"I'm the second nanny. Their summer nanny." She grabs a brush from her dresser and starts working on Jill's tangled hair. "The 'play nanny,' if you will. Their French-teaching nanny. And right now, you're my assistant in getting these rascals ready for breakfast. Up for it?"
I feel a wave of relief at having something useful to do. "Of course. I told you I'm majoring in early childhood education."
"Ah, so you're all textbook-based."
"That's about the extent of it. I was an only child."
We spent the next half hour transforming the twins from sleepy, pajama-clad gremlins into presentable little ladies. It's surprisingly challenging work: extensive face washing, tooth brushing, hair braiding, and negotiations over which dress each girl wants to wear.
I stay back as Chloe takes the children downstairs for breakfast. But then I can't resist moving to the old-fashioned banister to peer down at the scene below. The dining room looks like something from Downton Abbey, complete with gleaming silver and crystal.
Chloe takes plates for both children, fills them, and sits down to eat with them. Within minutes, a stout woman with gray hair pulled into a severe bun joins them. The senior nanny, I assume.
The parents whom I remember from the cafe appear shortly afterwards.
Feeling like an interloper, I retreat to Chloe's room and pull out my phone. I get the courage to text Zaza and Chloe about my fiasco with Mr. Johnson. I assure them I’m safe, staying with a friend, and will be okay.
Within minutes, I get a response—Keesha's invitation to come back to New York and couch surf until her new roommate moves out in the fall.
This is welcome news, but I like Nantucket. Especially since Cameron's on it. I'm not quite ready to leave.Not just yet.
CHAPTER 13
CAMERON
Posey recounts my heroic CPR performance to Mrs. Bixby over an early dinner in the Abernathy mansion's formal dining room. I love the way Posey makes sweeping dramatic gestures as she explains the story.
“My new daddy saved an old man's life with his bare hands!"
Her enthusiasm earns me more than a few approving nods from the stern Scottish nanny. She had been eyeing me with barely concealed skepticism since my arrival.
Now, with Posey tucked into bed and Mrs. Bixby retired to her quarters, I wander through the house with Edison padding silently at my heels. This is Posey's house now. Her inheritance.
Together, Edison and I enter an office I assume had belonged to Mr. Abernathy. Walnut paneling covers the walls. An expansive desk dominates the room. A large portrait of the Abernathy clan hangs there, showing the parents standing with Alice and Jason when they were children.
Edison woofs as my phone rings, breaking me out of my reverie. I look at the caller ID. It's Radha.
"Hey," I say, sitting down on the brown leather sofa. Edison jumps up and lays his glossy black head on my lap. "What's up?"
She takes a deep breath. "Cameron. I know how much you value your privacy. And how you despise the tabloids..."
"What happened?"
"Vanessa Sinclair's column in theNew York Herald. The evening edition just dropped."
"And?"
"Some photographer caught a picture of you and Posey at this place called the Patriot Café. They're calling her your secret love child."
"Fuck," I say, blood rushing through my veins. Hearing the tension in my voice, Edison barks his concern.
"Cameron, calm down. You knew it had to happen one of these days. You couldn't keep her a secret forever."
"Nantucket's supposed to be a quiet island."
"Well, it's not. I just wanted you to be prepared, because the tabloids are now going to go crazy. Everyone's going to want a piece of that story. But at least you're portrayed as a do-gooder."
"What do you mean?"
