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Her mouth pinches. “I know your internship starts soon and I have to get back for work, but can we please not talk about that? While we’re here, we’re in vacation mode, and you’re all mine.”
Considering we hang out all the time and she treats every free moment like a mini-vacation anyway, I find her proclamation silly, but I love her enough to go along with whatever she wants. “Okay, deal.”
She squeals, radiating so much joy that I can’t help but soak it in like a sponge. That’s the thing about Sybil, she spreads positivity wherever she goes. She’s like a light that can’t be turned off. It comes naturally to her, and I know part of that is because she’s lived such a blessed life, but I also think it’s who she is at her core. If we’d traded places in life, I’d still be a glass half-empty kind of gal and she’d still be a half-full.
But I’m working on it. If anyone can rub some good energy off on me, it’s Sybil Laurence.
“I can’t wait for you to see the new house.” She launches into her explanations, going on and on about why they sold the Hamptons house and built this brand-new place on the Nantucket Sound. I only half-listen because I’ve heard it before and luxury real estate isn’t my thing. Besides, she already knows I’d be happy to travel anywhere that wasn’t Nantucket.
Too many memories.
But the Laurences sold their Hamptons place the summer before they found me and bought the lot for this house that same year. They broke ground the summer I was here and took almost two years to build this place to their exact specifications. I still can’t believe my shitty luck that out of all the locations they had to choose from, Nantucket was the one they picked. I suspect it has something to do with one-upping the Kings, though I haven’t dared ask.
Sybil isn’t fazed by my worry. I used to steer clear of people like her, even went so far as to tell myself they were annoying, but deep down I was jealous. I didn’t understand why my life was cast in gray shadows while people like Sybil lived under golden hues. Those thoughts used to grind me down, but nothing about Sybil Laurence is a grind and I’ve learned to let those negative emotions go when it comes to my cousin. The truth is, she’s not fake. She’s not ungrateful. She’s not clueless. She’s fucking wonderful.
I’ve known her for almost two years and to this day I still find it hard imagining her dating someone as crabby as Ethan King. I bet it did him good to be with her, that she brought out all his best traits. Now that I know Sybil, it’s obvious why he was so messed up after she ended their engagement, why he grasped at whatever he could to fill the void she left, even if that ended up being me for a short time.
She tugs me to the waiting car and we slip inside while the driver loads our luggage. Twenty minutes later and we’re winding up a cobbled driveway to a pristine navy-blue Cape Cod style house overlooking the beach. It’s two large stories tall and twice as wide, surrounded by a lush green lawn, full trees, and flowering hydrangea bushes. It’s bright and cheery while still being sophisticated, the kind of house that could be clipped out of a luxury magazine spread and pasted on a dream board.
“Wow,” is the only word that comes out of my mouth.
“I know, right? I insisted on the Cape Cod style, especially the cedar-shake shingles with the white shutters. It’s just so appropriate for the location.”
She’d told me that she’d had the biggest hand in designing alongside her mother, and to hear the pride in her voice makes me equally proud of them both.
“You obviously know what you’re doing. In another life you would’ve made a great home designer.”
“Don’t I know it,” she tuts playfully.
She tilts her head, her tumble of auburn curls falling down her back as she takes it all in. The light filters through the car windows to reflect off her hair, making her glow in a hazy pink aura. She reminds me of a Cupid’s angel, and not just because her birthday is Valentine’s Day, but also because she possesses a soft effortless style in every shade of feminine. I know everyone says we look so alike that we could be twins, but that doesn’t mean we are twins. There are so many glaring differences between us it’s almost laughable.
“What’s your favorite thing about it?” she asks and I dart my gaze back to the house, really taking it in this time.
The answer to her question comes easy. “It’s not ostentatious.”
This is the house of the understated billionaire, and to be quite honest, it’s not what I expected. In Manhattan the Laurence family owns a ten thousand square foot penthouse and Sybil’s trendy loft, and those aren’t even their main residences. That’s an hour from the city, a gargantuan mansion modeled straight out of the French Renaissance era. Beyond those three, they own property all over the globe, but just like so many other one-percenters, a summer home on the East Coast is a staple.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she says happily. “It’s exactly what I was going for. Thank God Daddy let me design this one. He was going to buy a modern disaster and don’t get me wrong, I love a good modern home, but this is Nantucket.”
She’s right. Nantucket has an old money feel about it and I agree that the best houses are designed to look like they were built at the turn of the twentieth century even if they are brand-new. And this place has every detail of Nantucket curb appeal covered, even right down to the cobbled driveway lined with blue hydrangea bushes bursting with the flowers. I can already smell them now, their earthly floral scent wafting through the car’s AC system.
But what I love most about this house is that in no way, shape, or form, does it resemble the Kings’ Nantucket home. Not only is this place located on the opposite side of the island, we’re facing the Nantucket Sound instead of the Atlantic, but this house has established trees and a flat beach walk-out. The homes themselves are much closer together over here and they’re not nearly as big either. This entire neighborhood has a different energy, one that feels cozy and welcoming and full of life compared to the breezy open bluffs of the King’s neighborhood.
“Don’t worry.” She grips my knee, her voice dropping. “We’re not going to run into anyone we don’t want to.”
She knows what I’m thinking. Of course she knows. Maybe she’s thinking the same thing too. Maybe she’s just as nervous as I am, but she’s better at hiding it.
“If you really wanted to avoid the King family for the rest of your life, you should’ve built somewhere else,” I point out.
She shakes her head and sits up straighter. “It’ll be fine. Even if you do see them, they can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Just seeing them would hurt me,” I confess, and she narrows her eyes.
“Those assholes planned to leave you homeless and they would’ve sent you to prison if they could’ve, but guess what? They couldn’t. The court sided with you. Don’t let them dictate your life for another second. Why do you think we built this house here? They don’t own this island and my family loves Nantucket, too. We used to spend a lot of time on this island back when we were all friends. So guess what?”
“Uh—they can kiss our asses?”
She laughs heartily. “That’s right. If we want to be here, then we have every right.”
