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  To Annabelle, who was with me every minute

  CHAPTER ONE

  She almost missed the sign, but Rory McShane made the turn at the very last second, guiding her uncle’s sputtering Honda onto the smooth blacktop of Lily Pond Lane. The street was just as quiet and still as she remembered it. The midday sun filtered in through the canopy of tree branches overhead. A jogger ran gracefully on the other side of the street. She turned down the radio and lifted her hands from the steering wheel. Her palms were slick with sweat.

  Relax, she thought. Everything is going to be great.

  But there was no getting around it: Eleven weeks was a very long time. A record for them, in fact. They’d talked on the phone almost every day, and Skyped and texted and IM’d countless times, but she and Connor Rule hadn’t been face-to-face since her last trip to LA in March, and from the moment she’d crossed out of New Jersey, doubts had begun to overwhelm her. What if they didn’t know what to say to each other? What if things were awkward? What if she got to the house and realized that she was actually still the errand girl?

  That’s not going to happen, she reminded herself. For ten months, she and Connor Rule had managed to be in a happy, healthy, drama-free relationship, all while living on opposite sides of the country. Eleven weeks apart wasn’t going to change anything. All those years of being single had screwed up her hold on reality, she thought. They’d been looking forward to this all year. East Hampton was where they’d met and fallen in love, after all. Everything was going to be just fine.

  She turned into the break in the hedges and pulled up in front of the iron gates. After she typed the code Connor had given her into the silver intercom box, the gates swung open. She pressed the gas, rounded the turn, and began driving down the gravel path, past the Rules’ immense front lawn.

  The house, perched on a slight hill above the lawn, was still intimidating from a distance. But as she got closer and the faded silvery-gray shingles and bright white paint of the windows came into view, she remembered how familiar the Rules’ mansion had become to her last summer. She pulled up to the bank of garages. She left her purse on the passenger seat and got out of the car. The sea air was bracing. In the distance, she could hear the roll of waves and the squawk of seagulls. The breeze whipped up her dark curls, unsticking them from the nape of her neck. She was finally here.

  You’re still coming out for the summer, right?? Isabel had texted Rory a few months ago. Yes? I hope? My bro hasn’t done anything to piss you off?

  Wouldn’t matter if he had, Rory had texted back. You’re the one who invited me, remember?

  She walked around to the trunk of the car and unlocked it. She heard the back door of the house open with a creak.

  “Finally,” a voice said. “I almost sent a helicopter to come get you.”

  Connor stepped out of the house and walked through the rose garden, sunlight glinting off his blond hair.

  “I didn’t want to speed,” she said, her heart pounding rapidly.

  “I would have paid the ticket,” he said, coming toward her.

  She walked into his arms and tilted up her head to kiss him. As their lips touched, a jolt of electricity bounced around her rib cage, shot through her stomach, and made the backs of her knees loose and light. Instant bliss.

  “So that was a long time,” he said, looking down at her when they were done.

  “Eleven weeks,” she said. “And three days.”

  “And every one of them sucked,” he said with a smile.

  “Tell me about it.” She leaned in to kiss him one more time.

  Despite her nerves, it felt good to be back on familiar ground. The first time she’d visited Connor at USC had been a little bit of a shock. Up until then, she’d only known him as Connor Rule, Isabel’s sweet, self-effacing, gorgeous brother. But at USC, he was CONNOR RULE. They couldn’t walk around for five minutes before some guy passed and gave him a silent bro-shake, or some girl smiled shyly and said “Hey, Connor” under her breath. His years on the swim team had made him a bit of a celebrity. And his friendliness and golden-boy looks didn’t hurt, either. Even his professors seemed to adore him. “Mr. Rule, would you like to comment on this?” was a common question whenever Rory sat in on one of his classes.

  Around his friends, Connor was even more in demand. And his friends were, well, interesting. The girls were all skinny and tan and wore blousy silk tops with extrawide armholes so that people could see their lacy bras underneath. The guys drove sleek black BMWs with tinted windows and flashed gold credit cards at the campus snack bar. Sitting with them at a meal could send her self-esteem into a tailspin, as they discussed their White House internships or their summer jobs at Goldman Sachs or their plans to teach English in Uganda. What is he doing with me? she’d asked herself, more than a few times. Me, a high school senior who doesn’t even have her own car?

  Fortunately, Connor didn’t seem to be thinking that. He always introduced her as his “ultra-high-achieving girlfriend” who made him “feel like a slacker.” When she’d gotten in to Stanford early, he bragged about it to everyone they came across. But it was never enough to put her at ease. Going home to New Jersey was always a relief. Back in Stillwater, she could still be Connor’s girlfriend without having to fit into his college world. It was kind of the ideal situation, when she thought about it.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said, pressing her face against his neck and breathing in his smell of soap, laundry detergent, and shaving foam.

  “How’d the speech go?” he asked. “Did you do that line at the end about the promise of a new generation?”

  “No. It was corny.”

  “Come on! That was the best part!” he said.

  “You thought it was the best part,” she said. “Everyone else told me to cut it.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll take your word for it. I wish you’d let me come.”

