No one had asked him that. Not since the topic came up shortlyafter his parents’ deaths five years ago. There had been dozens of other questions: What are you going to do with Montauk? Did your father really leave it just to you? And then the inevitable pressure from Birdie herself, wanting to know his plans, persuading him that it was too much of a burden for him to maintain on his own. But the question of whether he actually wanted to sell had never come up.
Not until right now.
“Of course he wants to,” Birdie replied with a plastic smile. “It’s time to let it go. Yes, the property is lovely, but can you imagine a five-star resort out there?” She sighed again, then turned to Lizzy. “I’m sure you understand. As a native Hamptonite.”
Lizzy’s nose scrunched up slightly, as if the term left a bad smell in its wake.
Birdie’s smile faltered. “Am I wrong?”
“Sorry,” Lizzy said. “I just don’t know anyone out here who calls themselves a Hamptonite.”
“Oh, is Hamptonian the correct term?” Birdy said, laughing again. “Or Hamptoner?”
“We just don’t really call it the Hamptons.”
“But it’s where you live.” Birdy said it slowly, as if Lizzy needed help understanding.
Lizzy smiled at her. Will could tell it was forced, as if she was struggling to maintain her patience.
“No. The Hamptons is where you visit. The rest of us live on Long Island.”
Birdie’s lips pursed. “I appreciate your perspective, Elizabeth, but let me assure you, as a professional who has made a name for herself in real estate, you live in the Hamptons. Now, you might not be in a financial position to enjoy all that it entails, but that could change with just a bit of hard work and ambition.”
Silence. Will’s eyes narrowed on his aunt. Birdie Carringtonpresented herself as an aging socialite so perfectly—all cotton sweaters and starched shirts—that he forgot how her advice sometimes barely concealed her venom.
George looked equally as angry, though it was balanced with a concerned look to Lizzy.
Will leaned forward, working to keep his tone measured. “Birdie, that was—”
“Very true,” Lizzy said, interrupting him. Then she removed the napkin from her lap and stood up. “It’s getting late and I have to work in the morning, so I hope you’ll excuse me.”
She was already turning away when Will followed suit. “I’ll walk you out.”
They were silent as they made their way out of the dining room, through the lobby to the club’s front doors. The sound of the ocean rolling nearby welcomed them when they emerged outside, and crickets filled the silence as they waited for the valet to get her truck.
It was another long moment before he stole a glance at her face. The light from the streetlamps filtered down through the trees, and the shadows of the branches danced across her skin. Her tight expression.
“I apologize for my aunt,” he finally said. “She shouldn’t have said that.”
“Said what, exactly?”
“About why you work at the bakery. Your ambition. All of it.”
“She wasn’t exactly wrong.”
He frowned. “Of course she was.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “And how would you know that?”
“Because you don’t decide to be a foreign affairs journalist just so you can stay in one place forever.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned away,watching as her truck appeared from the parking lot, driving slowly toward them.
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
His brow furrowed. “Why the hell not?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Just a mess. Remember?”
