Page 32 of Nantucket Gala

But time was ticking, and Sophia needed to return to the hotel and get ready for the gala. And in order to do that, she had to wade through the paparazzi proudly but without arrogance. Queen-like was maybe the word for it. She raised her chin and put her shoulders back, then paraded down the sidewalk. At first, she thought the paparazzi didn’t recognize her. Maybe they thought she was just another Nantucket tourist.I tricked them!she thought, hating that she was slightly disappointed about it, too.

But then her name rang out.

Well, it was sort of her name. It was a Mrs. attached to her husband’s last.

“Mrs. Bianchi!” A guy with a camera leaped onto the sidewalk and flashed his camera at her.

It gave Sophia such a fright that she let out a cry of alarm and put her hand over her chest. Already, she could imagine that image in tomorrow’s paper with a headline like “Bianchi Wife Terrified Her Husband is Cheating.” Oh no! She didn’t want that.

But why was that the first thing she thought of?He’s not cheating on you! Stop it!she scolded herself.

Sophia forced a smile, then found that the smile grew more and more natural as the camera flashes continued. They couldn’tsee her baby bump.There isn’t one!she reminded herself, feeling foolish.

But the paparazzi would be all over her when the baby bump showed itself.

She’d handle it when it happened. Maybe she’d even enjoy it a little bit. Perhaps she’d be even more famous than Francis.

“This way, Mrs. Bianchi!” they called. “Look at me, Mrs. Bianchi!”

And then they started to ask more pointed questions.

“Tell us, Mrs. Bianchi! How does your husband get his wonderful ideas?”

“Would you say that you’re his muse?”

“Do you thinkThe Brutal Horizonwill get enough funding to start production?”

“Will you go with your husband to Europe for filming?”

“Do you think your husband plans to have a baby with you, Mrs. Bianchi?”

“Why do you think your husband hasn’t had any children with his previous wives? It’s highly unusual, isn’t it, Mrs. Bianchi?”

“Is it possible your husband is unable to have children?”

“What do you think of your husband’s portrayal of women in his films? Do you think, like others, that he has a feminist eye? Do you think that’s harmful for women like yourself—women who don’t work? Do you think your husband looks down on you because you don’t work?”

This last question felt like a slap. Sophia stopped walking and looked at the cameraman who’d asked it, marveling that he or anyone else could say something so cruel. But he grinned at her evilly and took a close-up photograph of her face. It was like he wanted to capture a piece of her soul.

Tell him you’re the one who wrote those scripts. Tell him that Francis can’t string more than a few sentences together without getting bored. Tell him you’re the true genius.

But Sophia couldn’t. She bit her tongue and forced a smile. “My husband believes women should have the same rights as everyone else, as do I. And I wouldn’t say that I don’t work. I have plenty to do on set and otherwise. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Sophia scampered up the path to the hotel, feeling the flashing lights behind her. They wanted every bit of her until she disappeared. When she entered the foyer, the woman behind the desk hurried up to apologize.

“We haven’t been able to get them off the sidewalk,” she said. “But we called the police when they entered the hotel and went by the pool. Our guests deserve privacy! Even the famous ones. Or especially the famous ones!”

Sophia tried on a smile that felt false. She suddenly felt exhausted, weak, and on the verge of throwing up—everything that had forced her to the doctor’s office yesterday to learn about the baby. The baby! She had to rest! She had to take care of the baby!

Upstairs, Francis wore his black trousers and nothing else. He was recently showered, and he’d dried his hair so that it was sleek and black and shining. Sophia felt bowled over with love for him.

“Francis!” she cried, hurrying across the suite to hug him.

But a split-second later, something struck her. It was a smell she’d never experienced before in her life.

What was it?

She stalled and touched the tip of her nose. Lilac? Rose? A shiver went down her spine.

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