"They also ran a story about you saving that guy's life."
"Oh, that," I say.
"Oh, that? You saved somebody's life, Cameron. I read the story. Why are you dismissing it?"
"It was a knee-jerk reaction for me. Someone needed CPR, and I knew how to give it."
"Fine. But if the media tries to contact you, just say, no comment. I'll connect with Vanessa Sinclair's office at the New York Herald and arrange a personal interview?—"
"A personal interview? Why that?!"
"Because you're going to have to tell 'Posey's origin' story sometime. And it might as well be to the most powerful gossip columnist in Manhattan. Maybe even the world. Clear the air, so to speak."
"Oh, man..."
"How's it going with the kid?"
"Good. But I don't have any choice in the matter, do I?" I say, my voice rougher than I feel.
She's silent for a moment, reflecting. "Your clothes should arrive soon. Just try to get through the next few weeks. And don't get hotheaded if you encounter the press."
"All right, Radha. Good night," I say, clicking off the phone. I'm grateful to call it a night. Morning will come soon enough.
CHAPTER 14
TARA
"Are you sure I'm dressed okay?" I ask Chloe, smoothing my hands over my freshly laundered white T-shirt.
"You look lovely. It's very casual here." Chloe adjusts her own white blouse—somewhat like mine, yet infinitely more elegant.
I stare at my reflection in the antique mirror, taking in my simple jeans and canvas sneakers.
In Nantucket, I've observed that 'casual' typically means a designer sundress from some exclusive boutique, and one of those fancy Nantucket baskets dangling from perfectly manicured fingers.
"We're the help," Chloe reminds me, catching my uncertain expression. "You're not attending some exotic society soirée. Just a family dinner."
The word 'family' calms me. After last night's assault and this morning's eviction, I'm clinging to whatever scraps of belonging I can find.
"Okay," I say, forcing confidence into my voice as we head toward the dining room's gleaming mahogany doors.
Mr. and Mrs. Swain-Black occupy the head and foot of the massive table. The twins flank their primary nanny. Near Mrs. Swain-Black sits an eccentric-looking older woman, dazzlingly dressed in an expensive suit, laden with jewels.
"Girls, girls," Mrs. Swain-Black says to us as we enter. "Just in time! Chloe, you remember my great-aunt, Miss Swain. And Auntie, this is Chloe's friend Tara Thompson."
Miss Swain rises from her chair with a friendly enthusiasm that belies her formal attire. "Lovely to meet you," she says, extending a hand heavy with rings. As we shake hands, she peers closely at my gold locket.
"How unusual! A miniature violin. Do you play, my dear?"
"No. My father was a music lover. He gave it to me shortly before he died."
"Well, it's beautiful. Come here, sit by me," Miss Swain says, patting the chair beside her.
"Tara is from Los Angeles originally," Chloe offers, as the family's staff bring in the first course.
"And how do you like Nantucket so far?" Miss Swain's bright eyes study me with keen intelligence.
Before I can respond, the front doorbell rings. A family staffer answers it and returns with a handsome young man in a sharp suit.
