WE ARRIVE at my family’s Long Island estate where the wedding is being held because, of course it is. The scene of the crime, so to speak, where Whit first fell madly in love with Summer during that one Thanksgiving break, when I brought her with me to be my support system. Instead, she fucked Whit every chance she got in secret, the two of them sneaking around for a week, much to my mother’s disgust. Hooking up everywhere, the servants reporting their antics to her whenever she asked.
I don’t blame them. They were compensated for their tattling. Mother needed as much evidence as she could gather to show that Summer was nothing but a common whore, just like her mother. Not that Whit cared. She scared Summer instead, and made her run away.
Again, who’s laughing now? I can only imagine how disgusted Mother is, that Whit is marrying Summer. That she’s the mother to the next generation of Lancasters, with their adorable baby boy August. I’m sure the ceremony being held at our estate is a way for Summer to rub it in Mother’s face that she won.
I admire Summer’s bravery, I really do.
“I knew you Lancasters were wealthy, but Jesus. This is something else,” Cliff mutters as he leads me up the steps toward the entrance to the main house, my arm curled through his. “This house is a friggin’ castle.”
“It’s been in the family for generations. We used to only summer here,” I explain as I gather up more of my long skirt in my other hand. The dress Cliff found for me was hanging on the back of my closet door, forgotten. It had been delivered from the designer only last week, in the hopes I would wear it to the wedding and have my photo taken in it.
Lucky them, it’s happening. I can feel the shutters clicking as we slowly trudge up the stairs, trailing after the other guests arriving for the wedding. Mother would hire paparazzi to take photos. She’s always been more of the why fight them type when it comes to photographers.
Once upon a time, for a brief, shining moment, I was an it girl. A darling of the paparazzi—only because I gave them so much fodder to work with. Drinking and drugging and partying with pretty boys. I was every photographer’s dream come true.
I became somewhat of an influencer too. Whatever I wore, carried on my arm, slipped around my wrist, sold out immediately upon my photo hitting the internet. It was a wild moment in my life that lasted far too briefly.
Mother helped squash it. She’s not one to believe in bad publicity. It’s good or nothing. Plus, she was probably terrified I’d open my mouth and tell my truth.
She trained me well, though. I’ve kept my mouth shut.
“You look to the manor born,” Cliff says once we’ve reached the top of the stairs, his gaze admiring as he takes me in. A breeze causes my skirt to float and I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Pretty as a painting.”
Pleasure ripples through my veins at his compliment. The gown I’m wearing is absolutely gorgeous, I can’t deny it. It’s floor-length, white with a turquoise floral print, the tiny sleeves constructed of ruffled tulle. The skirt is a frothy delight of multiple layers of tulle beneath, the tiny belt tied in a permanent bow in the dead center of my waist.
I haven’t felt this pretty in a long time. It helps that I’m a little drunk. Liquid courage and all that.
“Wait until you see the paintings in the house.” I mock shudder as we walk through the open double doors. “Portraits of intimidating ancestors line the walls everywhere you look. When I was younger, I swore they were all watching me as I walked past.”
“How creepy.” Cliff sounds distracted as he takes everything in, his eyes wide. Clifford’s family is rich, but not like us Lancasters.
There’s hardly anyone like the Lancaster family. The original Augustus Lancaster was a ruthless son of a bitch who dabbled in a variety of things during The Industrial Revolution. He started out in shipping. Then he moved on to railroads, investing all the money he made selling his ships into the new frontier, in shipping goods. He invested well, but the later generations were smart and pulled out just before the Great Depression. At one point, Augustus and his sons even bought oil fields in Ohio, of all places.
Our family tree consists of a litany of innovators. Generations ago, it was as if we could foresee the future, and were always looking ahead. Some of the Lancasters are still this way, but while we have plenty of success stories, we also have the not so positive tales about various family members. Divorces. Mental illness. Cheating. There’s even a hint of murder here and there. Deception and double crossing and revenge. Hostile takeovers of various businesses and bold moves that nearly destroyed the stock market. We’re an adventurous bunch.
All in the Lancaster name.
