Southern Simmer

Bianca put the finishing touches on the tablescape and stepped back to admire her work. Crystal glistened and silver gleamed. Plates embossed with her husband’s family crest lent an aura of prominence, while roses cut from the garden in shades of coral and pink scented the air. In addition to immediate family, her husband’s four closest friends and their significant others would join them to celebrate Beau’s birthday. Casting her eyes to the haint blue porch ceiling, she said a silent prayer her husband approved of her efforts. Beau would tolerate nothing less than perfection for his sixtieth birthday.
The garden gate swung open, and Scarlett entered the courtyard laden with shopping bags. Bianca wished her stepdaughter spent as much time searching for somewhere to live as she did frequenting the boutiques on King Street. At this rate, the ancient oak floorboards in her second-floor closet were bound to give out, crushed under the weight of designer shoes and handbags.
Climbing the steps onto the porch, Scarlett crossed the piazza and deposited her load in Mateo’s arms. “Would you please take these to my room?”
“Of course.” Mateo flashed her a flirtatious grin as he backed into the house.
Bianca suspected Mateo had romantic feelings for his employer’s daughter, but Scarlett was too haughty to give him the time of day. She wondered how long her husband’s valet had been watching her from the doorway. He’d been sneaking up on her a lot lately. Was he waiting for her to make a mistake, or was he hoping for a chance to discuss something important?
Scarlett wiggled her red-lacquered fingers at the table. “What’s all this?”
“Your father’s birthday dinner is tonight, remember?” Bianca said, wiping a smudge from a crystal wine glass with the hem of her blouse.
“Duh, Bianca. I could never forget Daddy’s birthday. I’m curious why you set the table on the piazza when it’s a thousand degrees outside.”
Bianca moved to the edge of the porch, a dreamy expression on her face as she gazed out over the garden. “It’ll cool off by the time the guests arrive. After the recent rain, the garden is lush and the gentle sounds of the fountain provide a soothing backdrop, creating a peaceful oasis in the heart of our little courtyard.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. Our sun-parched garden is not a setting in one of your romance novels.”
Beau emerged from the house. Noticing his daughter’s sour expression, he asked, “Are you two arguing again? It’s my birthday. Can’t you let it rest for one day?”
“I’m trying to save your birthday celebration from ruin,” Scarlett argued. “It’s August in Charleston, the most humid city on the planet, and your brilliant wife set the table on the piazza.”
Beau looked adoringly at his only child. “I agree. It is hot out here,” he said, fanning his face. “We should definitely eat inside.”
“But I spent hours making sure everything was just right,” Bianca protested. “According to the forecast, the humidity will drop this afternoon, bringing in cooler temps for the evening.”
“The weather forecast is never accurate. Get the staff to help you move everything to the dining room.” With barely a glance at the table, Beau turned his attention to his daughter. “I’ve been looking for you. Can I interest you in a sailing outing? This light wind is ideal.”
Scarlett beamed. “Sure! Let’s do it.”
Father and daughter entered the house, leaving a bewildered Bianca to contemplate the monumental task ahead. Resetting the table would take hours. She would have to cancel her blowout and nail appointment. Meanwhile, Beau and Scarlett would spend the afternoon on the water. Bianca couldn’t remember the last time Beau took her sailing.
Whatever, she thought, shaking off her irritation. I won’t cause a fuss on his birthday.
Bianca often gave in where Scarlett was concerned. She couldn’t tolerate the endless arguing, impulsive behavior, and the threatened suicide attempts. Beau spent hours coaxing his daughter off the ledge. But whenever Bianca suggested her stepdaughter needed psychiatric help, her husband told her to mind her own business.
Bianca was gingerly gathering up the heirloom dinner plates when a hand touched her elbow, startling her. “Geez, Mateo! Stop sneaking up on me! Beau will divorce me if I break one of his precious plates.”
“Give me those,” Mateo said, taking the stack of plates from her. “Why do you let him treat you like the household staff?”
“Have you forgotten I used to be a maid here?” Bianca muttered as she loaded up a tray with sterling flatware.
By the time she finished with the dining room table, the sailors had returned, and Beau was currently occupying their bathroom. He didn’t come out until nearly six o’clock, leaving her only half an hour to shower and dress. She assessed her reflection in the mirror. Her jet-black hair grazed her sun-kissed shoulders, which peeked out from the sleek, white sleeveless jumpsuit. She hoped her husband noticed her appearance. Beau had paid little attention to her since his daughter left her husband and moved back home six months ago.
By the time Bianca descended the sweeping staircase, Mateo was greeting the first guests at the front door—Vivienne Wentworth, an attractive blonde with a Botoxed face and puffy lips, married to Robert, Beau’s golf partner.
The next guests arrived on their heels. Ralph Sterling had been Beau’s closest friend since childhood. His date for the evening was yet another bleached blonde dingbat, one of the many he’d paraded to social events since his wife’s passing from Parkinson’s disease a year ago.
The last couple, James and Virginia Ashford, were the epitome of old Charleston wealth—stiff, reserved, and utterly predictable. Beau and James had been high school friends and roommates at Chapel Hill.
A server presented the small group a tray of whiskey sours, Beau’s favorite beverage, and they migrated through the open French doors to the piazza.
Virginia closed her eyes as she drew in a deep breath. “Isn’t this weather splendid? We finally got a break from the humidity.”
Ralph slapped Beau on the back. “As much as you love the outdoors, I’m surprised we’re not eating out here.”
