Santorini Sunsets Page 9

  Sydney watched Francis climb the marble staircase and let out her breath. Francis was happy about the baby; she’d worried for no reason.

  She fiddled with the diamond pendant and wondered if he would be so thrilled if it wasn’t a boy. She straightened her skirt and thought it didn’t matter why he was excited. They were going to have a healthy baby and everything was going to be fine.

  * * *

  Sydney fastened diamond earrings in her ears and slipped on her sandals. Francis was probably in the villa’s garden on a phone call to New York. She would tell him they had to leave now or they’d miss the luncheon altogether.

  She spritzed her wrists with Estée Lauder perfume and gazed at the towel draped over the chair and the cotton sheets bunched together on the bed. She remembered Francis stepping into the bath and running his hands over her breasts.

  Maybe all they had needed was to go somewhere completely new. She dropped the towel in the hamper and hoped she was right. Something had to change or she couldn’t bear it.

  Chapter Eight

  BRIGIT RAN DOWN the circular staircase into the living room. She had two hours before the private tour of Akrotiri and she was going to sit in the garden and read the paperback book she’d brought on the plane. Sometimes she wondered if they’d packed too many events into the weekend.

  The picnic at Kamari Beach had been delightful but now they had the private tour of the ruins and this evening was the welcome dinner at Kasteli Castle. But then she thought about how they were on a fabulous Greek island with their closest friends. They wanted to show their guests the ancient villages and amazing views and spectacular sunsets.

  She heard a male voice in the kitchen and walked to the doorway. Blake paced around the tile floor, clutching his phone. He wore the navy slacks he’d worn at the luncheon but his jacket was missing and his shirt was open to the third button.

  “I didn’t know you were here.” Brigit sat at the round kitchen table. “You said you had to go back to your villa and send some e-mails.”

  “I was too upset about your ex-husband to worry about the movie.” Blake kissed Brigit on the mouth. “I can’t imagine how it feels to have Nathaniel at your wedding. If Winston had told me, I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m used to ignoring Nathaniel.” Brigit tried to smile. “I was very upset when he appeared in Santorini, but it’s not your fault Winston gave him the assignment. Think of all the good that will be done with the money HELLO! donates to charity.”

  “I called Winston and asked him to assign another reporter but it’s impossible.” Blake ran his hands through his hair. “Nathaniel signed a contract and we could never get another journalist to Santorini so quickly. Apparently getting Nathaniel was quite a coup, he’s up for an award for a series in the Guardian about Britain’s council projects.”

  “Is that so?” Brigit looked up. “He didn’t mention it.”

  “I wish you had told me the minute he showed up at the villa, it’s not something you should handle by yourself.” Blake pulled out a wooden chair. “I once had an old girlfriend get a small part in a movie I was in. I spent three weeks trying to be courteous so we didn’t get into a raging fight in the middle of the Australian outback.”

  “Between last night’s dinner and today’s luncheon, we haven’t had time to talk about anything.” Brigit smoothed her skirt and took a deep breath. “Nathaniel mentioned you and my father knew each other before the St. Regis gala. He ran into Francis in London and Francis said he’d found the perfect man for me.”

  Blake stood up and walked to the fridge. He took out a bottle of milk and poured a small glass.

  “I met Francis at a fund-raiser at Warren Buffett’s chalet in Jackson Hole.” Blake nodded. “We started talking about his recent trip to Ghana. It’s not often you meet someone who gets on a plane and visits impoverished children in Africa. Most CEOs of charity foundations act as though third world countries are part of a movie that only exists on the screen.

  “He told me his daughter was joining the foundation and I should meet her. He invited me to speak at the gala and I couldn’t say no.

  “I’d seen your photo in Town & Country,” Blake continued. “You wore an ivory satin gown and your hair was held back with a diamond clip. You looked like a young Grace Kelly.”

  “You said we were seated next to each other by accident.” Brigit felt something hard pressing on her chest. “You never told me you knew my father at all.”

  “I’ve had friends trying to marry me off for years,” Blake began. “I know how awkward it can be to move grilled halibut around your plate and having nothing to say except the wine is smooth and the cold cucumber soup is delicious. I didn’t want to put you in that position.