  “To sit in my school gym with my mom and her tattooed boyfriend?” She took his hand. “I don’t think so. It was just a graduation.”

  “And you were just the valedictorian,” he said with a smile. He kissed her again.

  “So,” she asked when they’d finished kissing, “how does it feel to be home?”

  “Oh, you know,” he said, looking at the house over his shoulder. “This place never changes.” He stepped in front of her and grabbed her suitcase out of the trunk. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

  After hoisting her duffel over her shoulder, she followed Connor over the paving stones and through the rose garden, with its abundant red, pink, and fuchsia blooms. She lifted her wrist to look at the gold charm bracelet, the one Isabel had given her at the end of last summer. The I and R charms shone in the sun. “Isabel isn’t here yet, is she?” Rory asked.

  “Nah, she’s coming tomorrow with Fee,” Connor said over his shoulder. “She’s flying back from California today.”

  Inside the house, a ball of barking white fluff charged toward her down the hall.

  “Trixie!” Rory said.

  Trixie circled Rory’s legs, trying to stand on her tiny back feet.

  “Hi, sweetie pie! I’ve missed you!” Rory put down her bag and crouched to pet Trixie on the head.

&
nbsp; The dog responded with a few sharp, happy barks. When Rory stood back up, Trixie trotted behind them down the hall.

  “I think she wants you to take her to the beach,” he said.

  “Only if Bianca isn’t here.”

  “I told you,” he said over his shoulder. “My mom fired her.”

  “I know. But you didn’t tell me why.” Bianca, Mrs. Rule’s house manager, had been horrible to Rory last summer, but Rory had assumed Mrs. Rule was happy with how she ran things.

  “No clue,” Connor said. “I try not to get involved with any of that domestic stuff.” He stopped in front of the door to her old room. “Okay. The sleeping arrangements. You can have your old room again. Or”—he gave her a sly look—“you can be in my room.”

  “Are you kidding? What about your mom?”

  Connor shrugged. “She likes you now.”

  “I’ll just be in here again, if that’s okay,” she said, opening the door.

  She walked into the cream-and-blue-colored guest room and looked around with a smile. She’d longed for the quiet luxury of this room so many times over the past year. The king-sized bed with its downy soft mattress, the comfy club chairs, the elegant writing desk, the nautical map of Long Island hanging over the headboard—it all looked exactly the same. The only changes were the more current hardcover novels stacked on the nightstands and a vase of white-and-pink peonies on the desk.

  “It’s so pretty in here,” Rory said. “And I love peonies.” She dropped her bag on the rug and walked over to the flowers. Trixie was circling her feet, eager to be petted. “They’re beautiful,” she said, bending down. “But not as beautiful as this little dog right here.”

  “You’re beautiful,” Connor said, crouching behind her and kissing her on the neck.

  She turned toward him and kissed him on the lips. He pressed her close to him and slowly pulled her down to the floor.

  “Wait,” she murmured. “Are we alone?”

  “Pretty much,” he replied, still kissing her.

  The sound of approaching footsteps down the hall made them both shoot to their feet.

  “Rory, is that you?” said a familiar voice. “May I come in?”

  “Uh, sure, Mom,” Connor muttered, and Mrs. Rule strode into the room.

  Once again Rory was struck by how such a tiny, slim woman could exert the presence of a person twice her size. Especially because Mrs. Rule seemed to have gotten even tinier and slimmer since last summer. Her roomy boatneck sweater hinted at a significantly narrower chest, and her skinny jeans showed off legs that looked like toothpicks. Rory wondered if she’d been sick. But Mrs. Rule’s hair was fuller and lusher than ever. It fell in loose, beachy waves past her shoulders.

  “Rory,” she said, coming straight toward her. “You’re here.” She grasped Rory’s hand and leaned in to give her an air-kiss on the cheek. “You didn’t need to bring your own car. We could have found one for you here. I think the Mercedes is probably free—”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Rory said. “I didn’t mind driving. And thanks for having me again. It’s really good to be back.”

  Mrs. Rule smiled. “Well, we’re all very happy you chose to come back. Especially Connor.” She looked approvingly at her son. “Steve didn’t come back. He’s decided to teach tennis down in Palm Beach. As if anyone would want to be there for the summer.” Mrs. Rule gave a dismissive shrug. “And if there’s anything you need—more hangers, a shoe tree—just let me know.” Mrs. Rule’s gaze lingered on Rory’s duffel bag on the floor. “When do you start your job?”

  “You mean my internship? I start Monday.”

  “What is it called?” Mrs. Rule asked. “The East End Festival?”

  “That’s right,” Rory said. “It’s sort of a film festival slash music festival. Like South by Southwest.”

  “South by South… what?” Mrs. Rule asked.

  “Hey, Mom,” Connor broke in. “Rory also got into Princeton. But she decided on Stanford.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Rule took a slight step backward. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Thank you,” said Rory.

  “Stanford is an excellent school,” said Mrs. Rule. “But I know the tuition is pretty steep.”

  “They gave me a really nice package,” Rory said.