We breeze through the house, heading for the open double doors that lead onto the terrace, where the reception will be held. I can hear a string quartet already playing, accompanied by the gentle conversations of people speaking all at once. There are guests clustered around, drinks in hand, all of the women in soft pastels, just as I predicted.
Looking like Easter eggs.
I go to the balustrade railing and glance out at the rolling green lawn, where the ceremony will take place. There’s a gorgeous arbor laden with so many white flowers, I’m afraid it’ll collapse under the weight. The aisle is white, lined with more lush white flowers and there is row after row of white chairs set up, a few people already seated in them.
“Shall we go down there and claim our seats?” Cliff stops right next to me, resting his forearms on the railing’s edge.
“Don’t worry, our seats are already claimed. We’re in the first row, directly in front of Whit.” I smile at him, my gaze momentarily catching on a familiar figure headed down the stairs that lead toward the lawn.
I freeze, my heart in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I recognize that dark head. The tall frame, how he moves. How he carries himself.
“Sylvie. Sylvie. Did you hear me?”
I ignore Cliff, my greedy gaze eating him up. The man walking onto the lawn clad in a black tuxedo, his inky hair gleaming under the sun. I swear he’s taller. Broader even. He approaches another man I don’t recognize, stopping to shake his hand, a faint, closed-mouth smile appearing on his face, and the sight of it is devastating.
Before, he only smiled like that at me. As if I was the only one who made him happy, and he did the same for me, no matter how temporary it felt. He was my respite. A way for me to forget.
Until I made myself forget him.
My heart races. Aches. I’m such an idiot. I should’ve known he’d be here. Was I that naive to think if I banished him from my life, my mind, my everything, that Whit would do the same?
Spence is one of his best friends. Of course, he wouldn’t do that to him. My brother is far more loyal than I could ever be.
“Are you okay?” Cliff settles his hand on my forearm, bringing me back to the present, and I shake myself, offering him a brittle smile. “What happened just now? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I’m fine.” My gaze darts around, seeking out a server divvying out drinks. “Just a little thirsty.”
The concern in Cliff’s gaze is obvious. “I don’t know if you should have anything else to drink before the ceremony, Syl.”
I remember how Spencer would always call me Syl. When we were teenagers, I used to joke that we sounded like an old Hollywood couple. Spence and Syl.
Syl and Spence.
“It’s so hot though.” I fan myself with my fingers, panic racing through my veins, making me want to crawl out of my skin. “I need something to cool me down.”
A sigh leaves him and he shakes his head. “I’ll be right back.” Cliff gives my arm a gentle squeeze before he takes off.
I stand there alone on the terrace of my own home, feeling like an outsider. No one approaches. No one says a word to me, though I can feel them watching. Talking about me in low tones. Curious as to my sudden appearance, when all the rumors claim I’m unhealthy and unable to function.
Anything horrible you can think of has already been said about me. Drugs. A complete mental breakdown. Flunking out of school, fucking a teacher, fucking my father’s friend, my best friend’s boyfriend. Whatever you can come up with, the rumor has been said. Some of them, I even started myself. When I was younger and didn’t care, I told everyone I was fucking my brother’s friend Chad, when really, I only had eyes for Spence.
It was enough to spur Spencer into action and he pursued me heavily, thinking I was with Chad. It worked so perfectly. My mother always said I was an excellent manipulator, which makes sense considering I learned from a master.
Closing my eyes, I grip the railing tight, the rough texture cutting into my soft palms. I don’t know if I can make it through this day, knowing I’ll have to watch him. Possibly even talk to him. Does he have someone else in his life now? He should. He’s handsome and kind and smart. What woman wouldn’t want him?
I cut off all ties between us after that one night where I gave him my virginity almost three years ago. I thought it best. The only way for me to move on was to eliminate him completely from my life, and he didn’t approach me after that night either.
Within days of us being together, my engagement was announced, so I’m sure that was the biggest deterrent ever. Once that happened, once I married Earl, Spencer never made an appearance in my life again. He never even asked about me, and I would question Whit on occasion, curious about Spencer and what he might be doing.
But I never took it too far with my questioning, always protecting myself in the end. To find out certain details would hurt too much, and I was already in enough pain.