  “But I knew before we finished the spring salad, you were special. The whole time I was at the podium I was afraid you would get bored and leave.” Blake grinned. “My publicist was furious I forgot to thank the Whitneys but all I wanted was to return to my seat.”

  Brigit remembered the St. Regis ballroom with its crystal chandeliers and huge bouquets of pink and yellow roses. She pictured Blake’s wavy dark hair and green eyes and white smile. She remembered catching his eye across the room and a tingle running down her spine.

  “You should have told me.” She twisted her hands. “You can’t keep secrets in a relationship.”

  “I could have bumped into you on the subway or in line at Pinkberry and I would have fallen in love.” Blake touched her cheek. “Does it really matter how we met? We’re in Santorini and about to have the wedding of the year.”

  “Honesty is the most important thing,” Brigit said quietly. “Without it you don’t have anything at all.”

  “Do you remember the first weekend we went away, to the Ralph Lauren Polo Classic in Palm Beach?” Blake asked. “We were standing in the lobby of the Breakers hotel and a group of photographers approached us.

  “I never understood how movie stars can hate photographers, it’s like a pastry chef saying he doesn’t like sugar.” He finished the glass of milk. “But when they asked if you were my new girlfriend, I insisted we were just friends and they should photograph Johnny Depp and his new wife.

  “If I told them you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever met and I couldn’t concentrate on the match because all I wanted was to learn your favorite books and movies, they wouldn’t leave us alone.

  “When your father suggested I sit next to you at the gala, I jumped at the chance,” he continued. “But I didn’t want you to think I’d asked you out because he set us up. I never meant to mislead you, but I wanted to win you over by myself. Not because your father and my publicist thought we were a good match.

  “Sometimes a little white lie is necessary,” Blake finished, wrapping his arms around her waist. “We’re on a spectacular Greek island with our closest friends. This afternoon we’re taking a private tour of a two-thousand-year-old temple and tonight we’ll eat grilled pork and stuffed eggplant on a marble balcony overlooking the Aegean.” He stopped and kissed her softly on the mouth. “The first time I saw you in that silver Dior gown, I knew you were a princess. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

  Brigit kissed him back and tasted milk and chocolate. She inhaled the scent of his musk aftershave and thought Blake was right. It didn’t matter how they’d met. What was important was they were together.

  She thought about everything they had to look forward to: a three-week honeymoon in Aix-en-Provence and Paris. The new apartment on Madison Avenue and Blake’s house in the Hollywood Hills. Visiting villages in New Guinea and being greeted by children with wide eyes and extended stomachs.

  “I can’t wait to get married,” Brigit said, kissing him. “I’m just tired from the hot sun and listening to Mrs. Fitzpatrick say it was lovely to meet a bride who still wanted a church wedding with flowers and a buttercream wedding cake. Her daughter eloped in a sailboat off Nantucket and she is heartbroken.” She walked to the fridge.
“I’m going to pour a glass of grapefruit juice and lie on a chaise lounge in the garden. I love you and I’m having a wonderful time. Everything is perfect.”

  “I love you too, I wish I could join you.” Blake glanced at his watch. “But if I don’t send Ang my script notes, he’ll replace me in the movie with Matthew McConaughey.”

  * * *

  Brigit filled a glass with ice cubes and gathered a peach and a ripe nectarine. She heard footsteps and turned around and saw Nathaniel leaning against the marble counter. He wore a white T-shirt and navy shorts and his blond hair was slicked back.

  “What are you doing here?” Brigit asked. “The tour of Akrotiri isn’t for two hours.”

  “Winston wanted a photo spread of the Palmers relaxing in their Greek villa.” Nathaniel took a plum from the fruit bowl and rubbed it on his sleeve. “Robbie is changing camera batteries so I thought I’d come ahead and scout locations.”

  “My parents are shopping in Fira and Daisy hiked to the village of Firostefani.” Brigit sipped the glass of grapefruit juice. “You’ll have to come back later.”

