Santorini Sunsets (15 page)

“I can't wait to do it all again on our twentieth anniversary,” Blake whispered. “It will be on a private island in the Bahamas. Our children will give a toast saying their dad may embarrass them at school dances and make the worst blueberry pancakes, but he did one thing right. He gave them the best mother they could imagine.”

*   *   *

Brigit ate a bite of lemon cheesecake and gazed at the black sky and silver stars and dark ocean. The desserts were delicious and the aged cognac was superb and it had been a wonderful night.

But now her feet ached and she longed to go back to the villa and climb into bed. She glanced at guests nibbling honey baklava and thought it wouldn't be polite if she were the first person to climb into a taxi.

She strolled through the courtyard and saw a familiar figure leaning against a stone wall. Nathaniel's bow tie was loosened and he clutched a shot glass.

“I thought you stopped drinking.” She gazed at the amber liquid. “And you should never drink whiskey. It always made you crazy.”

“That was when I was nineteen and a freshman at Dartmouth.” Nathaniel looked up. “A senior dared me to streak across the quad during Winter Carnival. I had to drink the whiskey for courage.”

“You could have said no,” Brigit murmured.

“I was trying to impress you,” Nathaniel explained. “He was a coxswain on the crew team and spent the whole night showing you his muscles.”

“You looked ridiculous running through the fountain naked.”

“It was minus ten degrees,” Nathaniel retorted. “Your fiancé offered me the whiskey. I couldn't say no.”

“Blake offered you a drink?” Brigit raised her eyebrow.

“Winston said I had to get an in-depth interview with the groom.” Nathaniel nodded. “Don't worry; we didn't talk about you. Did you know Blake was voted Best Hair in high school?” He took another sip. “He's seen all the Star Wars movies and he's a brown belt in karate.”

“You're tipsy.” Brigit frowned. “You should go back to your hotel.”

“I can't leave in the middle of an interview.” Nathaniel looked at Brigit. “You're the one who always said work comes before anything.”

“Getting up every morning and going to the office is what most Americans do,” Brigit said quietly.

“Perhaps you didn't realize you were marrying a writer when you accepted my grandmother's diamond ring,” Nathaniel replied. “Fitzgerald completed
The Beautiful and Damned
sitting poolside at a villa in Nice and Hemingway never left his fifth-floor Paris walk-up.”

“You're the one who gave it up and became a reporter for trashy magazines.” Brigit fiddled with her gold earrings.

“Sometimes you have to let things go even when they're important to you.” Nathaniel drained his glass. “And
HELLO!
is not a trashy magazine. Winston has a vision. He wants to bring the reader closer to celebrities. Sort of like communism in pop culture.”

“You could have done so much more,” Brigit said quietly.

“And miss writing about the royal family?” Nathaniel waved his glass. “Last week I did a story on Princess Kate's nanny. The requirements of the job include knowledge of three languages and certification from a Swiss finishing school. Princess Charlotte is two years old but her nanny has to be able to teach her how to speak French and hold a teacup.”

“It's never too early to learn manners.” Brigit smoothed her skirt. “I have to say good-bye to our guests.”

“There you are.” Blake wrapped his arm around her waist. “I was just saying good-bye to Alec Baldwin, he gave us matching bicycles as a wedding present.”

“I had a couple more questions.” Nathaniel took a notebook out of his tuxedo pocket and turned to Blake. “You have backstage access to Victoria Secret's fashion shows and a standing invitation to
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit photo shoots. You're not going to lose your looks for another twenty years.” He drained his shot glass. “What made you decide to settle down?”

Nathaniel gazed at Brigit's glossy blond hair and continued. “Brigit does have eyes like sapphires and the loveliest heart-shaped mole behind her ear but she's terribly bossy and she sleeps with her socks on.”

Blake's cheeks turned pale and his eyes flickered. He dropped the bottle of whiskey and grabbed Nathaniel's collar.

“You're drunk and you should leave,” he muttered, releasing Nathaniel and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I'm going to get someone to clean up this glass.”

Brigit watched Blake stride across the square. She glanced at Nathaniel and her lips trembled.