“Blame Bianca!” Scarlett said, gliding onto the porch in a puff of pink chiffon that resembled a loofah ball. “I tried to tell her we should eat on the piazza, but she was worried her hair would frizz up.”
Although seething, Bianca managed to laugh it off. The last traces of her good mood vanished as she spent a few minutes with each of their guests. The evening went from bad to worse when Ralph’s dingbat, Mary, made a smug comment about her being a trophy wife at dinner.
“Excuse me,” Bianca said, her fork slipping from her hand and clattering onto the plate. “Why would you say something like that?”
Mary blushed. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You’re beautiful with a great body, and you’re so much younger than your husband. How did you two meet?”
Scarlett, who was seated next to her father at the opposite end of the table, burst out laughing. “Bianca used to be our maid. When my mother died, she wormed her way into his bed. I wouldn’t call her a trophy wife—I would call her an opportunist. Though the less tasteful term is gold digger.”
Bianca stared daggers down the table at her husband, waiting for him to defend her, but he remained silent as he stared down at his salad plate. Why didn’t he ever reprimand his daughter? Was he afraid of Scarlett?
Bianca downed the rest of her wine and signaled to a server for more. She said little during the remaining courses, waiting until after the cake was served to slip upstairs to her bedroom.
Mateo’s words echoed in her mind. Why do you let him treat you like the household staff? Because a spade was a spade. To her face, Charleston society unabashedly called her his trophy wife. Behind her back, they referred to her as his maid. Bianca was the pig, and no amount of lipstick could ever transform her into his first wife—the elegant woman so treasured by all, including Bianca.
She sank onto the edge of the king-size bed she shared with her husband. They had once enjoyed a healthy sex life. Despite his age, Beau had an insatiable appetite for sex, and together they fulfilled each other’s wildest fantasies. But those encounters had become fewer and farther between these past few months—since Scarlett moved in. Beau showed little interest in Bianca, and no amount of enticing on her part could tempt him.
Bianca caught sight of the mystery novel on her nightstand, the one about a woman who had staged her own death to escape an abusive husband. The character had considered divorce. Didn’t every woman, during rough patches in their marriage? But she had grown accustomed to the perks of being married to a wealthy man—lavish trips, stylish clothes, a magazine-worthy home. So what if she had to put up with a demanding, egocentric husband? Wasn’t it worth it? She wasn’t so sure anymore. She was tired of Beau taking her for granted. She felt so . . . so trapped. The thought shook her to her core, and she shot off the bed like a sprinter from the starting block, suddenly filled with energy and focus.
A plan formed in Bianca’s mind as she crossed the hall to Beau’s study. She wouldn’t go far, and she’d only be gone long enough to clear her head. She pulled the framed painting away from the wall and punched in the combination to access the large safe. Inside, velvet boxes containing the family jewels were stacked neatly. Bianca wasn’t allowed to wear them. The priceless jewelry had been passed down through generations of Beau’s ancestors and would one day belong to Scarlett.
Beau’s collection of Rolex watches was stored in a leather case, and beneath it were several paper-banded stacks of cash, reserved for emergencies. Saving herself felt like an emergency to Bianca.
“What’re you doing?”
Mateo’s voice was suddenly close to her ear. She instinctively slammed the safe shut and turned to face him. “Mateo! I told you to stop sneaking up on me. I’m going away for a while.” She brushed past him. “But don’t tell my husband. I don’t want anyone to know.”
“No worries. You can trust me. I’ll get your suitcase out of storage.”
Back in her room, Bianca gathered an assortment of garments from her wardrobe, folding them into neat piles on the bed. Voices drifted through the open doors leading to the upper piazza. Everyone had gone outside to the garden for after-dinner drinks. Their location would work in her favor as she made her escape.
Bianca was deciding between two pairs of running shoes when Mateo wheeled in the suitcase and hoisted it onto the bed. “Sorry that took so long. I went downstairs to check on the guests. They’ve gone back outside to the garden.”
“I can hear them.” Bianca dropped both pairs of shoes in the suitcase and arranged the rest of the clothes on top.
“Where will you go?” Mateo asked, looming over her shoulder.
“I’d rather not say.” Bianca tossed her mystery novel into the suitcase and zipped it up. “But I’m not leaving the Lowcountry. There’s a new bed and breakfast I’ve been dying to try. I won’t be gone long—just a few days at most.”
“That sounds nice. You deserve some time to yourself,” Mateo said, lifting the suitcase off the bed.
Laughter erupted from the party outside. “You should go back downstairs, Mateo, before Beau wonders where you are.”
“Yes, ma’am. Text me when you get where you’re going, so I know you’re safe,” he replied, leaving the suitcase upright by the door.
Peeking around the doorjamb, Bianca waited until Mateo descended the main staircase before summoning an Uber to meet her at the end of South Battery. After memorizing the driver’s license plate number, she placed her cell phone on the nightstand and turned off the lights. She sneaked down the back stairs and slipped out through the mudroom door.
Bianca said little to the Uber driver during the twenty-minute ride. Upon arriving at Charleston Airport, she stepped out of the car and headed inside. Bypassing the ticket counter, she walked through the terminal, past baggage claim, and exited the building again. She flagged down a yellow taxi, and when it pulled up to the curb, she tapped on the window.
The old man inside grumbled as he rolled down the window. “Can I help you?”
She flashed him a wad of twenties. “Can you take me to Water’s Edge?”
He brightened at the sight of the cash. “You bet!” he said, hopping out of the car to help with her bag.