  “It’s not a big island, I can wait.” Nathaniel perched on a wooden chair. “You really picked a gorgeous villa. Sun-filled rooms with high ceilings and tall french doors. I thought Blake would be here, making love to you in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

  “It’s none of your business, but he just left.” Brigit flushed. “He said you’re up for a journalism award; you didn’t tell me.”

  “Being nominated for a prize for a thousand-word piece on council politics didn’t seem worth mentioning when the New Yorker once wrote: ‘Cabot might achieve the unholy trifecta of producing a commercially successful novel that is nominated for the Pulitzer Prize and makes a difference in social reform.’”

  “That was after they published your short story, ‘A God for the South,’” Brigit murmured.

  “I’m sure the reporter wanted to swallow his words.” Nathaniel shrugged. “I don’t mind living on a journalist’s salary. It reminds me of when we used to eat instant oatmeal and yogurt-covered raisins in your dorm room because it was too cold to walk to the cafeteria.

  “Though I imagine it’s more fun being a movie star and nibbling duck foie gras at black-tie dinners,” he continued. “Did Blake mention who’d invited him to the St. Regis gala?”

  “We discussed the whole thing,” Brigit replied. “He didn’t tell me my father invited him because he didn’t want to put me in an awkward position. He wanted me to get to know the real Blake Crawford. He wanted me to accept his invitation to dinner and the theater because I enjoyed being with him, not because my father set me up with a movie star.”

  “That’s noble of him.” Nathaniel nodded. “Funny he didn’t explain when he put that stunning Neil Lane diamond ring on your finger or before you planned your honeymoon.”

  “Sometimes things aren’t black and white.” Brigit fiddled with her glass.

  “Do you remember when we had to declare our majors and you couldn’t decide between applied math and comparative literature?” Nathaniel asked.

  “We went to the screening of To Kill a Mockingbird at the Hopkins Center and you decided you wanted to be a lawyer. I groaned that every twenty-year-old college coed falls in love with Atticus Finch.

  “You said it had nothing to do with Gregory Peck’s smoldering eyes and dark hair. You wanted to be a lawyer because law was like math—it only dealt with the truth. But instead of solving logarithms in a textbook, you could help people.”

  “It’s easy to be idealistic when you live in an ivory tower,” Brigit retorted. “When you grow up, things become more complicated. Maybe if we hadn’t been so honest, it would have been different.”

  “What do you mean?” Nathaniel raised his eyebrow.

  Brigit pictured Nathaniel grumbling that if she didn’t spend all her time dusting the coffee table and straightening the sofa she might enjoy herself. She remembered seeing Nathaniel reading Look Homeward, Angel and saying he would realize he had as much talent as Thomas Wolfe if he sat down and typed. She remembered him walking out the door and the empty pit in her stomach.

  Brigit put the carton of grapefruit juice in the fridge and sighed. “We would have realized we weren’t suited for each other much sooner.”

  “Daisy, there you are.” Nathaniel looked up. “I thought you were sitting in the square, breaking the locals’ hearts. Those young Greeks don’t stand a chance with one of the Upper East Side’s most desirable twentysomethings.”

  “I haven’t had a serious boyfriend in two years.” Daisy entered the kitchen. She wore a gauze skirt and leather sandals. “I’m hardly likely to catch the bridal bouquet.”

  “You have to extend your horizons,” Nathaniel suggested. “Not all eligible men wear Brooks Brothers suits and spend every evening drinking Orange Peels at the Penrose.”

  “I don’t have time to meet men.” Daisy twisted her ponytail. “I’m trying to launch my clothing line. Unless you’re Ralph Lauren’s daughter or related to Tory Burch it’s impossible to get noticed.”

  “Do you remember the summer you and Brigit made lemon crepes with honey and cottage cheese?” Nathaniel opened the fridge. “Everyone said they were delicious so we rode our bikes to Martha Stewart’s cottage and left a plate of crepes with the housekeeper.