“How dare you start a fight at our welcome dinner,” she stammered.

She walked to the stone arch and turned around. “And I haven't worn socks to bed in years. You would have known that if you ever came to the bedroom.”

 

Chapter Eleven

D
AISY RINSED A BOWL
of Santorini cherry tomatoes and placed them on the marble counter. She added a wedge of feta cheese and a white aubergine. She took a bowl of fava beans out of the fridge and a shiver ran done her spine.

She pictured Robbie at the welcome dinner in a black dinner jacket and white bow tie. His dark hair touched his collar and his cheeks glistened with aftershave. She remembered his brown eyes and warm smile and thought he looked so handsome she almost didn't recognize him.

She sliced a cucumber and remembered watching couples twirl across the dance floor. Her father wore a perfectly cut black tuxedo and her mother was stunning in a floor-length ivory gown. Daisy had suddenly wanted to put down her plate of stuffed dolmades and ask Robbie to dance.

But then she heard glass breaking and saw Blake cross the courtyard. She watched Brigit gasp and Nathaniel clutch a shot glass. The last thing Brigit needed was for Daisy to appear on the arm of Nathaniel's friend.

*   *   *

Now it was morning and Brigit was still in bed. Daisy was going to cook eggs and whole wheat toast. Whatever had happened last night, Brigit would feel better with a fluffy egg-white omelet and fruit salad.

There was a knock at the door and she turned around. Robbie juggled an olive baguette and a bag of nectarines. He wore a navy T-shirt and tan shorts and his dark hair was freshly washed.

“What are you doing here?” Daisy asked.

“I got up early and went to the market.” Robbie placed the bag on the round kitchen table. “The vendor gave me an extra bag of nectarines and I thought you might like one.”

“Thank you, I did the same thing.” Daisy pointed to the basket of mushrooms and ripe plums. “We must have missed each other.”

“That smells delicious.” Robbie walked to the stove. “Would you like some help? I worked as a line cook in Provence one summer. My back ached and I got blisters on my hands but I learned how to use butter and garlic.”

Daisy inhaled the scent of Robbie's musk shampoo and thought it would be lovely to slice fruit together in the sunny kitchen. It would be wonderful to drink Greek coffee and talk about his photographs and her designs.

But she pictured Brigit's flashing eyes when she'd arrived at the villa. Her cheeks were pale and she'd raced upstairs to her bedroom.

Brigit would never admit Nathaniel upset her. But how would she feel if she appeared in the kitchen and found Robbie standing at the sink?

“I can handle it.” Daisy twisted her ponytail. “Shouldn't you be taking location shots of the view from Firostefani or the churches in Therasia?”

“Actually I came to ask you a question,” Robbie said slowly. “After Santorini I'm going to explore Mykonos and Crete. I was wondering if you'd like to join me. We'd stay in hostels in separate rooms.” He ran his hands through his hair. “We'll visit the ancient city of Knossos and swim at Paraga Beach.”

“I thought you only traveled to places that suffered bombings and earthquakes,” Daisy replied.

“A photographer has to have an eye for beauty.” Robbie gazed at her large brown eyes and auburn hair. “And I've always wanted to photograph the windmills and the ruins at Delos.”

Daisy collected a jar of Kalamata olives and her heart raced. She'd promised herself she wouldn't see Robbie until after the wedding, but what stopped her from traveling to Mykonos and Crete?

She tossed capers into the pan and pictured whitewashed buildings and blue lacquered doors. They would eat oysters in quaint cafés and take long walks along the beach. She pictured sharp cliffs and bright beds of flowers and drinking pineapple daiquiris at the Belvedere bar.

Then she thought of her living room littered with fabrics. Sketches covered the glass dining room table and floral skirts hung in the shower. She'd finally found something she loved to do and she couldn't put it off to trek around the Greek islands.

“It sounds wonderful but I can't.” Daisy shook her head. “My former roommate works at Tory Burch and she promised to get me an interview.”

“It can wait three weeks,” Robbie persisted. “The palace of Knossos was the center of Minoan civilization and had private villas and shrines and banquet halls. It was discovered in 1896 and almost completely restored with gold columns and mosaic ceilings.”

