Chapter 37
TARA
"My darling Tara," she says, greeting me with a kiss on each cheek. "And this must be the famous singer we've all heard so much about."
"Guilty as charged," says Cameron, showing his charm. "This is my daughter Posey."
Posey curtsies and introduces Edison, who woofs in response.
"Delightful child! Tara, why don't you introduce Posey to Jill and Joan, sitting over there with Chloe? Meanwhile, I'll introduce your handsome employer around."
Miss Swain takes Cameron’s hand and leads him away.
Well, that's a good sign, I think to myself. Seeing their socialite hostess introduce him around is a huge point in his favor. "Posey, I'd like to introduce you to some lovely girls about your age. Follow me."
Chloe and I greet one another with hugs and squeals. "Chloe, I'd like you to meet the little girl I nanny. This is Miss Posey."
"I'm not a Miss," Posey corrects with a little curtsy, "but pleased to meet you."
"Well, pleased to meet you too. These are my charges: Joan and Jill Swain-Black."
"Posey Abernathy!" Joan exclaims. "Aren't you the girl who got swallowed by a whale but then he spat you out?"
"No!" Jill says. "Posey didn't get spat out! She told the story of an old fisherman who got swallowed and spit out."
Posey's face lights up with pride that her storytelling has spread among the Nantucket children.
"Would you like me to tell it again?" Posey asks eagerly.
"Yes, please!" the twins cry in unison.
They settle onto a red velvet sofa in the corner. Posey gesticulates with exaggerated movements as she launches into her tale, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. Just like her father.
"So how's it going?" Chloe asks, her eyes filled with concern as she turns her attention to me. "I heard what happened yesterday with Cameron and that photographer. You were there to see it?"
"Worse. So was Posey. Things are back to normal now. Well, almost."
I glance across the room and see Miss Swain introducing Cameron to people who seem pleased to meet him.
"Your boss is cute!" she says, catching the direction of my gaze. "What's it like to work for him?"
"Nice," I say, forcing a shrug. "Normal."
Before Chloe asks me any more questions, I hear the doorbell ring and see Salty entering the room. I excuse myself and rush over.
"Salty! So nice to see you. Never figured you for an opera supporter."
"Indeed, I am," he says with a grin. "I'm often Miss Swain's plus-one—or date, you might say. I escort her to cultural events when she summers in the Hamptons."
The image of Salty and Miss Swain together makes me want to laugh.
"How did you two meet? You seem like you're from such different worlds."
"We were high-school sweethearts."
I nearly gasp in surprise hearing these words.
"Well, not exactly high school," he clarifies.
"Emma Swain went to that fancy Miss Porter's private school.
But when her family summered here, we were inseparable.
We could never date openly, of course—not while her parents were alive.
That wouldn't have been proper. But we kept our friendship all these years. "
Before I can respond, Miss Swain moves to the center of the room and taps her crystal glass with a silver spoon. The gentle chiming cuts through the party chatter. Conversations fade as all eyes turn toward our hostess.
"My dear friends," she says, her voice carrying the authority of old money and social confidence.
"As many of you know, it's customary at these soirées to invite our guests with musical talent to share their gifts with us.
Tonight, we're particularly blessed to have artists from both the classical and contemporary worlds. "
Contemporary world? She must mean Cameron.
"Now, who would like to honor us first?"
I'm curious whether Cameron will volunteer. Maybe he'll see it as yet another opportunity to get some feedback on his new version of “Shelter from the Storm.”
"Miss Swain," Mr. Rudin's voice cuts through the quiet, "I recently discovered Miss Thompson has a lovely voice. Perhaps she'd be willing to share it with us?"
Me?!
I turn to see sour-faced Fabiana Farr looking daggers at me. Her lapdog hisses in my direction.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. " I'm not really prepared," I stammer, my voice barely audible. No way do I want to bear Fabiana Farr's wrath.
"Nonsense," Mr. Rudin says smoothly. "I heard you practicing the other day. “The Ballad of Pip” would be perfect for this intimate setting."
Fabiana's posture stiffens visibly. Her champagne glass pauses halfway to her lips. I can feel the weight of her glare like ice against my skin.
There's no graceful way out now. Refusing would be insulting to Miss Swain, awkward for everyone, and potentially damaging to my opera prospects.
"Of course," I say quietly, my heart hammering. "I'd be honored."
My voice starts quiet but grows stronger with each line. The familiar aria grounds me. I let the story take over. The cabin boy's courage, his defiance in the face of death, and the raw emotion that drew both Cameron and Mr. Rudin to this piece when I sang it.
The room has gone completely silent. Even the servers have stopped moving. I can feel Cameron's attention like heat against my skin, though I don't dare look his way.
The final notes ring out in the stillness. For a moment, no one moves.
Then applause erupts—genuine, enthusiastic approval from the gathered guests.
Posey rushes over and hugs my legs. "I'm your biggest fan! Your biggest fan!"
"Extraordinary," someone murmurs near the fireplace. "Absolutely captivating," adds another voice.
Mr. Rudin moves toward me, his face glowing with satisfaction. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement. Miss Thompson has graciously agreed to serve as understudy for our production of Moby Dick. Should circumstances require it, you've just heard our alternate leading lady."
The applause continues, but I catch Fabiana's expression across the room. Her face goes pale, then flushes with unmistakable fury.
Cameron's eyes find mine through the crowd. The pride in his expression makes my chest tight with emotion.
"Brava!" Miss Swain calls out, clearly delighted. "What a treat for all of us!"
Mr. Rudin approaches as the crowd disperses back into conversations. "Well done. You've just made this evening memorable for everyone here."
Then the doorbell rings again.
Miss Swain moves toward the entrance, and through the crowd, I see her opening the door.
Jason.
I watch Miss Swain walk over to greet my nemesis. Then I catch Cameron's eye from across the room. Why is Jason here? What is he planning?
His presence here means nothing. Or does it?