Nantucket Gala (A Nantucket Sunset #12)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

June 1985

Nantucket Island

F rancis’s assistant reserved the top-floor suite of the Nantucket Region Hotel for the last two weeks of June—the week leading up to the Nantucket Gala and the week immediately after. Following their departure from Nantucket, presuming they made enough money to film The Brutal Horizon , Francis and Sophia planned to fly to Rome and Paris to scout locations and make additional plans. Everything banked on the pocketbooks of others. Sophia shivered with anticipation. It felt as though everything was about to change.

Bernard dropped the married couple off at the Region Hotel and pulled the suitcases out of the back of his car. The bellhops gathered them to deliver upstairs. Apparently, the hotelier knew who they were by sight alone. Slender and tanned, he dropped out of the foyer and hopped down the steps to greet them. “Welcome to Nantucket, Mr. and Mrs. Francis Bianchi,” he said. “How was your trip?”

The hotelier looked at Francis and never at Sophia. But Sophia was accustomed to that.

“It was swell, thank you,” Francis said, drawing his hand around Sophia’s waist. “We sailed up the coast and spent last night at The Copperfield House. Bernard was my protégé a few years back, if you can believe it.”

“It’s hard to imagine Bernard working for anyone.” The hotelier laughed.

“He was hardheaded even then,” Francis said. “There’s a reason we couldn’t continue!”

“We’re glad to have him here,” the hotelier said of Bernard. “But we’re mighty glad he brings the likes of you around, Mr. Bianchi. I know I speak for all of Nantucket when I say your films are something special.” The hotelier’s eyes drifted toward Sophia. “And it’s wonderful to welcome your beautiful wife as well.”

I’m nothing but a pretty face to these people , Sophia thought darkly.

And then she reminded herself that that was what she wanted. She wanted to be regarded for her beauty. In the end, she wanted to be appreciated for the looks that had won Francis Bianchi's heart.

He left his second wife for me , she reminded herself.

The bellhops and the hotelier went upstairs to welcome Sophia and Francis to their suite with a bottle of champagne and locally made cheeses and bread. Sophia, who was on a strict diet to fit into whatever gown she decided for the Nantucket Gala, sipped her champagne and didn’t touch the cheese or bread. It felt like the hotelier and her husband wouldn’t stop talking for the rest of the afternoon. Francis was enjoying it, probably because the hotelier couldn’t stop fawning over him. Sophia’s stomach turned. She finished her glass of champagne and announced she was going to the pool.

“Of course, my dear,” Francis said.

“You have to work on your tan for the gala!” The hotelier winked. “My wife would be doing the same.”

That’s right. All wives are the same , she did not say.

Sophia changed into her bikini, wrapped herself in a white robe adorned with the hotel’s logo, grabbed her books and notepads, and headed downstairs. The rectangular pool was jewel-colored and glowing and empty. It was exactly what she’d pictured. Without hesitating, she dove into the water and swam back and forth. It felt good to use her muscles again.

Out on the deck, she dried off and laid around for a while, reading and thinking. But soon enough, her mind turned to thoughts of The Brutal Horizon . It was never far from reach. Quickly, she scribbled ideas to herself: how to change that particular scene in the third act, what the mother-in-law of the main character should really say in act two, and which sets were required for the entry into the story. So immersed was she in her work that she allowed a full hour to go by without applying sunscreen. The thought occurred to her like a bolt of lightning. The last thing she wanted was to look like a lobster at the gala.

Sophia got up and searched her bag for her sunscreen. Still, nobody was out on the pool deck. It was maybe four in the afternoon, and seagulls wove lazily through the blue sky. It occurred to her that Greta wasn’t missing anything in the outside world. Maybe Nantucket was the best thing there was.

Suddenly, she heard her husband’s laughter. It was coming from the other side of the fence.

Her spine tingled. She froze.

Like most wives, she knew the intricate patterns of her husband’s laughter. She knew when he was faking it. She knew when he was belly-laughing for real. And she knew when his laughter meant he was flirting.

After all, that was the first laugh he’d ever used with her—when he’d been married to someone else.

Sophia’s pulse quickened. Her ears felt sharp. Slowly, she shifted across the deck, listening hard for Francis’s laugh. It came shortly after that—louder this time and coming from the opposite end of the pool. Hunched over so as to keep herself from being seen, she sped across the deck and popped up on her tiptoes to peer over. There it was, the top of Francis’s head. It was bobbing around as he laughed and spoke under his breath. But due to the angle and the height of the fence, Sophia struggled to see who he was talking to. Whoever it was, was too quiet for her to understand. Give yourself away, Francis , Sophia thought. Come on.

And then she thought, Wait, what am I saying?

Why did I want this?

Did I want to “catch” my husband in the act of cheating on me?

Sophia dropped down to the flats of her feet. Her head throbbed.

But again, the laughter came. Sophia couldn’t take it. It’s better to know , she thought.

Hurriedly, she clambered up the ladder to the slide. She felt like a maniac. From the top, her gaze soared over the fence and beamed on her husband. But again, he was in conversation with the hotelier and two members of the hotel staff. One of the staff members was a woman dressed in a maid uniform and about three decades older than Sophia. Sophia’s heartbeat slowed.

I’m losing it , she thought.

To add insult to injury, Francis spotted her on top of the slide and blew her a kiss. She caught it in her right hand and blushed.