  “Rory was class valedictorian,” Connor added.

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Rule. Her steel-blue eyes seemed to peer right into Rory’s soul. “How nice.”

  She knows, Rory thought. She knows that I know.

  The secret about Mrs. Rule and Isabel’s real father had gnawed at Rory all year. It felt a little unethical—and icky—to know something so shocking about Connor’s family that even he didn’t know. How did you tell your boyfriend that his mom had been in love with another man eighteen years ago and that his younger sister was actually his half sister? Was that even something you did tell your boyfriend? The easy solution had been to push it to the back of her mind and spend the school year making sure it stayed there. After all, she reasoned, it wasn’t her place to say anything. Especially since Isabel had sworn her to secrecy. But now, being back under the Rules’ roof, it seemed inevitable that Connor would find out. And when he did, Rory was going to have to pretend she didn’t know. Just thinking about that gave her a stomachache.

  Mrs. Rule continued to give Rory a penetrating stare for a few more seconds, and then she turned to Connor.

  “So, we’re having some people over for dinner tonight,” she said. “I hope you two can join us? Sloane and Gregory will be there, too.”

  Phew, Rory thought. She was in the clear.

  “Sure,” Connor said.

  “Do you need any help?” Rory asked before she could stop herself. “I mean, not with serving or anything but—”

  Mrs. Rule smiled and gave Rory’s arm a little pat. “Don’t be silly. You’re our guest now. You relax and have fun.” She turned back to Connor. “How about some Ping-Pong before dinner? Six thirty?”

  “Great,” Connor said.

  “Wonderful.” She turned to Rory. “Once you’re all unpacked, you should go down to the pool. It’s a lovely day. Best not to let it go to waste.” Mrs. Rule eyed Rory’s bag one more time. “Come on, Trixie. Let’s go.”

  Trixie gave Rory one last hungry glance and then followed Mrs. Rule out of the room.

  “That was the longest conversation I’ve had with your mom since last summer,” Rory said.

  “What about Christmas?” Connor asked.

  “Asking me to pass the sweet potatoes doesn’t count,” she said. She reached into her suitcase and pulled out a small wrapped box. “So I know I’m a little bit late with this, but I wanted to give it to you in person.”

  “Ror,” Connor said gently. “I told you no birthday gifts.”

  “But you got me something in March,” she said.

  “That’s different. You’re my girlfriend.” He kissed her again on the cheek.

  “Oh, just take it,” she said, handing him the present.

  She held her breath as he ripped open the paper and then opened the small box. “Wow.” He removed the silver Swiss Army knife and held it up to the light. “This is cool.”

  “Here, look,” she said with relief, turning it so he could see the inscription on the underside. RM+CR.

  “Very old school,” he teased. “I like it.”

  “Do you really?”

  “No. I love it.” He kissed her. “I’m coming up north every single weekend next year.”

  “Oh, really,” she said. “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a fact,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I may even have to get a little place up there. Palo Alto, here I come.”

  His lips met hers again, and this time Rory felt a surge of need for him. Normally she had to be around Connor for at least a couple of days before she could be this unselfconscious. Now she didn’t care. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back. He pulled away from her and turned to close the open door. />
  “But what if your mom comes back?” Rory asked.

  “You’re a guest here,” he said, shutting the door with a grin. “You’re going to have to get used to having a little privacy.”

  The door shut with a click.

  Isabel drummed her nails on the arm rest and stared out the plastic window at the empty blue sky. Somewhere below the cloud cover was the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Isabel grabbed hold of her white wine and took another long sip. The only good thing right now about going home was flying first class, even if the seats on this plane weren’t as big and roomy as she would have liked.

  “Do you mind?” asked the man next to her. He was a businessman in his forties. Up until this moment he had been hard at work, pounding the keys of a tiny laptop. The screen was filled with numbers.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  He eyed her wine.

  “I’m a nervous flier,” she explained. “I’m twenty-one,” she added.

  The man shrugged and went back to pounding his keyboard.

  Isabel turned back to the window and constructed another sentence in the e-mail she planned to write to Mr. Knox. Flight was uneventful. Got kind of buzzed on plane. Thought a lot about what you said at dinner. Determined to be positive.

  Maybe it was a lame idea to write so soon, and about such trivial stuff. But Mr. Knox—Peter, he always kept telling her to call him Peter—had insisted.

  “I know you’re going to be far away from now on, but I still want to be in touch,” he had said to her the night before in the crowded Beverly Hills restaurant. “Send me an e-mail when you get home. Let me know how it’s going.”

  “I can tell you right now how it’s going,” Isabel said, poking at her penne pomodoro. “Terribly. You sure there’s no way I can just stay with you for the summer?”

  Peter gave her a pained smile. “I would love that, but Michelle wouldn’t be comfortable, and Holly and Krista, well…”

  “That’s okay,” Isabel broke in. “I get it. Your family doesn’t know—my family doesn’t know.”

  “I’m just waiting for your parents to take the lead with this, Isabel,” he said, giving her a gentle smile. “Out of respect for your mom.”