Chapter 3
Allegra
I HAVE NO idea what to do with myself.
Less than a week into my unemployment and I was already going stir crazy.
I’d cleaned out my closet, washed the windows, bleached the grout in the bathroom, joined a new gym, and signed up for a cooking class, even though I hadn’t turned the stove on in years.
I’d also redownloaded two dating apps, but I couldn’t bring myself to sign on.
After six years of being in the middle of ugly divorces and now the Harry mess, men weren’t on my agenda in the near future.
A two-mile run had nearly killed me after lunch today, so I added train for a marathon to my to-do list and walked the remainder of the way back to my apartment.
“Afternoon, Ms. Bianchi.” The doorman nodded at me.
“Hey, Ray. How are you?”
“Bald, fat, and underpaid, but I can’t complain.” He smiled. “Mail just arrived. You have an envelope that didn’t fit in your box. I’ll grab it for you.”
Ray handed me a thick manila envelope, which made me think about my last day in court with Mrs. Whittaker. Cassie told me the case had been reassigned to Sierra, which I was happy to hear, since it had turned into a complete shit show.
Upstairs, I took a shower, made a smoothie, and sat down to go through today’s mail.
The last time I hadn’t had at least two or three weeks of mail piled up was probably before I’d started law school.
Most of today’s stuff was junk—a bill from the cable company that was already on autopay, a glossy real estate postcard telling me an apartment in my building had been sold for $1.
5 million, and I should call this number to sell mine while the market was hot, a preapproved credit card offer that I opened before I realized it was addressed to my ex, who’d lived here with me for a short time.
And last but not least, was the thick envelope.
Fanelli, Otoni, and Armonk, it read. I wasn’t familiar with the firm, but I assumed it had something to do with my separation from work since HR had emailed yesterday to let me know they’d sent some papers for me to sign.
I sighed and opened it.
Dear Ms. Bianchi,
This office represents the estate of Sophia Bianchi of Montepulciano, Italy, who died earlier this year on January 2nd.
My heart squeezed—my late grandmother. Though I couldn’t imagine what estate they were representing. My nonna didn’t own much, just her antique store in Tuscany, which I’d assumed she’d left to her sister. But I continued…
A legally valid will has been located and filed with Italian authorities.
In the document, you were named as the sole beneficiary of the estate, which contains real property located in the province of Sienna, Italy, as well as certain personal property.
Attached is a copy for your reference, along with a certified English translation for your convenience.
Please be advised that the will contains specific conditions that are attached to the inheritance. These are outlined in the will itself, as well as in a personal letter that was annexed and is addressed to you.
We recommend reviewing the letter, which may influence how and when your inheritance will be accessed, and contacting us after. We are here to guide you through the legal process at your earliest convenience and look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Antonio Fanelli
Curious, I rifled through the papers until I found the personal letter. Unlike the attorney’s typewritten letter, this one was on lined paper, covered in my grandmother’s distinctive, graceful handwriting. I did my best to translate, as she’d written in Italian.
My Dearest Allegra,
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve finally kicked the bucket.
About time, huh? Eighty-four at this writing, and it’s not looking like I’m going to make too many more birthdays.
I’ve been flirting with the Grim Reaper for some time now.
Don’t judge. There’s no one else my age alive anymore who will flirt back.
I laughed, and tears formed in my eyes. I’d only read the first paragraph, yet I felt like my nonna was with me again. She was such a big, unique personality. I took a deep breath and scanned the page to find my place again.
I have a lot to tell you, but first off, I’ve left you everything—the antique shop, some land, my hunk of junk car, and probably some risqué pictures of your grandfather when he was in the military.
I should’ve gotten rid of those years ago, but the ladder to the attic broke and, well, you know me.
I hate asking people for help. There might be some treasures in the antique shop.
There might be a tax audit, too. Either way, you’re gonna be busy for a while.
But it’ll be a good busy, not the kind you’ve been living up there in the big city the last few years.
Which brings me to my next line of business—a little caveat to your inheritance…
Life’s too short to work all the time. Unless you work at the male strip club and you’re paid in gelato.
But that’s not what you’ve been doing. So, in order for you to receive your inheritance, you’re going to have to slow down for a bit, come to Tuscany for a while.
Three months, to be exact. You can stay forever if you want, but after three months, everything is yours.
And as long as I’m giving advice, I have some more. This has nothing to do with your inheritance, just good wisdom that deserves to be shared.
–Always wear lipstick to the grocery store. You never know when you will run into your past or your future.
–Don’t trust people who don’t consume wine or carbs. Both are red flags.
–Pick a man who can unclog a sink, change a tire, and make you laugh when you’re furious.
–Always keep ten bucks in your bra. You never know when you’ll need a bribe or a cannoli.
And lastly, wear the dress, eat the dessert, and kiss a few frogs. All three will help you find Mr. Right.
All my love,
Nonna
I sat back and let her words sink in before reading the letter a second time.
They didn’t make women like my grandmother anymore.
