I AM MY OWN PERSON. I am my own person.
I chant the mantra on repeat in my head, reminding myself that I am someone other than my family. I am not just Augustus Lancaster’s daughter or Whit’s sister or Sylvia’s namesake.
Since I’ve been here, all alone on the other side of the country, it’s been easier to believe. The more distance there is between my mother and me, the better I feel.
Though that’s the hardest pill to swallow—being named after the woman who wants me dead. Of course, I was named after her. My mother is the biggest narcissist I know—and I know plenty. Family lore tells the tale of her first word being, ‘Me’.
No surprises there.
My father thinks he picked her, but she told me the truth. I may have been young, but I hung on every word she spilled when she would drink too much and make her drunken confessions. His parents controlled the narrative, just like mine tried to. Sylvia Whittaker wasn’t about to let her chance go at sinking her claws into the son of one of the richest families in the world. Once she married my father and gave him the prodigal firstborn son, she’d done her job. I was the girl she wished for. The child she was desperate to have.
The daughter she could name after herself in the hopes I’d grow up just like her.
When I was a little girl, she dressed me like her. Everyone said I resembled her when I was little, and I suppose I do.
But I have a hint of Lancaster in me too. The eyes. The blonde hair. I’m not all Sylvia.
Thank God.
I’m sure she hates that fact.
I am my own person. I am my own person.
That I have to remind myself of this is surely pathetic, but whatever it takes, right? I already feel better, being out here. In my own house—the house that belongs to me and no one else. I’m all by myself for the first time in my life, and I’m savoring it. Yes, the woods are scary and there are way too many noises among the trees, especially at night. Little forest creatures always watching as I walk past. Roland, the groundskeeper Earl hired after he bought the property, says if I’m going to live here year-round, I need a dog. Maybe two. There are already at least three cats on the property. They’re not overly affectionate and they leave bloody little carcasses everywhere. Scattered feathers and a bird’s head. Guts from the inside of some rodent. It’s gross. Cats are ruthless. Sneaky. Cunning.
Like a Lancaster.
I do think Roland is right though. I need a pet—a dog. Something to watch over me.
The urge to flee New York City came to me in the middle of the night, a day after I met with my lawyer. I woke up from a dream where Earl was still alive, and he offered the house to me as a token of peace.
For all that I put you through, he told me.
A ten-million-dollar private hideaway is more than enough payment for what that man put me through, which wasn’t much, considering he died fairly quickly after we were married. That I still feel responsible is a fact I don’t like to dwell on for too long. I may be my own person, but I’m not a good one.
I have dark thoughts. If I could murder my mother, I would. But I don’t have the guts.
So I sit with my dark thoughts in my dark house late at night, all alone, while the walls and the ceiling and the roof creak and groan. It’s been windy lately, and that makes the house shudder and moan and some nights, I can’t take it. I pace the halls, unable to sleep, tears streaming down my face.
Thinking of chances lost.
Thinking of Spencer.
I exit the kitchen and walk out onto the deck that overlooks the thick forest. The hushed silence that greets me was eerie when I first arrived, but I’m getting used to it. The pine needles rustle with the constant breeze that blows through them, a sound that never stops.
That’s what I learned after a few days of being out here. You think it’s silent, but after a while, you can hear birds chirping. Animals calling to each other. The occasional burst of an ocean wave. The rev of a car’s engine, hollow and distant out on the main road.
No voices though. Never voices. Unless Roland makes his appearance, which isn’t often enough for me. The only voices I usually ever hear are in my head.
I’ve realized I don’t like those voices sometimes. They’re mostly full of doubt. And those voices in particular make me feel bad about myself.
I am my own person. I am my own person.
There is nothing more liberating than dumping your phone and everything attached to it. I shut down my social media profiles. I pulled out a lot of cash from the bank, so no one could track me down with credit card usage. I wanted to disappear. Go off the grid.
Become a ghost.
I’m also lonely. Hence the need for a dog. The cats that live on the property are mostly wild and want nothing to do with me. Except for one. She’s silvery gray with long fur, though not too puffy. Her tail is straggly and her face is delicately shaped. She reminds me of a squirrel. So that’s what I call her.
Squirrel acts like she doesn’t like me, yet she follows after me every time I go outside, batting at my ankles when I walk, her claws lightly scratching, but never enough to actually hurt. I turn to try and pet her, and she dashes away every time. Yet never too far, always watching me.
Like she’s interested, but cautious.
I feel her. I really do.
The flip phone I bought at a local Walmart in Monterey rings, and I yank it from my sweater pocket, frowning when I see Roland’s number flash. He’s the only one who has this number in the whole world, yet he’s never called me.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Miss Lancaster. I caught someone on the driveway.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“A man in an Audi. Said he was looking for you.”
Fear slithers icy cold fingers down my spine. “Did he mention my name?”
“Yes, he did. Said he knows you real well.” I hear a deep voice speak in the background. “He won’t give me his name though.”
“Is he there with you?”
“Yes. I stopped him. Stood right out in front of his fancy car and wouldn’t let him drive past me.” Roland sounds frustrated. Protective. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks, and he’s already taken me under his wing.
“I want to speak with him.” I have no clue who this could be. One of my Lancaster relatives? There are plenty of male Lancasters with the brains to figure out where I might be. No one has taken my disappearance to the media, thank goodness. I assumed my mother would do exactly that to get me to come out and show myself.
It wouldn’t have worked. I’d have stayed in hiding forever just to keep her out of my life forever.
“Here he is.” Roland hands over the phone, and there’s muffled conversation that sounds tense before a familiar male voice sounds in my ear.
“Syl. It’s me.”
My heart falls into my stomach. Deeper.
Spencer.
“Tell this man you know me and that I have your permission to come to your house,” Spencer demands.
