The Last Song(73)

That, he had to admit, was important to him, too, as much as he wished it weren’t. He loved his dad and his family name, and he was proud of the business his dad had built. He appreciated the advantages that his life had brought him, but… he wanted to be his own person, too. He wanted people to know him first as Will, not Will Blakelee, and there wasn’t another person in the world he could talk to about it, other than his sister. It wasn’t as if he lived in Los Angeles, where celebrity kids could be found in every school, or was at a place like Andover, where practically everyone knew someone who came from a famous family. It wasn’t so easy in a place like this, where everyone knew everybody, and as he’d grown older, he’d grown somewhat cautious about his friendships. He was willing to talk to almost anyone, but he’d learned to put up an invisible wall, at least until he was certain his family had nothing to do with the new acquaintance or was the reason a girl seemed to be interested in him. And if he hadn’t known for certain that Ronnie knew nothing about his family, he’d been convinced when he’d pulled up in front of his house.

“What are you thinking about?” he heard her ask. A light breeze rippled through her hair, and she tried in vain to collect the strands into a loose ponytail. “You’ve been kind of quiet.”

“I was thinking about how much I enjoyed coming over.”

“To our little house? It’s a bit different from what you’re used to.”

“Your house is great,” he insisted. “And so is your dad and Jonah. Even though he crushed me in liar’s poker.”

“He always wins, but don’t ask me how. I mean, ever since he was little. I think he cheats, but I haven’t figured out how.”

“Maybe you just need to lie better.”

“Oh, you mean like you telling me you work for your dad?”

“I do work for my dad,” Will said.

“You know what I mean.”

“Like I told you, I didn’t think it mattered.” He stopped walking and turned to her. “Does it?”

She seemed to choose her words carefully. “It’s interesting and it helps explain a few things about you, but if I told you that my mom worked as a paralegal at a Wall Street law firm, would you feel any different about me?”

This, he knew, he could answer with complete honesty. “No. But it’s different.”

“Why?” she asked. “Because your family is rich? A statement like that only makes sense to someone who thinks that money is all that matters.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, what did you mean?” she challenged, then shook her head. “Look, let’s get one thing straight. I don’t care if your dad is the sultan of Brunei. You happened to be born into a privileged family. What you do with that truth is completely up to you. I’m here because I want to be with you. But if I didn’t, all the money in the world wouldn’t have changed my feelings about you.”

As she spoke, he watched her growing more animated. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve given that speech before?”

“Because I have said it before.” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Come to New York, and you’ll understand why I’ve learned to say what I mean. In some clubs, all you meet are snobs, and they’re so into who their family is or how much their family makes… it bores me. I stand there, and all I want to say is, It’s great that others in your family have done something, but what have you done? But I don’t, because they don’t get it. They think they’re the chosen ones. It’s not even worth getting mad about, because the whole idea is so ridiculous. But if you think I invited you over because of who your family is—”

“I didn’t,” he said, cutting her off. “I never thought that for a second.”

In the darkness, he knew she was considering whether he was telling the truth or simply saying what she wanted to hear. Hoping to put an end to the discussion, he turned and motioned behind them, toward the workshop near the house.

“What’s that place?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away, and he sensed she was still trying to decide whether she believed him.

“It came with the house,” she said at last. “My dad and Jonah are making a stained-glass window this summer.”

“Your dad makes stained-glass windows?”

“He does now.”

“Is that what he’s always done?”

“No,” she answered. “Like he told you at dinner, he used to teach piano.” She paused to brush something from her feet, then changed the subject. “What’s next for you? Are you going to keep working for your dad?”