The sun filters through the swaying chiffon curtains, pushing and pulling them, similarly to the picturesque sea view you have from your balcony. This is your parents’ residence in the Hamptons. You see, there’s two different type of Hamptons’.

There’s that flashy, loud and blingy side of the Hamptons, with the folk of new money and lack of experience, and then there’s your side. Classy, chic and sophisticated. Old money, in other words. Beautiful homes, a mix of Georgian and Neoclassical laid out along white sand beaches, often with adjoining gardens blooming with flora, and oiled and varnished deckings’.

Your room was furnished with it all. A large bed, piled high with pillows, silk sheets and covers, a vanity of every girls’ dreams, but classier. None of that fake lighting, an ornate frame around a mirror, chanel and dior headbands and clips sprawled out, beside hair combs.

Inside your ensuite was any brand of makeup or skincare one could imagine having. A large LED mirror, and a beautiful shower and bath. A walk in wardrobe.. heavens, you truly have it all. Not to mention, the brains and beauty.

So when your Mother knocks on the door, dropping a kiss on your forehead, and stroking your hair that was in curlers she smiles. “Good morning my darling,” she opens the curtains and the windows, letting salty fresh air in.

“Do remember sweetheart, the Eatons are here today.” She says, folding a rumpled throw at the end of your bed. “They’re staying until Monday, which is when we take our private jet with them to Saint Tropez.”

You stretch lazily and nod. “Alright Mother.” She smiles fondly. “Be up soon.”

Now, the Eaton boys. Jacks and William. Blond, blue eyes, 6,4 and muscular like his twin, Jacks had most his mothers’ looks, whereas Will was more tan, darker brown hair and whiskey eyes, his fathers looks.

By the time you shower, moisturise, dress, remove your curlers and hurry downstairs, they’re arriving, whilst you stand in the doorway with your mother.

Your little brother Julian, tugs on the skirt of your dress, grinning in his six year old glory. You pick him up as he waved to the approaching Aston Martin, a sleek navy. When they step out, your heart stutters at the sight of the beautiful boys. Their father, Edward smiles, whilst Lilianne, their mother hugs you after they reach the door. “Oh sweet girl, you’ve got even more beautiful.” She strokes your hair fondly.

They step past you, and Julian wriggles on your hip, running to the brothers, and is scooped up in Jacks’ arms with a grin. As they approach the house you fold your arms and regard them.

“Boys.”