But Sofia existed on a different plane of influence. Most of the money that flowed through their community could be traced directly back to her family. If Oasis Springs was its own overpriced suburban kingdom, then Sofia was the de facto queen. Queens didn’t follow trends. They didn’t acknowledge trends existed. That was what Rachel envied, the freedom that came with removing yourself from the conversation.
A cloud of Jasmin des Anges wafted toward Rachel as Sofia glided up her walkway carrying an elaborately wrapped gift. The woman’s insistence on bathing in expensive perfume was considered her single social misstep. But Rachel knew better. Sofia managed her image like a chess master. That familiar whiff of bergamot and jasmine inspired fear in every socialite in DC.
Rachel ran a hand over her ponytail and pushed her shoulders back as if she were wearing an Armani pantsuit instead of a vintage Santana T-shirt from college. Sofia’s pleasant smile wavered when she got a closer look at the black-and-white raglan. “Hello, Rachel,” she said. “I’m so sorry for stopping by like this. I should have called.”
“No, it’s fine. I was just—” Rachel’s eyes fell to the laundry. Sofia followed her gaze with raised eyebrows.
“Well, I don’t want to interrupt your chores,” Sofia said. “Beto and I were so disappointed we couldn’t make it to Matthew’s birthday party.” She offered the present. “Could you give this to him, along with our regrets?”
Rachel had sent the invitation with no expectation they would accept. She’d never seen this woman at any event that didn’t have valet parking.
“Thank you.” Rachel accepted the gift and tried to resist the urge to drop it on his dirty undershirts.
“Great.” Sofia flashed another blinding smile. “I also have an ulterior motive for stopping by. Again, I could have called, but I hate asking for favors over the phone.”
“A favor?” Rachel tried to keep her voice neutral. The lingering throb at the base of her skull intensified. Was this a trap? Sofia was one of Matt’s biggest financial donors and was actively lobbying behind the scenes for his congressional bid. Had he called to complain about what happened? Were they colluding to fix a situation that needed handling?
“I’m sure you know our foundation chooses a couple to host the art gala every year,” Sofia said.
Rachel tensed when she mentioned the origin of chartreuse-gate. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Herman and Matilda were chosen one year, I believe.” She remembered how bored her mother-in-law had been by it, announcing the honor during the salad course at dinner. “There are no plus-ones, unfortunately,” she’d sighed. “That family is very cheap.”
Sofia nodded. “The Abbotts ran one of our most successful campaigns. This year we chose Judith and Karl, but with everything that happened…”
Everything being Karl Harris running off with his wife’s twenty-seven-year-old hairdresser and moving his medical practice to Tampa. Judith’s settlement wasn’t enough to cover the mortgage, and she was currently living in exile, otherwise known as a two-bedroom condo on the southeast edge of town. The women she used to consider friends would only whisper her name behind their hands with down-turned eyes as though she were dead instead of working at a Pottery Barn.
“Anyway.” Sofia shook off the thought with a delicate shudder. “We need new hosts. I know it’s last minute, but would you be interested?”
“You want me to help find new hosts?”
Sofia’s plush lips tightened briefly and then curved into a fresh smile. “No, darling. I want you and Matt to host this year. He told me years ago about your art background, and I thought—well, that makes you the perfect choice, doesn’t it?”
Whenever someone brought up Rachel’s art, it felt like they were talking about a different person. That woman had been raised by a musician who believed that creativity unbound by expectations was the best way to live your life. Her father, Peter, used to say that Rachel’s photography was a gift she was obligated to share with the world. She’d convinced herself that leaving Faith, then two years old, to have a real college experience was necessary to live up to all that potential. She’d planned to settle down with her daughter after she graduated, and build another life of swirling creativity, unbound by rules or expectations.
But none of that was true. She wasn’t destined for greatness. And sometimes Faith still held her hand so tight it hurt. Like her mother might disappear.