It didn’t matter that this was the twenty-first century—not to the bluebloods. This was and would always be the world where appearances were essential. The secrets that darkened the corridors and doorways were forever left unspoken.

The movement of the curtain on the second floor caught my eye. It was so fast that I could have easily missed it. I may have, were it not for the interior location of the window: it was my old bedroom—a place I loathed more than any other.

With his stoic poise returned, Brantley asked, “Shall I take your bags to your room?”

I swallowed. “Not yet. I haven’t decided if I’m staying.”

“But, miss, your mother—”

I lifted my hand dismissively—something I would never have done in California. “Brantley, I’ll let you know my plans once I know them. In the meantime, keep the car in the drive and leave my bags in the trunk.”

Nodding, he murmured, “Yes, miss. I’ll be here.”

He always was.

Did that make him part of the problem or solution?

Biting the inside of my cheek, I gracefully made my way up the cement path.

Why did I come back?

“DON’T LOOK SO guilty. We deserve this!” Chelsea’s hazel eyes sparkled from the glow of the setting sun. We were standing at one of the many railings along the resort edge, overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

Inhaling the salt air, I nodded. “We do. We’ve worked hard. I-I guess, I’ve never…”

“Let me help you,” she said with a smirk. “You’ve never let yourself have fun.” With more seriousness, she added, “Your grandparents left you that trust fund. Tell me, when have you ever used the money for anything other than education and essentials?”

I shrugged. “I’m sure if you asked my attorneys, I haven’t always made the best financial decisions regarding either of those.”

“To hell with them.”

That was part of what I loved about Chelsea. No matter the situation, she said exactly what she thought. Granted, sometimes it was too much information, but nonetheless, you knew exactly what you were dealing with.

“Besides,” she went on, “in two years the money will be all yours. You won’t have to answer to some stuffed-shirt lawyer.”

“Hey!”

“You know what I mean. And in three years you’ll be someone else’s lawyer. Then you can tell whomever what they can and can’t do with their own money.”

I scrunched my nose. “I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think civil law is for me. It seems boring. I want something more exciting.”

My best friend’s arms dramatically spread toward the horizon. “I can see it now. Some high-profile case and there you are, on the steps of a big courthouse somewhere.” She spun toward me. “I know! That one on the T.V. show—Law and Order. It’s in New York.” She nudged her shoulder against mine. “The perfect place for a Columbia graduate.”

I didn’t want to think about law school, not yet. I’d just graduated from Stanford and the four years I’d spent in California were undoubtedly the best of my life. I loved everything about the West Coast, from the beautiful campus nestled in the Palo Alto valley to the winding beautiful coastal highway. The idea of heading back east made me physically ill.

“Stop that,” Chelsea said with her hand on my arm. “Stop thinking about it. You know applying to East Coast schools made the most sense.”

“I know. But I would’ve loved to have stayed here.”

“Just like Professor Wilkerson told you, you’ve made your mark here. Summa cum laude. California knows you. Now it’s time to make your mark back east. In three years you’ll be the most sought-after attorney from coast to coast. Every big firm will want you.”

“Chels, I really don’t want to think about any of it. Not this week. This week is for us.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I don’t want to think about being without you next year. I want us to have the time of our lives.”

“You know I’d love to pick up and move with you. But when it comes to right now—I couldn’t agree more. For this one week, let’s forget about everything. Let’s be the opposite of ourselves.”

Let’s be each other?

I stopped myself from saying the thought aloud. Instead, I looked out over the gorgeous view. The setting sun was casting shadows over the cliffs in the distance, as rolling white-capped waves crashed against the rocks and shore. This was one of the scenes I’d miss on the East Coast. There may be an ocean, but never on the beaches of Georgia had I ever seen waves or felt the refreshing breeze as I did here.

“I’m in. As a matter of fact,” I whispered with a grin, “no more Alex or Alexandria. For the next week I’m Charli.”

Chelsea’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s short for Charles, one of my middle names.” I lowered my voice, but before the pounding surf and murmuring voices around us could dominate, I added, “I think Alex needs a break.”

Locking our elbows, Chelsea sighed. “Girl, that’s the best thing I’ve heard since we’ve met. If you ask me, Alex has needed a break for a long time!”

As we made our way to our suite, I contemplated the possibilities of leaving Alex behind, if for only a week.

Can I do that?

I could. I’d done it before.

I’d put away the pretentious snob I’d been raised to be when I left Alexandria Charles Montague Collins in Savannah. The minute I’d stepped off the airplane in California and made my way to my freshman orientation, I’d vowed that Alexandria had been left behind and I became Alex.

She was a clean slate, with no demons on her back or skeletons in her closet. I had the rare opportunity to reinvent myself into someone I liked to be, and I did.

Alex was everything I’d wanted to be growing up: a hard worker, a good student, and someone who refused to stay trapped in the cage created by the Montague name. After my mother shared a secret with me right before I left Savannah, I had the confidence to do what she was never able to do.

For that one evening, with her husband Alton out of town on business, I had a real mom. It’s a night I’ll never forget. She even looked different. Instead of her normal designer clothes, when she came to my room she wore shorts and a t-shirt. I hadn’t known she owned regular clothes. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail and little to no makeup, she knocked on my bedroom door. The knock had been so faint that over the sound of my music, I almost didn’t hear it.

For a change, the sound didn’t alarm me. I knew Alton was away and I knew I’d be gone before he returned. When I peered around the door, I almost gasped. Adelaide Montague Collins Fitzgerald looked like she could have been my sister instead of my mother. With her large blue eyes, she looked at me with a mixture of love and regret. Though everything within my eighteen-year-old self wanted to tell her to leave, I couldn’t.

There was something final about that night. Though neither of us came out and said it, I think she understood I didn’t plan to return. I sometimes wonder just how much she knew.

Instead of saying anything, I opened the door and welcomed her into the chaos. My bed was covered in suitcases. The drawers to my dressers were in all stages of openness while my closet doors were spread wide. Not once did she use the tone I’d come to expect and admonish the disarray. Instead, she gracefully sat on the edge of my bed and asked if she could help.

Though years of secrets and regrets momentarily swirled about us, as I listened to her sincerity they disappeared. For one evening we were more than mother and daughter. We were friends. Time passed as we packed, laughed, and cried. She told me that she was proud that I was going to Stanford. It wasn’t only that I’d been accepted—which was an accomplishment—but she was also proud that I was moving away. She confessed that her parents didn’t want her to move away. After all, she was the last Montague. Even though she wasn’t a male, continuing the bloodline was her responsibility. The way my grandparents saw it, her only purpose in higher education was to find a man worthy of fulfilling that role of husband. Of course that meant a man who understood the heritage.