A Summer to Remember(7)
His background was mostly English on his father’s side with a touch of French Huguenot and Welsh in his family tree. The Branson family had called America their home since well before the American Revolution. Paul’s mother, on the other hand, was a first generation American his father had met in her native Netherlands. Although she was technically Dutch and had grown up there her whole life until she married Paul’s father and moved to the States, her mother was a German who’d relocated from Hamburg, fell in love with a Dutchman and the quiet city of Enschede.
As far as what I knew about Ashley, the bitch could trace her family line back to the Mayflower—on both sides of the family tree. She was a rare breed indeed and it looked like Paul planned to hold on to her with both hands.
“So, where is this gorgeous, beautiful and untouchable Ashley?” I inquired as Paul tied the straps to my bikini and handed me back my sunscreen.
“Listen, I am almost out in terms of my beverage of choice. Can I bring you anything from the kitchen?”
I smiled and realized he was better than me when it came to avoiding questions.
“Belvedere vodka and Perrier please. I’m watching my weight.”
Paul stood and grinned back at me, showing a perfect set of straight, even white teeth. “From where I am standing, you’re perfect the way you are.”
“Thanks for the compliment but I’d like to keep this beach body.”
He looked me up and down with less than casual or friendly intent. “I can see why.”
I rolled my eyes. “You have a girlfriend, remember?”
“Yeah but that certainly doesn’t mean I’m dead,” he mumbled under his breath and strode toward the house.
I lay back and breathed out loud. I could finally relax for a minute or two. If I had remembered what Paul could bring out in me, I would have stayed in my room until he’d decided to leave.
Stupid me. Always a stickler for trouble but I had to admit I loved it and the feeling of danger, like I was playing with fire in the pit of my stomach, drove me further towards a goal that was ultimately unachievable.
Chapter Three
“Let the party get started because Talia is in the house!” a deep, husky voice with a slight Boston accent greeted loudly.
I stood from my lounger and ran over to embrace my best friend.
“It’s been so long! Have I told you how much I miss your ass now that you have abandoned me and moved to the City of dirty angels?” I greeted in a cordial tone.
“No, actually you haven’t but the longer I am there in that cesspit, the more I want to leave and try it out here on the East Coast. I am so sick of fake and phony people and their stupid goddamn pretensions. Ugh! I actually can feel the filth of that place as it buries itself in my pores.”
If I was pretty in that perfect white-girl way then Talia was stunning in that “she’s ethnic but beautiful” way. She had one of those gorgeous olive toned complexions which threw people off and started the guessing game of what her ethnicity was although really, she was just Italian and something else—what that something else was remained a mystery because her mother never discussed her past and the Italian was from her father’s side.
Talia’s stepfather was Anglo but he’d treated her like his own daughter and for that, she had been grateful beyond belief.
Besides her olive skin, she had long dark brown hair with a slight wave to it that ended at mid-back. Her eyelashes were so impossibly full and long, they looked fake. Her nose was classically Northern Italian while she possessed cheekbones most women would kill for, full sensual lips and pale green eyes which were so expressive, you always knew how she was feeling in any given situation.
“How the hell did you get here?” I inquired as I grabbed her vanity case.
She towered over me in a pair of four-inch, Christian Louboutin sandals which showed off perfect feet that obviously were subject to pedicures on a regular basis. She looked stunning in a pair of dressy indigo jeans which fit her like a second skin and a short sleeved white peasant blouse that gave off the perfect bohemian chic look.
“Your brother,” she whispered conspiratorially “Seriously, I was going to rent a car at La Guardia and drive up but he texted me to inform me he would be happy to pick me up at the airport and we could drive out here to Southampton together. You know me—when have I have ever turned down a free ride? Plus, it’s more money in my pocket. Where’s Savannah and Autumn?”