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“Oriana,” Roland began, “I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve followed your career over the years.”
Oriana’s eyes widened with surprise. “Have you?”
“Of course. Your name pops up frequently in my social circles, especially when I travel for work,” Roland said. “People seem to respect your artistic eye. An associate of mine out in LA waited over a year before you had time to come out there and advise him on the pieces you could sell him for his space.”
“You’re talking about Gregor Balkin?” Oriana remembered the Bulgarian man who’d had a fit when she couldn’t come out to California immediately.
“The very same. He’s a trip, isn’t he?” Roland said.
Oriana laughed. “He’s certainly a personality. I don’t know if it’s a personality I like, but…”
Roland burst out, his eyes alight. “That’s very well put. I don’t know if I would have been quite as kind in my description.”
Oriana was surprised at how easy it was to make her seemingly serious half-brother laugh.
“You must have worked with some incredible people over the years,” Estelle said.
“She has,” Meghan piped in, happy to brag about Oriana. “About two weeks ago, she let me go with her to New York. She was invited to all these swanky parties and expensive apartments to rub shoulders with people in that world. I wanted nothing to do with it, obviously. It’s not my thing. But Oriana just flourishes.”
“It’s like playing a character in a story that doesn’t belong to you,” Oriana suggested.
Roland nodded. “I’ve found that happens to me often, especially when I’m surrounded by people who can’t understand Nantucket or our way of life here on these islands. City people who think their lives are so much better than mine.”
“Oriana lived in the city for a while,” Meghan continued to brag.
Oriana kicked Meghan under the table, trying to get her to stop that.
“Did you? I always thought that seemed so dreamy,” Estelle said.
“What do you do, Estelle?” Oriana asked, wanting to take the conversation topic away from her and her career— the career that was probably out the window soon if Rita didn’t track down Brea.
“Oh, it’s not important,” Estelle said, waving her hand.
“She’s a very popular romance writer,” Roland bragged, touching his wife’s shoulder. “I don’t know why you never want to talk about it.”
But Oriana understood. As women, it was much easier to shove aside your accomplishments, if only so that nobody felt nervous or that you were bragging. In some people’s eyes, there was nothing worse than a woman talking about how great she was doing. Oriana knew this was a problem with society, but not one they could solve today.
Still, it seemed Roland was willing to uphold his wife’s accomplishments. And Oriana had to respect that.
After that, their conversation found solid ground, with Oriana, Meghan, Grant, and Roland asking questions about one another’s children, their careers, and the decades of their lives they’d collectively missed. Never was there an air of accusation, only of regret. More wine was poured while salmon and trout were served, as was an astonishing raspberry dessert that knocked Oriana’s socks off. As they showered Estelle with compliments, Estelle blushed the color of the raspberries, and Oriana reached for her wine to give another toast. For the first time in ages, her mind wasn’t wasted on her fears surrounding her blackmailer. She was safe, surrounded by family members.
And a part of her knew, too, that if she told them what she’d done— they wouldn’t hate her. Maybe they wouldn’t fully understand why she’d done it. But they wouldn’t hate her.
“I can’t thank you enough for this evening,” Oriana said with her glass raised. “Here’s to many more nights, just like this. Surrounded by the people I love.”
ChapterNine
1998
One week after Kenny got sick, Brea finally convinced him to go to the doctor. Unfortunately, the appointment fell at the worst possible time— in the middle of several meetings Brea had to attend with Oriana.
Kenny also didn’t want to tell Oriana about the doctor’s appointment. He urged Brea to go to the meetings if only to keep up the ruse that nothing was wrong.
“And the doctor will probably just tell me I drank too many beers or something!” Kenny said, still white as a sheet as he sat up in bed, skinnier than ever.
Brea was stricken with worry. She curled up beside him, her arm slung over the flat of his stomach, her mind whirring. Neither of them had had a full night’s sleep since Kenny’s illness had begun, which had meant for killer workdays for Brea, during which she’d had to pretend she was A-okay for Oriana. If she slagged for just a second, she knew Oriana’s coworkers and bosses would question why Oriana had hired Brea instead of someone far more connected and qualified. Brea couldn’t have that.
Brea showered in cold water and changed into a trendy suit jacket and black dress that Oriana had lent her. “You can borrow stuff until your first check comes in,” she’d said, suggesting that she’d been embarrassed about Brea’s clothes since she’d started, which might have bothered Brea more, had she not been so deathly worried for Kenny’s life.