I clutch the cheap phone tighter, my heart racing. I can’t believe he’s here, in California. That he came for me despite everything. “I should tell him to kick you off my property.”
An irritated sound leaves him. “You know you don’t mean it. Come on, Syl. Call off your watchdog.”
“Let me talk to Roland.”
Spencer pauses for a moment. “You promise you’ll tell him it’s okay that I’m here?”
“Just let me talk to him.”
A low growl escapes him and then Roland is back, his breathing accelerated, amplified as he exhales into the phone. “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to, Miss Lancaster. Just say the word.”
A laugh escapes me and I cover my lips with my fingers to contain it. “That won’t be necessary, Roland. Go ahead and let him come to the house.”
My groundskeeper grunts. I can tell he’s not pleased with my answer. “I’m following him. And I’ll stick around until he leaves.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I start, but he interrupts me.
“I’m doin’ it.” The stubborn tone in Roland’s voice is one I decide not to argue with.
“See you soon,” I say cheerfully instead, and end the call.
Men. They go feral around me for some reason, and I don’t understand it. There’s nothing between Roland and me. He’s more like an overprotective father—something I’m not familiar with.
A rasp of a laugh leaves me and I shake my head. It’s like I can’t help but insult a random family member every chance I get.
Realizing that Spencer will be here in a matter of minutes and I have no idea what I look like, I run into the house, ducking into the guest bathroom, so I can check out my reflection. I wrinkle my nose at what I see, hating how messy my hair is thanks to the ocean wind. I run my fingers through it, licking my lips. I have no makeup on—what’s the point? My cheeks are pink, thanks to all the sun I’ve been getting lately. Plus, I’m not drinking.
I always look better when I lay off the alcohol.
I’m heavier than I’ve ever been, which isn’t saying much. But I do look different. Some might even say healthier.
Not my mother though. She’d be disappointed she couldn’t see my collarbones protruding. The hollows of my cheeks.
Mommy gets off on skinny, skeletal Sylvie.
I hear the gentle rumble of an expensive engine creeping up the drive and my heart is in my throat, making it hard to swallow. To breathe. Knowing that Spencer is here, that I’m about to see him again. I blink at myself in the mirror, my chest rising and falling rapidly, nervous excitement running through my veins.
He came, I remind myself. Spencer may have walked away from me that night after Whit and Summer were married, but he’s here now.
That has to mean something.
Blowing out a harsh breath, I give myself a thumbs up and a grimace in the mirror, then march out of the bathroom, through the house and onto the front porch. Just in time to see Spencer roll up the driveway in his sleek black Audi, the engine purring. Roland is right behind him in his older model Ford truck, his blue ballcap pulled low, a grim look on his weathered face.
I wait anxiously, wringing my hands as Spencer cuts the engine. Gathers his things. Taking his time.
Driving me slowly out of my mind.
Roland leaps out of his car as if his butt is on fire, striding toward me so fast he’s directly in front of me in seconds. “Want me to call the police?”
“Absolutely not.” I slowly shake my head, glancing around him to watch as Spencer finally opens the driver’s side door of his vehicle. “It’s not necessary.”
Roland doesn’t know my whole story, but he knows some of it. That I’m a widow in hiding from my family and friends. Trying to get away from the incessant noise that is my life, and that I’m searching for peace. He’s been so good to me from the moment we met, and I appreciate how he checks up on me. Watches over me.
“Are you sure? That young man,” Roland jerks his thumb over his shoulder, “is kind of an asshole.”
I laugh, throwing back my head, letting the joy flow through me. No one could ever call Spencer an asshole. Not the Spence I knew. He was protective of me, watching over me.
Much like Roland does now.
A door slams and we both glance in Spencer’s direction. He’s wearing a black suit and a white button-up shirt, sans tie. Sunglasses cover his eyes and his dark hair appears freshly trimmed. Immaculate. His shoes are shiny and they make a clipped sound on the driveway as he makes his way toward us, a grim look on his too handsome, too beloved face.
There are no traces of the boy I first met and immediately crushed on. Not a single one. Spencer Donato is all man, and he is beautiful. Sexy. Confident. Faintly irritated—I can tell by the set of his jaw. The firm line of his lips.
I stand up straighter, bracing myself, waiting for him to say something horrible—why, I don’t know. That’s not his style. Or, for him to grab hold of my hand and drag me back to the car so he can fly me home and return me to my family like I’m a lost piece of luggage he finally found.
He does none of that. Instead, he stops directly in front of Roland and me, his expression unreadable. I can’t even see his eyes, thanks to his sunglasses.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is sharp, unable to forget the last time we saw each other and how mean he was. His cruel words, how he so easily walked away from me.
Yet here he is, chasing after me like usual.
I think of the last words I said to him, how I called him a liar.
Looks like I was right.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he finally says, his voice a seductive rumble coming from deep within his chest.
I tell myself I shouldn’t give in, but when it comes to this man, I am weak. What makes it worse?
I know he’s weak for me too.
“Looks like you found me,” I tell him softly.
The air crackles between us, unseen sparks bouncing from me to Spencer as my body leans toward his despite my inherent resistance. I can’t help but notice how Roland looks from me to Spencer, his graying eyebrows furrowed.
He can sense it too. The energy. The chemistry. It’s probably how Spencer found me—that unseen thread between us that keeps us tethered. We’ve always been drawn to each other, despite everything that’s happened over the years.
“Did you want to be found?” Spence asks, his voice as soft as mine.
I slowly shake my head. “Only by you.”
His lips curve into the slightest smile. Barely there and gone in an instant. But I saw it. And in that moment, I know.
Nothing is ever going to be the same. For once, it’s all going my way. This is what I want.
Me and Spence.
Spence and me.
