyone continued to stare at me.
“That can’t be right,” Sloane said, unconvinced. “Why would he leave everything to her?”
I sat motionless, unable to utter a single word.
Connor glared at me maliciously. “What the hell did you do?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, still not accepting what was happening here. There had to be some mistake. Anton wouldn’t have left me everything.
“You heard me,” Connor replied. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I blurted out, defensively.
He turned his attention back to the lawyers. “This can’t be right.”
“I’m afraid it is,” Mr. Wainwright replied. “Your father was very clear about his final wishes.”
“With who?” Connor asked. “You? Were you there personally when he arrived at this decision?”
“No, but he was clear about it when he came to my office.”
Connor shook his head with disbelief. “Was he drunk?”
“No, he was altogether sober and in his right mind, I assure you.”
“How do you know that? Are you a doctor?”
Mr. Wainwright remained stoic. “I would testify in a court of law that he was in full possession of his faculties.”
Connor turned to look at his mother, who sat across from him. “Mom. Do something. This can’t be happening.”
She blinked a few times. “What do you expect me to do? I’m just as shocked as you are. Your father never mentioned anything to me about changing his will, and I certainly didn’t know anything about an illegitimate child he had.” She glared at me accusingly. “How old are you? What year were you born?”
“Nineteen eighty-seven,” I replied.
Mrs. Wilson scoffed heatedly. “We were still married then. We weren’t yet divorced.”
I fumbled for words. “I’m very sorry. I don’t know what happened back then. All I know is that my mother spent a summer here—with my dad, her husband—and I was born in the United States after they went home.”
Mrs. Wilson scoffed. “Unbelievable. Although I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Of course you shouldn’t,” Sloane said. “You knew he was sleeping around when you were still married. It’s why you left him.”
They all looked at me again, as if it were my fault that their father was a depraved philanderer.
“Don’t look at me,” I finally said. “I’m innocent in all this.”
“Are you?” Connor said. “I find that pretty hard to swallow.”
“Why?” I asked. “Your parents divorced decades ago, and there’s a woman upstairs right now who is just one of his recent girlfriends. The only thing that surprises