Even in her mid-seventies—which was sadly the last time I’d seen her—she’d been a force to be reckoned with.
Red lipstick, waist-cinching dress, and silver hair styled like an old-time movie star.
And that was just for weeding the vegetable garden.
A collection of silver bangles on her wrists left a soft jingle in her wake wherever she went, along with the scent of her gardenia perfume.
She didn’t believe in Wi-Fi, therapy, or going out after five p.m. in flat shoes.
But most of all, she didn’t believe in shortcuts.
She sewed her own dresses, baked from scratch, and balanced her checkbook by hand.
If she got stuck on the side of the road, she could’ve changed her own tire in heels, but she didn’t have to, because men fell over themselves to do things for her.
Once, when I was visiting, I watched her easily pick up a lemon tree growing in a terra-cotta planter and move it into the sun.
A few hours later, a handsome man in his late sixties came over and moved it again.
When I’d asked her why she didn’t ask me to help if it was too heavy, she’d flashed her sly smile and said, “I could do it myself, but sometimes you have to let men feel useful.”
She was a walking contradiction—white gloves in church covering callused hands, rosary beads in her purse next to a flask, and the manners of a refined lady with the sharp tongue of a truck driver. My nonna was magic. She left a little sparkle wherever she went.
I let myself bask in the memories for a while.
The inside of my chest felt warm and heavy as I read the letter a third time.
After, I went through the translated will.
It pretty much said what the attorney had written in his note.
I give, devise, and bequeath all of my estate, both real and personal, of whatsoever kind and wheresoever situated, to my granddaughter, Allegra Bianchi, absolutely and in fee simple once the conditions precedent outlined below are met.
There weren’t any more details about the property mentioned in the attorney’s letter, so I’d have to give him a call.
It was almost six o’clock in Rome, but I had nothing better to do, so I dialed the number at the top of the letterhead.
I’d at least leave a message. I was surprised when a woman answered.
“Buonasera, Fanelli, Otoni e Armonk, sono la Signora Antonucci, come posso aiutarla?”
I hesitated. My Italian had never been that great. “Buonasera. Parli Inglese?”
“Sì,” the woman said. “Hello. How may I help?”
“Oh, great. Thank you. My name is Allegra Bianchi. I’d like to speak to Antonio Fanelli. I’m calling regarding a letter I received about an inheritance from my grandmother, Sophia Bianchi.”
“Ah, yes. Mrs. Bianchi. The best torta di ricotta e spinaci in the world.”
I smiled. My grandmother always brought a homemade ricotta and spinach pie with her whenever she was going anywhere. I guess law firms were no exception. “Yes, she was an amazing cook.”
“Let me get Mr. Fanelli for you. He’s on the other line, but he can hang up.”
“Oh, uh, that’s not necessary. I can wait or he can call me back.”
“You’re calling from America, yes?”
“I am, but—”
“Then he can hang up. His wife, she calls too much anyway. Hang on.”
She put me on hold, and I thought about how different things were at my firm—or my ex-firm, I should say. No one came to visit with homemade baked goods, and the receptionist would never interrupt a partner on a call with his wife to speak to a random client.
A minute later, a deep voice came on the line. “Ms. Bianchi?”
“Yes, hello.”
“I take it you received my letter.”
I was glad he spoke English. “Yes. To be honest, I was surprised. I assumed my grandmother would’ve left everything to her sister.”
“We spoke about her sister, but she was adamant that she wanted you to receive everything. She mentioned that you two spoke every Sunday morning, and that you were often still at work from the night before. I don’t think she intended for you to inherit only her home and land.
I think she was hoping you’d inherit a different pace of life. ”
I sighed, half smiling. “She always did have a way of getting people to do what she wanted.”
He chuckled. “I went to visit her at home to deliver the will I’d prepared, and when she opened the door, she handed me a colander and a broom and instructed me to catch a lizard she’d named Sergio who kept scaring her in her vegetable garden.
I spent an hour chasing a reptile while she sipped limoncello from a lawn chair and watched me, wearing dark glasses.
When I finally caught it, she made me drop it off in Cortona, at the base of her sister’s property. They weren’t speaking at the time.”
I laughed. “That sounds like my grandmother.”
“We haven’t done a valuation of any sort, but I would imagine all that land is worth three or four million euro.”
“All that land? Doesn’t she just own the little plot her antique shop is on?”
“No, Ms. Bianchi. Your grandmother owned close to forty hectares, around one hundred acres, of the surrounding property in Tuscany. Much of it is leased, so it produces income.”
Wow. I had no idea.
“I imagine it won’t be easy to put your life on hold for three months,” he continued, “with your work and all, but it’s definitely worth your while.”
It would be a lot easier now than it would’ve been a week ago… “Actually, I may be able to make it work.”
“Excellent. When you figure out your plans, please let me know. We should meet to go over next steps. I also have a set of keys to the shop, but your grandmother said you’d know where to find her hidden spare.”
I smiled. “I do.”
“Okay, then. I look forward to your arrival.”