“Sylvie!”
My eyes fly open and I turn to find my aunt Louisa approaching me, beautiful in a coral-colored dress, a broad smile on her face.
“Aunt Louisa.” I accept her hug and the kiss on each cheek, returning it with a coolness that indicates I have everything under control. I am a most excellent actress. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve missed you at family functions.” She pulls away, her hands clutching my upper arms lightly as she scans me from head to toe. “Oh, aren’t you a delight. I adore your dress.”
“Thank you.” I smile at her, glancing around. “Where’s Uncle Reggie?”
She’s married to one of my father’s younger brothers. The meanest one—Reginald. God, he’s awful.
“He’s with your father.” The light fades from her eyes, her expression serious. “They’re discussing business.”
“On a Saturday? During my brother’s wedding?” Truly, I’m not surprised. When do they not talk about business and money and bullshit?
“You know how they are.” She lets go of me, waving a dismissive hand, accompanied by a light laugh. “How are you doing?”
“I’m well.” I stand up straighter, my back to the lawn and the man down there that still owns a piece of me. “Better than ever.”
“You look well enough, considering all the trauma you’ve gone through in your life.” Her smile is full of sympathy.
Oh, leave it to my aunt Louisa to offer a compliment wrapped in an insult.
“Is Charlotte here?” I ask, referring to my cousin and Louisa’s only daughter.
“I don’t believe she’s arrived yet. She’s coming with her husband, Perry.” My aunt sounds proud, and I suppose she is. Perry and Charlotte are a golden couple. Rumor has it they started out as an arranged marriage that somehow worked out for them, which leaves me a bit envious.
Leave it to beautiful, quiet Charlotte to get the hot, young guy in an arranged marriage while my mother paired me with a decrepit old man.
“How about Crew?” I’m referring to Louisa’s youngest son.
“They’re already here. Not sure where, though.” Louisa’s smile remains pleasant, that glow coming back into her eyes. “She’s lovely, Crew’s fiancée, Wren.”
I’ve met her. She is lovely. And Crew is completely smitten with her.
As if conjured up by magic, Crew and Wren appear. He’s handsome in a gray suit, Wren beautiful in a pale pink sundress. They’re both golden, as if they’ve been touched by the sun and their smiles match as they greet me with genuine happiness.
“Why are you both so tan?” I ask Crew after Wren hugs me.
She laughs as his arm comes around her waist, yanking her to his side in a possessive gesture. “We just came back from France.”
“Cannes,” Crew adds, his adoring gaze finding Wren’s.
“What were you doing there?” I’m not just making polite conversation. I’m genuinely curious.
“Looking for art,” Wren tells me, her green eyes dancing.
“It’s her favorite hobby,” Crew adds.
The four of us chat for a few minutes, mostly talking about family, my gaze going to the glass Louisa clutches, wishing I had my own. After a few minutes of chatting, I begin to feel a strange, prickling sensation in the center of my back. It makes my shoulders twitch and I lift them, giving a little shake. Wondering if a bug has landed on my skin.
Knowing my mother, she more than likely had pest control out in full force leading up to today, killing off every bug she could so they wouldn’t bother the wedding guests.
“We should probably go to our seats,” Louisa says to me after Wren and Crew leave us, headed for the lawn.
“I’m waiting for my date,” I tell her. “He’s getting me something to drink.”
“Oh? Someone new in your life then?” Her eyes light up. She seems hopeful.
“Just a friend,” I reassure her, touching her arm. “If you’d like to go down, please do. I don’t mind waiting alone.”
She gives me a quick hug and I watch her walk away, that odd sensation still lingering. Like someone is watching me. I glance over at the bar, the line mostly diminished, Cliff seemingly flirting with the attractive bartender behind the counter, two full glasses set out, waiting for him to bring one to me.
Turning away, I shake my head. It figures he’d flirt with the bartender. I never did spot Monty on the terrace. Is he already out on the lawn? I turn to look over the edge of the railing, bumping into something solid.
More like someone solid. A very tall, muscular someone.
“Oh.” I back away, glancing up to find him standing directly in front of me, a glower on his dark face.
Spencer Donato.
