The High Season(30)

“I have other committed relationships, yes. You accepted that. Have things changed?”

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe.”

Adeline’s voice skittered around, but Daniel never lost his soft monotone. Doe had to strain every muscle to hear him.

“I see.”

“I did agree to your terms. Yes. But I didn’t think that your latest mistress would be at the same parties, either! I don’t care too much about Samantha’s existence, but I do care that she’s in my face. Our agreement was New York was my territory.”

“She’s staying in Amagansett, I could hardly not invite her. I thought you two could be friends. You have a lot in—”

“If you complete that sentence, that hoodie is in the ocean.”

Oh, please, let me get that shot, Doe thought. Us Weekly, here I come!

She moved to the right of the door, hoping to get a photo at an angle.

“I can’t talk to you about this now,” Daniel said. “It is extremely unprofessional for you to bring it up—”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t mean to say unprofessional. I meant to say unmannerly.”

“Oh, really? Well, I meant to say fuck you.”

Doe heard the footsteps and was around the fireplace before Adeline had clattered back into the room, moving fast. Doe flattened against the stone but the two were intent only on each other.

Daniel reached Adeline and grabbed her arm. It was a hard grab. Doe felt sweat spring along her spine. They were in profile, their faces and bodies in perfect tense lines of fury. She snapped the shot.

His voice was so clear. Doe knew that low pitch of threat. Her stomach turned over.

“You don’t want to start this. Not with me.”

    “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I create the narrative. Not you.”

Adeline threw off his arm. She stalked out of the room. Daniel let out a breath. She watched his shoulders move. He waited until he heard the front door slam. Then he walked out into the hall.

Doe backed up and slipped out the door. It closed behind her with a soft click. Damn, shoes. She’d left them behind.



* * *



—

“EXCUSE ME. CINDERELLA?”

Her sandals dangled from his fingers. He was about her age, twenty-two or -three. A face to take your breath away. She felt his ticking assessment, up, down, all around. Blond hair, blue eyes the color of Miami ocean when the sky was white.

She chose not to smile. This one was too used to the smiles of girls.

“Prince Charming—I knew you’d show up eventually. How did you find me?”

“You’re the only barefoot girl.” He held the shoes out of her reach. “How come I don’t know you?”

“Do you know everyone?”

“I know all the beautiful girls in the Hamptons.”

“I could have sworn you took in more territory than that.”

“Sabrina!” He shook his head. “I’ve had about six girlfriends who were obsessed with that movie. I don’t get it. She ends up with the boring old guy?”

“Who controls the family fortune. Is that so dumb? Anyway, it’s all about the clothes.”

“I knew that. So, I found these inside the house.”

“I’m a friend of Lark’s.”

“Coincidence. Me too. Yet I don’t know you.”

“I had to tiptoe out. Daniel was wearing his hoodie,” she said. “Apparently you’re not supposed to interrupt him.”

He shrugged. “Stupid house rule, right? But at least it’s out in the open. It’s those hidden ones that catch you. Anyway, I’d put up with it if I got to live in that house, wouldn’t you?”

    “I don’t put up with anything,” she said. She meant it to sound careless, but it came out hard and fast.

He tilted his head. She saw she’d snagged him. Before it was just play. “Lucas,” he said.

“Doe,” she said.

He didn’t make the “a deer” comment, like everyone did. “I think I like you.”

“The jury’s out on you, though,” Doe countered. “Just so you know.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I don’t need to be liked. Just appreciated.”

Lark suddenly careened into view, a full glass in her hand. She grabbed onto Doe and kissed her on the mouth. “You did it!” she cried. “Now I owe you me!”

Just like that, standing between the two of them, her summer shook itself out like a sail.





16


DANIEL STUCK OUT his hand. “Daniel Mantis.”

“Ruth Beamish,” Ruthie said, shaking his hand and trying to cover her embarrassment. “I’m sorry, you caught me admiring your Rothko. Your daughter told me to take a peek at the Peter Clay, and I got waylaid.”

“You like Peter’s work?”

“I worked for him back in the nineties.”

“Then you must see the painting. But first, the Rothko. Come on, you need a closer look.”

She followed him farther into the house. “It’s a lovely party, thank you. I’m sort of crashing. Adeline Clay invited me.”