Page 1 of Unspoken Tides

Prologue

February 1990 - Los Angeles, California

Hilary’s mother said that when it came down to it, what you wore to the Oscars was a question of sophistication. “In hindsight, all my gowns from the seventies look ridiculous because I followed what everyone else was wearing,” she said breezily. “The classics, darling. That’s what we live and breathe. That’s what’s timeless. Aren’t you glad you have me to look out for you?” She slid a pearl earring into her lobe and smiled serenely. Her dress was a gorgeous night-black Dior that curved beautifully down her torso and thighs and showed all of her glowing shoulders.

Hilary was nineteen years old, the only daughter of the iconic Swedish actress Isabella Helin. Isabella was nominated for an Oscar for Best Actress that evening for a film called Free at Dawn, which she starred in alongside her husband, Larry Radler. Larry was her second husband and not Hilary’s father—something the tabloids loved to remind her of during particularly dull news cycles. “Hilary! Tell us something about your real dad! Do you think he hates your mother for leaving him?” But Hilary’s father had never been a part of Hilary’s life. She was pretty sure her mother had left him back in Sweden, but she’d never felt brave enough to ask. You didn’t just “ask” Isabella Helin things, even if she was your mother. You never knew what her mood was. You never knew what cruelty she would fling at you.

“I wanted you to be an American, darling,” Hilary’s mother had said before regarding her departure from Sweden. “I wanted you to have every opportunity in the world.”

Isabella Helin was forty-five years old and one of the most sought-after actresses in the industry. Her subtle Swedish accent gave her an allure other beautiful actresses lacked, and her five-foot-nine stature and gorgeous figure didn’t hurt, either. Hilary had spent her entire life in awe of her, aching to be like her. This was the first time Isabella had ever invited her to the Academy Awards, and Hilary hadn’t slept a wink in anticipation. Her mother often told her that beauty sleep wasn’t necessary until you were twenty-six.

Isabella had selected Hilary’s gown for the evening. Like hers, it was a navy blue classic that someone like Audrey Hepburn might have worn decades ago. Although Hilary wouldn’t have picked it for herself, she felt captivated by her reflection in the mirror, especially after her mother did her makeup. She kept asking herself, is this the day that everything changes for me? Is this the day I’ll finally be discovered?

Hilary longed to be an actress like her mother. She craved the fame, intrigue, and artistry of that life; she longed for the luxuries of traveling wherever the next film took her, of learning lines, of spending entire summers in Rome with attractive actors who’d fallen in love with her, too. Isabella had set her up with a few acting teachers over the years, all of whom had told Isabella that Hilary had a “true gift.” But still, Hilary hadn’t nabbed any film gigs.

“They’re not ready to get rid of me yet, darling,” Isabella had said when Hilary hadn’t gotten them.

Hilary had been confused by this. Sure, she looked somewhat like her mother, but she was a fresh version with a different set of skills and style. This was not the first time her mother had alluded to the fact that she didn’t want Hilary to “steal her spotlight.” But at nineteen, Hilary couldn’t fully comprehend what that meant. Weren’t there enough pieces of the pie for all of them?

Hilary and Isabella weren’t allowed to sit in the limousine on the way to the Academy Awards, as sitting would muss up their dresses. Instead, they leaned crookedly against the back seat, carefully extending their legs as far as possible to ensure the material wouldn’t wrinkle. Isabella’s driver made sure to stop slowly and easily so that they didn’t go flying. Hilary kept herself from bursting with laughter at the scene. It looked insane to her.

Did people know the “iconic” Isabella Helin lived like that?

Hilary was curious why Larry wasn’t riding with them to the awards ceremony, but she knew better than to ask. Isabella could fly off the handle at a moment’s notice. The fact that her husband hadn’t wanted to (or couldn’t) ride with them was assuredly not a topic she wanted to discuss.

“Have a brilliant time, ladies,” the driver said as he opened the door for them and helped them from the limo and onto the red carpet.

Immediately, what felt like a million blasts of light came over them. Hilary winced, then righted her smile, remembering what her mother had told her. “All eyes will be on you all night long. Make sure you give them what they want.”

What they wanted was beauty. Intrigue. Smiles.

Hilary followed beside her mother as they waded down the red carpet and past gorgeous actors and actresses, some of whom Hilary had met before through her mother. One of them was around Hilary’s age, and she’d attended Hilary’s high school, which was mostly an artistic breeding ground for the children of famous people. Hilary flinched, preparing to wave at the former classmate, but the classmate turned her beautiful back to Hilary and continued to speak to the paparazzi instead.

Maybe Hilary wasn’t good enough for her anymore. Hilary felt smacked.

Toward the end of the red carpet, Larry appeared and covered Isabella with kisses and cried out lovingly, assuredly just for the paparazzi. “There she is! My beautiful wife. And co-star!” They stood hand in hand as the cameras flashed around them. Someone came to guide Hilary away from the couple.

“He’s not your real dad, right?” the paparazzi asked. When Hilary shook her head, the paparazzi shoved her farther away.

Hilary rolled her eyes and smeared her sweaty palms down her gown, then flinched. That was exactly the behavior her mother had warned her against. She had to protect the fabric, her image, everything. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. When she turned on her heel, she found that a few servers were coming through the crowd, carrying platters heavy with glasses of champagne and appetizers. Hilary leaped for a glass of champagne if only to quiet her nerves. Then she shoved three puff pastries filled with spinach in her mouth, thinking, The paparazzi can take as many pictures of me stuffing my face as they want. See if I care.

Luckily, Isabella and Larry were still burdened by paparazzi, most of whom assumed they would take home not one but two golden statues tonight. Isabella glowed so much that it looked like she was floating a few inches off the red carpet.

“Hungry?”

A voice came out of the chaos and planted itself in Hilary’s ear. She turned, still chewing a puff pastry, to find a man a few years older than her, wearing a handsome tuxedo that didn’t quite fit him correctly and carrying a glass of champagne. His crooked smile was teasing.

It took Hilary a moment to realize he was talking to her. “There are snacks. I assume we’re allowed to eat them?”

The man stepped closer. Hilary blinked a few times, trying to figure out if she’d met him before. She’d met so many people through her mother and her numerous films.

“By all means,” the man said. “Eat as many as you like. I think you might be the only woman in a gown chowing down, though.”

A blush crawled up Hilary’s neck and cheeks. “Did you purposely rhyme?”

It was the man’s time to turn tomato red. He sipped his champagne. Seeing him embarrassed like that filled Hilary’s heart with tenderness.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m nervous. It’s my first Academy Award.”

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