  “You were so sure she would feature them on her television show you made three new batches. She finally sent a note saying they looked scrumptious but she wasn’t allowed to sample anything that didn’t come through her production company.” He ate a handful of chickpeas. “Sydney served them at her garden party and one of the guests offered to pay you to make them for her daughter’s sweet sixteen party.”

  “But we decided it was too hot in the kitchen and we’d rather spend the day at the beach.” Daisy grinned.

  “Daisy, I’m sure your dress designs are going to be hugely successful. The Palmer sisters always accomplish what they set their minds to,” Nathaniel mused. “Brigit is going to marry a movie star and jet around the world with matching Louis Vuitton luggage. Photographers will wait at Heathrow and JFK and her photo will be on the cover of Vogue.”

  “We’re going to travel to India and Asia in blue jeans and sneakers.” Brigit bristled. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sit in the garden.”

  “You can’t leave now.” Nathaniel glanced out the window. “I see Robbie and Sydney.”

  “Nathaniel!” Sydney entered the kitchen. She wore a crepe Nina Ricci dress and beige sandals. Her blond hair was tucked behind her ears and she wore diamond earrings. “What are you doing in Santorini and who is the young man lurking around the gate with a camera?” she demanded. “Your name wasn’t on the guest list. This is Brigit’s wedding and her ex-husband is the last person she wants anywhere near her.”

  “You don’t look a day older than when I snuck under the fence at Summerhill when I was five.” Nathaniel jumped up and kissed Sydney on the cheek. “Didn’t Brigit tell you? HELLO! magazine is doing a cover story on the wedding and I’m the journalist.”

  “That’s impossible.” Sydney turned to Brigit. “Blake would never allow it.”

  “I do think your family has to get to know your fiancé better,” Nathaniel murmured.

  He turned to Sydney and smiled. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you. London doesn’t have any women as elegant as Sydney Palmer, though I’ve always admired Jackie Collins. She’s an excellent writer and wears fabulous jewels.”

  “Blake sold the rights to the wedding for two million dollars,” Brigit explained. “All the money will go to the Palmer Foundation to fund various charities.”

  “That is quite exciting; does your father know?” Sydney asked. “He stopped in Fira to buy cigarettes.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to help Robbie set up some shots.” Nathaniel walked to the door.

  Daisy walked upstairs to change and Sydney went to her bedroom to freshen her makeup. Brigit put the glass in
the sink and tossed apricot pits in the garbage. She heard the wooden gate open and her shoulders relaxed. Blake had returned to say he was sorry. He should never have lied to her and it wouldn’t happen again.

  She glanced out the window and saw it was only the housekeeper. She gazed at the shimmering ocean and clusters of white houses and thought she was being silly. Blake had explained why he didn’t tell her Francis had invited him to the gala.

  She wouldn’t let Nathaniel put doubts in her mind. She was going to go upstairs and change into a red Theory dress and Prada sling backs. She was going to fasten sapphire earrings in her ears and rub her lips with red lipstick. Then she was going to pose for Robbie’s photos because she was about to have the wedding of the year on a spectacular Greek island.

  Chapter Nine

  DAISY TIED HER PONYTAIL with a purple ribbon and adjusted her sunglasses. She gazed at the wide stretch of Aegean and white sailboats far below. She turned and saw the ancient buildings covered in lava and brilliant red and gold frescoes and thought maybe she was glad she’d come to Santorini after all.

  She had imagined the tour of Akrotiri would be like the school field trips to the Frick or the Natural History Museum. You could never hear the tour guide and the most interesting part of the day was gossiping about boys on the subway.

  But the guide explained that Akrotiri was part of the flourishing Minoan civilization. It was built high on a cliff with abundant fruits and vegetables. There were elegant villas and paved streets and a drainage system.

  In 1450 B.C. a large earthquake was followed by a volcanic eruption and the town was demolished. Akrotiri lay under mounds of ash until it was discovered two hundred years ago.

  But then one of Blake’s friends said Daisy must see the Buddhist temples in Chiang Mai and a Sports Illustrated model insisted the underwater caves in Vietnam were spectacular. Suddenly the sun was too hot and Daisy couldn’t breathe. She strode down a narrow path and perched on a stone outcrop.