at her two children, who were now sitting on a bench under an olive tree. They were still swiping. Always swiping.
“Do you think I allow them too much screen time?” Sloane asked.
Connor glanced in their direction as well. “Please. You’re not going to turn into one of those mothers, are you? Back to the land? Will homeschooling be next?”
“Of course not,” she replied. “I just wonder how this generation is going to turn out. I mean, look at them. They hardly talk to each other. What’s going to happen when Chloe grows up and has a baby? Will she be pushing a stroller down the street and looking at her phone, ignoring her child? What about language skills? How will babies learn to talk when their mothers are barely present? Chloe could be sitting on a park bench in a playground with her eyes on her phone, sucked into an endless stream of cat videos, and someone could abduct her toddler, and she wouldn’t even notice until it was too late.”
“What is wrong with you?” Connor asked. “She’s seven!”
“I know, but look at her. Clearly, she’s addicted. They both are. Alan didn’t want to give them phones until they were older, but all their friends had them, so I couldn’t say no. Now I think he was probably right. It’s going to melt their brains, and heaven help me when they hit the teen years.”
“Listen to you,” Connor said affectionately, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a tight squeeze. “What a good mama you are, all concerned about their welfare.”
“Just wait until you have kids.”
He raised both hands in the air. “Oh no. Not me. I’m never having kids.”
“Oh, right. I forgot,” she replied. “You’d have to enter into a committed, loving relationship in order for that to happen.”
He wagged a finger at her. “Not so. I could follow in Dad’s footsteps, have a few illegitimate rug rats, and never even have to meet them.”
Sloane laid her hand on the tree trunk and frowned. “Do you think there were others, besides Fiona?”
“Who knows?” Connor replied. “Dad was a spectacular cornucopia of secrets.”
They were quiet for a moment, standing in the shade of the olive tree. Sloane shrugged out of her blazer. “Have you seen her yet?”
“No, but the girl at reception said she checked in last night. They put her in room seven. Fourth floor.”
“Did they now?” Sloane draped her blazer over her arm. “What do you think he left to her, anyway? The lawyer said it was a piece of property.”
Connor slowly paced around on the grass. “Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t even know what else he’s accumulated lately. He was always picking up vineyards here, there, and everywhere in different regions, adding to the brand. Maybe he left her a little patch of something in Chianti territory. A cute little yellow house with green-painted shutters. Or maybe he left her a flat he bought for one of his mistresses. Or it could be one of the London properties.”
Sloane frowned. “No. He wouldn’t have. Do you think?”
Connor shrugged. “I don’t know. He rewrote the will in the UK. Maybe that’s why.”
Sloane’s mouth fell open slightly, and she inclined her head. “Connor. You don’t think he would have left her the Belgravia house, do you? Where would we stay when we went there? Ruth lives all the way out in Richmond. Not with Aunt Mabel, surely. I’d rather stick needles in my eyes. Dad knew that.”
Connor removed his sunglasses and polished the lenses. “Do you know what Aunt Mabel’s house needs?”
“What?”
He put his sunglasses back on and squinted up at the sky. “A wrecking ball.”
Sloane felt a little guilty for chuckling. “I can’t disagree. At least it would get rid of the embarrassing eighties vibe she’s got going on in the kitchen.”
Connor looked down at the grass. “That would be cruel, though. Poor Aunt Mabel loves that moldy old dump.”
“Some people just can’t be helped.”
Chloe laughed out loud and inched closer to her brother to show him something on her phone. Evan glanced at it, was unresponsive, then returned his attention to his own screen.
“Look, how adorable is that?” Connor said. “They’re sharing. See? They’re not complete social misfits.”
“You’re a skunk.”
“No. That would imply that I smell bad, and we both know that I smell great today.”
“Do you?” Sloane replied. “What is that you’re wearing? Eau de Gigantic Inheritance?”
Connor sniffed his wrist and held it out to Sloane, who also sniffed it. “It’s