Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Sure I did. I needed to take away any excusa for why you can’t go.”
I laughed and didn’t mention that I had been going back and forth and considering canceling. Pulling off the garden gloves, I wiped my brow with the back of my forearm. “What’s the vibe of the place? Is it dressy?”
“The dress code is more like a competition to see-a who can come as close to being naked while still wearing clothes and not getting arrested. I’m pretty sure last time I went, one of the ladies I saw was wearing a belt as a skirt.”
I definitely didn’t have any outfits like that with me, and I wasn’t sure I had anything in my closet back home that fit the bill either. Luciana must’ve noticed my face.
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I didn’t give you anything too risqué, just sexy and fun.”
I smiled hesitantly.
“How was your evening with my brother?”
“It was nice.”
“Nice is like eating plain toast for breakfast. Gets da job done, but you’re hungry a half hour later and can’t even remember what you ate.”
I laughed. “What word is better when discussing spending time with someone’s brother?”
She pointed at me. “Good point. I don’t want to know more than nice. But there is chemistry, no?”
I couldn’t deny that, not even to myself, so I nodded. “There is.”
“That makes me happy to hear, especially on today of all days.”
“What’s so special about today?”
“It’s the anniversary of Isabella’s death.” She pointed to the black material of her top. “That’s why I’m dressed like a ninety-year-old Sicilian widow. We go to the grave to visit today.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Dis horrible frock didn’t give it away?”
I smiled. “You look nice, but this wasn’t what I’d expect your style to be.”
“Today my brother is allowed to be grumpy. It’s the one day a year I give him. Tomorrow, I kick his ass all da way to Happyville if he’s not smiling.” She held out the bag of clothes. “I’m going to go visit a friend who makes jewelry. She has a small shop in the village. You want to come?”
I shook my head. “I’m going to finish up weeding this last bed before I close up the shop for the day.”
“I’ll make Mr. Happypants drive us Friday night. Uber isn’t a thing around here. Come by whenever you ready.”
“Okay.”
I went back to weeding, and before I knew it, the sun had started to set. I took off my gloves and sat to look at the sky for a few minutes before calling it a day. On my way up the stairs, my cell rang. The name flashing was Antonio Fanelli
“Ciao, Antonio,” I answered.
“Buonasera, Allegra. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. Finally settling in a bit and remembering what it’s like to relax.”
“Ah. Well, then I’m sorry to have to call. Unfort-unately, I have some rather unsettling news.”
“Oh?”
“As we spoke about, I submitted your grandmother’s will to the notary who handles publication of wills here in Italy. He accepted the will for filing and then deposited it with the registry, which is a centralized repository for documents. Their website is frequented by what we call ricercatori di eredi, in English heir hunters. You know this term, yes?”
I knew there were attorneys who stalked the U.S. probate website to see if they could find heirs not named in wills who might be eligible to inherit anyway. Often it was a relative who didn’t even know the decedent. I’d once had a case where the husband died mid-divorce and his biological father—a man he’d never met—made a claim for a paternal share of the seven-figure inheritance. The lawyers who sought out the potential heirs represented them and, of course, made money off the claim.
“I do. Is my grandmother’s sister Anna making a claim or something?”
“No, this is a new heir discovered. Someone your grandmother never mentioned when we reviewed her next of kin.”
My family’s tree had pretty sparse limbs, so I wasn’t sure who it could be. “What’s the relation to my grandmother?”
“She is Sophia’s granddaughter.”
I blinked a few times. “Granddaughter? But my father was an only child. You mean he had a sibling I never knew about?”
“No, Allegra.” He paused. “The child, she belonged to your father. It appears you have a half sister.”
Chapter 14
Allegra
THE NEXT MORNING, I sat at the kitchen table, scratching the bumps on my chest as I stared down at a mess of papers strewn all over. Antonio had messaged me a package of documents—genealogy report, birth certificates, affidavits. I picked up the family tree for at least the twentieth time and stared down at it. Sophia Bianchi was listed at the top center of the page. Her parents were shown off to the side with birth and death dates in the eighteen hundreds, and one lone line fed down from my grandmother—my father, Marcello Bianchi. His name traced to two more—both listed along the same vertical axis. One box had my name and the other Camilla Bianchi, born almost four years after me.