“There she is,” Francis called. “My beautiful bride!”

The following afternoon, Sophia met Greta downtown to look at dresses for the gala. Greta looked worn-out but pretty, touching her dress’s collar nervously as they window-shopped. “Ella kept me up last night,” she explained softly. “Just a nightmare. But she’s five. I can’t believe I thought that part of my life was over. In a way, it’s lovely to be needed like that. It’s lovely to know you’re this single, powerful entity between your child and their nighttime fears.”

Sophia’s heart swelled. They paused in front of another shop to look at a mannequin in a long navy-blue dress. The mannequin’s sharp hips jutted out in a way that women’s bodies simply didn’t.

“It sounds like you love it,” Sophia offered because she didn’t know what else to say.

Greta arched her eyebrow. “Is that something you’ve ever considered for yourself?”

Sophia’s stomach twisted. It had been ages since she’d seen her own mother, which meant she hadn’t heard that question— do you want children? —echoed back to her in quite some time. Yet here it was, coming from Greta Copperfield of all people.

But she understood. Greta thought Sophia was just a wife. She didn’t understand the immensity of her mission.

She didn’t know everything Sophia brought to Francis’s life and career.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Sophia smiled wider, trying to shove the conversation aside.

But even as she said it, an image sprang up, one she’d had several other times, of Francis carrying their baby in his arms, Francis thanking their child and Sophia in his Oscars speech, Francis teaching their baby to use a camera for the first time.

Their child, Hollywood royalty.

Why wouldn’t she want that?

Greta sensed Sophia didn’t like the topic at hand and soon pulled her into the shop so Sophia could try on the navy-blue dress. Both knew it would look sensational on Sophia.

“You look like old Hollywood,” Greta said, tucking one of her curls behind her ear. Her eyes reflected Sophia back to her.

Sophia thought she saw a twinge of jealousy behind Greta’s happy exterior.

As women, we’re taught to covet what we don’t have , Sophia thought.

“I don’t want to shop for too long,” Sophia said, waving her hands. “I have better things to do.”

Greta laughed. “What kinds of things?”

Write. Read. Think , Sophia thought.

But instead, she said, “Francis has friends swarming the island already. They expect me at one cocktail party after the next.”

“He’s lucky he met you,” Greta said, beaming at her.

Sophia bit her tongue to keep from asking if she said that to his last wife, too.

Sophia paid for the navy-blue dress and watched them pack it in a big white box. Afterward, Greta returned to the hotel with her and showed an appropriate amount of shock and pleasure at the beauty of the hotel suite. Together, they shared lemonade on the porch and watched the waves.

Greta spoke briefly about the work she wanted to get back to. She spoke about picking Alana up from theater camp and Quentin up from basketball camp and Ella up from the babysitter’s and Julia up from her writing workshop. She spoke of staying up late tonight to finish writing a chapter she “couldn’t quite figure out yet.”

Sophia listened intently. All she wanted was to contribute her own two cents about writing. But she’d promised Francis the work was his.

She couldn’t tell anyone what she was up to.

She couldn’t do it because she loved him too much.

Suddenly, Sophia couldn’t help herself. “Can I ask you something?”

Greta tilted her head. “Anything, Sophia. Really.”

Sophia took a big sip of lemonade and nearly choked. “Have you ever thought that, um, Bernard was cheating on you?”

Greta’s face transformed. Shadows traced her eyes and mouth. Immediately, Sophia wanted to rip back her question and return to happier things.

“Is Francis cheating on you?” Greta asked. She set down the lemonade.

“No! No. He’s not,” Sophia hurried to say. “I’m just curious, you know. These powerful, intelligent men aren’t always loyal. And I was just curious how you carry that. If you even think about it.” Sophia scratched her eyebrow and returned her gaze to the ocean. Maybe she should run off and dive into it.

Greta was quiet for a full minute. “I’ve never thought Bernard was cheating on me. I’ve barely considered that to be an option. Although, of course, beautiful young women come in and out of the artist residency all the time. I imagine he notices them, just as I notice the handsome men.”

Sophia was surprised at Greta’s mention of other men.

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Greta says. “I’ve never considered stepping out of our marriage. It’s just that I trust him so completely. I imagine he trusts me back.”

Sophia rubbed her forehead and wondered what it meant to really trust someone.

She realized with a jolt that she didn’t know.

Greta reached out to touch Sophia’s hand. “I know that Francis doesn’t have the best history with that,” she said quietly, choosing her words carefully. “But I know he loves you. It seems that the two of you have built something beautiful together. And I tend to think that the minute we doubt something, it begins to crumble. So don’t doubt Francis for a second. Don’t doubt your marriage.”

Sophia wanted to scream out that he’d be nothing if he lost her!

But she couldn’t.

Besides, she was pretty sure he wasn’t cheating on her.

She was as sure as she’d ever been.

“Have you considered talking to someone about this?” Greta asked. “Maybe a therapist?”

Sophia swallowed. This was something she felt she couldn’t do. Francis was too famous. Their marriage was high profile. Whatever she told a therapist could easily get out.

It was better not to trust anyone.

“I’m fine,” Sophia said, forcing a chuckle. “I’m just a girl in love. It’s hard for me to come to terms with that sometimes. And everyone wants a piece of Francis.”

“He knows what he has with you,” Greta assured her, her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure of it.”

But Sophia wasn’t sure she was.