Chapter Five- The Hamptons
803 Words
The drive out to the King family house took two and a half hours, and Elena spent every minute of it pretending she wasn’t nervous.
Alex drove. Windows cracked just enough for the cold November air to bite at her cheeks. Some old rock song played low on the stereo. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh like it belonged there. She let it stay.
She wore a cream cashmere sweater and dark jeans…simple, expensive, nothing like the flashy dresses his mother hated. Armor in softer fabric.
“You okay?” he asked, thumb tracing a small circle on her leg.
“Fine,” she lied.
He glanced over. “You only say ‘fine’ when you’re planning murder.”
She huffed a laugh. “Your mother brings that out in me.”
He squeezed her thigh once and went back to watching the road.
The house appeared at the end of a long gravel drive: gray shingles, white trim, the ocean crashing behind it like it was showing off. Elena had seen pictures, but in person it felt bigger. Older. Like money that had been around so long it forgot how to leave.
Staff took their bags. His mother was waiting on the front steps in pearls and a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
“Alexander,” she said, kissing the air beside his cheek. Then her eyes slid to Elena. “And Elena. How… unexpected.”
“Mrs. King,” Elena answered, voice smooth. “Thank you for having me.”
The older woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. Family sticks together.”
Alex’s hand settled on the small of Elena’s back, warm and steady. A reminder. A warning. Maybe both.
Inside smelled like wood fires and old money. People were already drinking in the living room…board members, cousins, a senator who owed the Kings favors. Everyone turned when they walked in.
Conversation dipped, then picked up louder, like they were trying to pretend they hadn’t been talking about them.
Dinner was at a table long enough to land a plane on. Elena sat between Alex and some hedge-fund guy who kept staring at her chest. Alex noticed. His hand found her knee under the table and stayed there, fingers tight.
His mother raised her glass halfway through dessert.
“To new beginnings,” she said, eyes locked on Elena. “And to remembering where we come from.”
The room drank. Elena drank slower.
Later, when the men went off to smoke cigars and the women pretended they didn’t hate each other, Alex found her on the back terrace. The wind was cold, the moon huge over the water.
He slipped out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders without asking.
“You survived,” he said, standing behind her, arms sliding around her waist.
“Barely.” She leaned back against him. “Your mother still thinks I’m the help.”
“She thinks everyone’s the help.”
He rested his chin on her head. They stood like that a long time, listening to the waves.
Inside, someone laughed too loud. A door shut.
Alex spoke into her hair, voice low. “I used to stand out here when I was sixteen. After I’d been an asshole to you all day.
I’d feel like s**t and tell myself tomorrow I’d stop.”
She went still.
“I never stopped,” he said. “I just got better at hiding it.”
Elena turned in his arms. The porch light caught the side of his face, the scar above his eyebrow he got senior year falling off his dirt bike.
“Why tell me now?” she asked.
“Because I’m tired of pretending I’m still that kid.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “And because you’re not the only one who’s scared of what happens when this is over.”
Her throat felt tight.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be human. It makes it harder to hate you.”
He smiled, small and sad. “Too late.”
She kissed him instead of answering. Slow. Deep. Like forgiveness neither of them had earned.
They ended up in his old bedroom on the third floor…trophies still on the shelf, posters faded, bed too small for both of them. They made it work. Quiet this time. Careful. Like the house might hear.
After, she lay with her head on his chest, listening to the ocean through the open window.
“Five months left” she whispered.
He pulled her closer.
“I know.”
Neither of them slept much that night.
Outside, the tide kept coming in, pulling everything a little closer to the edge.
- Writer
