Page 44 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
This is a temporary arrangement—something fun and rebellious for us to indulge in—an escape from real life. Admitting how much I was enjoying him crossed the line. But Hart doesn’t correct me or tense up. Instead he meets my eyes with a desire-filled look and gives me that irresistible dimpled smile that makes my heart pound. “I really like kissing you, Alessia.”
The way he says my name is like a gift. And my admission seems to have ignited something inside him. He leans back and tugs me down with him.
It’s in this moment, lying with him in the shade of an olive tree, my head resting on his chest—listening to the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart—that I realize how dangerous this is. A girl could fall in love with Hart Winthrop very easily.
But this is a temporary pit stop on the journey of life. That is all this would be. All itcouldever be.
He all but said so himself.
Chapter Eleven
When in Doubt, Dance It Out
The Hamptons, New York
Hart asked me to come to the Hamptons with him the following week, and without even pretending to think it over, I readily agreed. We’d had such a good time in Napa, and I wanted to see him again.
Plus it’s his birthday—his twenty-sixth—and he’s throwing himself a big birthday bash at his family’s beach house. The idea of meeting his friends almost gave me a mini freak-out. What would they think? What would they say? I wondered if I’d have anything to talk about with them. But even that wasn’t enough to keep me away. Maybe I was being delusional, but days later, I boarded a flight to New York’s LaGuardia and then slipped into a limo he’d arranged to the Hamptons with an overnight bag in tow.
Hart promised a relaxed affair—low keyandchillwere his exact words.
Given his family’s status, I might have expected the home to be situated on the trendy Southampton or Bridgehampton—maybe even on coveted Gin Lane, where the ultrawealthy came to vacation each year. Instead, their address was East Hampton, but even that madesense; the home had been in the family for generations, long before this area was an enviable holiday hotspot.Old money, I think is the term.
My first impression is that the house is not a house. No surprise there. It’s a stately shingle-style estate hidden behind tall boxwood hedges and would qualify as a mansion in anyone’s playbook. The circular drive in front is lined with all the usual suspects. Range Rover. Lexus. Mercedes. Rolls-Royce.
After my transcontinental flight, I appreciate the luxury of the limo service. My driver lets me out, and I’m suddenly self-conscious about the dress code. I opted for jeans, a casual black top, and small gold hoop earrings.
I’m greeted at the oversize front doors by an attendant who lets me inside and offers to take my coat.
Okay, so there’s a full staff. Verylow keyandchillindeed.
I head inside toward the sound of voices. Feminine laughter and the sound of twentysomething guys being loud and rowdy.Into the lion’s den ...
The living room is a very elegant space, and it’s there I find small groups clustered together, chatting, laughing.
My second impression—everyone here is so young.
My stomach drops.
I obviously don’t fit in, but Hart seems oblivious to this. Because as soon as he spots me, he comes striding over with a dimpled smile.
He tugs me into a nearby alcove and presses a kiss to my lips. “You made it.”
“Happy birthday,” I say while my heart pounds. He looks gorgeous, wearing jeans with a simple black T-shirt.
“Come on. There’s some people I want you to meet.”
Clinking the side of his glass to get the attention of the room, Hart clears his throat. The conversations around us quiet, and suddenly I feel all kinds of self-conscious as the assessing eyes of a dozen or so people wonder who I am and what I’m doing standing at his side. Maybe they think I’m the party planner or the hired help. Hart takes my hand,lacing his fingers in mine, quickly dispelling whatever theories they were busy developing.
“Thank you all for coming. For being here to celebrate me. It means a lot.” He looks shy, almost boyish. It’s adorable.
“Happy birthday, Fitzy!” someone calls from the back of the crowd.
“Make yourselves at home, and as always, have fun, but not too much fun.”
After several raucous cheers and shouts ofhappy birthday, the murmured conversations start up again, but before I can determine if I’m the topic of conversation, Hart tugs me over to meet a group of his friends.
“Everyone, this is Alessia Moore. She runs a foundation in Kenya, and she’s here to visit this weekend.” His eyes cut to mine. “And she’s just really cool.”