Daisy fiddled with her hoop earrings and pictured summer in New York with its sizzling sidewalks and stifling subways. Her apartment didn't have air-conditioning and she had to perch on the fire escape to catch the evening breeze.

But if she waited, all the important buyers would be on vacation in Majorca or Capri. By the time they returned, they would be busy with Fashion Week and the winter collections. If she didn't get her line in stores now, she would miss her chance.

“Maybe another time.” She turned off the stove. “I have to go upstairs and wake Brigit. She'll be furious if she oversleeps and misses my omelet and your delicious nectarines.”

Robbie walked to the door and turned around.

“Last month Winston sent me to Paris to photograph Lady Gaga,” he began. “She stayed in a flat in the first arrondissement and paparazzi snapped photos of her buying croissants or going to the gym. Every day her security guards got rid of photographers and the next day there were more.

“One evening she arrived in sweats and sneakers and asked why I didn't take a picture. I said I was waiting until she wore a pretty dress and makeup. I wouldn't leave, but I couldn't take a photo she wasn't happy with.

“The next night she appeared in a gold lamé gown and diamond-encrusted stilettos. She was on her way to the Crillon and let me take the first photo.

“I'm persistent and I'm not going anywhere.” His face broke into a smile. “Eventually you have to say yes.”

*   *   *

Daisy filled a ceramic plate with eggs and berries. She poured a glass of orange juice and pictured Robbie's dark curly hair and wide shoulders. Was she really in a hurry to return to Manhattan or was she afraid something might happen? She couldn't fall in love now; that would ruin everything.

She wiped her hands on her skirt and climbed the circular staircase. There was no time to think about Robbie. She had to make sure Brigit ate a healthy breakfast so in two days when she walked down the aisle her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled.

*   *   *

Sydney hung her ivory Dior gown in the closet. She folded Francis's bow tie and tossed his silk shirt in the laundry. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror and thought it had been a wonderful night.

She and Francis had stood at the edge of Kasteli Castle and watched the sunset over the caldera. Pink and purple clouds had drifted over the ocean and Sydney had thought it really was possible to be happy. Francis had wrapped his arm around her waist and she wanted to stay there forever.

They nibbled vegetable croquettes and filo kasseropita. Francis poured glasses of Moët & Chandon and they danced to Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra. He whispered in her ear that they should get out of there and she felt like a young girl escaping from her senior prom.

They took a taxi to the villa and entered the tile foyer. Francis sat at the round kitchen table and Sydney prepared bowls of pistachio ice cream. She gazed at his clear green eyes and remembered when they were first married and could talk for hours.

*   *   *

Now she picked up her wooden hairbrush and remembered Brigit's face when she came home from the dinner.

Sydney was thirsty in the middle of the night and slipped down to the kitchen. She discovered Brigit clutching a glass of warm milk and honey. Her Givenchy gown was crumpled and her blond hair had escaped its diamond clip.

Brigit explained she'd had too much champagne and she'd be fine after a good night's sleep. She grabbed a pear and climbed the staircase to her bedroom.

Sydney thought Brigit was probably just nervous. In two days she would stand at the altar and her whole life would change. She had a new life in New York and Hollywood and friends who were movie stars. Paparazzi would snap her photo and she would always worry about her hair and makeup.

Sydney rubbed her lips with lipstick and thought she would go downstairs and make a pot of coffee. She and Brigit could talk about selecting roses for the bridal bouquet and making sure the baker made enough strawberry cupcakes. Sometimes the best way to face the future was to concentrate on today.

She remembered when Brigit arrived at Summerhill six months after Nathaniel left. She had deep circles under her eyes and her crepe suit and leather pumps were replaced by jeans and sneakers.

*   *   *

“Darling, I wasn't expecting you until this evening.” Sydney walked down the stone steps. “I'm going into town to pick up a banana cream pie from Crumbs. I invited the Buchmans for dinner and we're having baked halibut and sautéed green beans.”

“I took the day off,” Brigit explained. “I had a sudden desire to jog around Town Pond and drink a cappuccino at Hampton Coffee Company.”