I ARRIVE at the Newport house late on a Friday morning, excitement rippling through me when I enter the home. The foyer is bathed in warm sunlight, everything clean and sparkling and beautiful. The servants are lined up and waiting to greet me as I walk through the front door like we’re in freaking Downton Abbey.
There are so many memories wrapped up in this house. Most of them good. Only a few negative. So many family holidays were spent here. Summers here too, until Mother purchased the Hamptons house and we always ended up going there.
I haven’t been to the Hamptons in years. I view that as her territory. She received the house in the divorce and she can have it. There is no desire in me to go to the Hamptons.
None at all.
I greet all of the servants I know with warm hugs and shake the hands of the ones who are newer. A few of them even bow for me, which makes me feel embarrassed. I don’t need all the pomp and circumstance like my parents do. Father just expects it, and my mother absolutely demands it.
After all the formal greeting, I escape to my bedroom, collapsing on the giant bed as soon as I shut the door. I stare at the intricate ceiling, the painting in the center circle that dates back to the early nineteen hundreds, and I realize I’ve never in my life stayed in this house by myself.
It’s kind of nice.
Not that I’m alone. There are so many servants, my mother wouldn’t dare try anything with me. Not that she knows I’m here but…
She could. She’s got spies everywhere.
Spencer is coming out to join me this afternoon. Actually, he should hopefully be here within the hour since he left work early. Traffic wasn’t as bad as it usually is when I left the apartment, so I arrived early, which he didn’t want to happen. I know he’s worried about my mother possibly showing up, but she doesn’t know I’m here, and besides, there are plenty of people on the premises.
I’ll be fine.
We’ll spend the weekend here and head back either late Sunday night or early Monday morning. He also mentioned we’re due for a long talk about what he does for his father’s business. He swore he would tell me everything, not leaving out a single detail.
“I’ll tell you all about it this weekend,” he said last night over dinner. “When we’re all alone and with no interruptions.”
I almost don’t want to know. He makes such a big deal out of it, I’m afraid to hear the details. But then again, it might not be a big deal after all. Kind of like when something is overhyped. Everyone raves about that certain movie you’ve been dying to see and when you finally go to the movie theater, you realize it’s not that big of a deal and you’re disappointed.
I’m afraid that’s what is going to happen with his explanation. It’s probably not as bad as he makes it out to be.
My phone rings when I’m about to go downstairs in search of some lunch, and I see Roland’s name flashing on the screen.
“Roland! How are you?” is how I greet him.
“Exhausted after chasing that cat all over the property,” he grumbles, sounding completely put out, which is his usual mood.
“Did you catch her?”
“I did, but she sure scratched me up.” I hear incessant meowing in the background and I can’t help but laugh.
“I can hear her complaining to you.”
“More like she’s complaining about me. She’s not happy with me at all. And she probably won’t be happy with you either when she gets to the city.” He hesitates. “You sure you want to take her in out there? She’s kind of wild.”
“I’ll tame her,” I say with confidence.
“It’s not that easy. And she’s mean as hell.” There’s more meowing, and I swear she’s rattling her cage. “I worry about getting her to you, Miss Lancaster.”
“I’ve already made the arrangements for you. As long as you’re still willing to make the drive,” I tell him.
I rented a car for Roland to drive across the country with Squirrel, since his old truck probably wouldn’t make it. Once he arrives here with the cat, I’ll purchase him an airplane ticket—first class—and send him home. It’ll take time out of his life, but his schedule is fairly free in the summer, he informed me.
“You’ll leave first thing in the morning?” I ask him.
“Yes ma’am. And I hope to get there by Friday. It’s going to be a long haul, but I have a leash for the cat. And a nice, comfortable carrier. She’ll be in good hands.”
“I don’t doubt it. I’m excited to see her. And you too.”
“You just want your cat.”
“It’s true,” I say with a little laugh.
Spencer was right. I want this, I want that, I want everything.
Including him.
Considering how I was raised, I’ve been indulged my entire life. Money is no object and I’m aware I can be rather demanding.
But when you can pay a retired gentleman with not much going on in his life to transport the wild cat you’re drawn to cross country, then why not?
I can’t wait for Squirrel to be here with me. I need something soft and cuddly to love on. Though she doesn’t sound particularly soft or cuddly.
Oh well. I’ll force her to love me. I’m good at that.
Look at Spencer. I pretty much forced my love on him until he didn’t have a choice but to love me back.
I took a twenty-minute nap after my light lunch and when I wake up, Spencer still isn’t here. I check my phone to see he sent me a text saying that traffic’s horrible and he should be there soon.
He better get here soon. I’m already bored without him.
I wander the halls, staring at the portraits of old Lancasters lining the walls. The original Augustus has the most prominent spot at the top of the stairs, where everyone can see him, and every time I look into his eyes, I shiver. They’re eerily like mine. Light blue and blazing bright. I wrap my arms around myself as I pass by each portrait, examining them until I end up in front of the photograph of my family. One of the last taken before my parents divorced.
Mother is sitting on a chair in the center, my father standing directly to her right, his hand on her shoulder. Whit looms behind her, tall and thin, his expression dead serious. Carolina stands in front of our father, her hair slicked back in a ballerina’s bun, her rosebud lips curled into a barely-there smile.
And then there’s me, standing to my mother’s left, a sullen-faced girl who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but there. I’m thin and pale and wearing a sweater, though I remember we took the photo in the summer, in the library of this very house. I wore the extra layer so I wouldn’t look so frail, but it was no use.
I’m skin and bones and nearly translucent. My mother had reached out at the last moment, right when the camera clicked, catching my hand and holding it so tightly, you can see her fingernails pressing into my skin.
It’s a terrible photo, a representation of our family crumbling, yet Mother is clinging to me, as usual. She also made sure to hang it on the wall. An eyesore to remind her husband of the destruction he wielded that summer. By the end of it, she’d discovered he was cheating on her for over a year with Summer’s mother.
The next summer, my parents put on a brave front, but by the end of it, they’d split. No more official family portraits taken together ever again. We were irrevocably broken.
And I was left alone with her to help pick up the pieces, something a thirteen-year-old should never have to deal with, yet there I was. My mother’s little pet.
“That’s one of my favorite photos of us,” calls a familiar voice.
Shocked, I whirl around to find my mother standing at the other end of the hall, a faint smile on her altered face. I blink at her, holding my eyes closed for a few beats because surely, I’m hallucinating right now. Being in this house always brings them back, all the memories swarming inside me.
But when I open my eyes, she’s still standing there. Even closer now. Her hands are behind her back and she’s wearing a chic, flowing summer dress. It’s sleeveless and long, a bright floral print that stands out against her lightly tanned skin. Her blonde hair is slicked behind her ears and giant pearls dangle from them, a matching oversized pearl necklace around her neck. She looks as if she just stepped off a yacht and decided to make a surprise visit.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice faint.
Her smile is kind—and a complete lie. “I found out you were here and thought I’d pop in.”
Pop in. Like this is a fun little visit that I’m looking forward to. “How did you know I was here?”
The smile turns into a faint smirk and she shrugs her bony shoulders. God, she’s the thinnest I’ve ever seen her. “I have my ways. People who feed me information.”
I glance toward the railing, my gaze landing on the empty foyer below. The house is eerily silent and realization dawns.
One of the servants told her about my arrival. I’m sure she paid the person off for the information.
God, I can’t trust anyone.
“I sent everyone away for the weekend. It’ll just be the two of us, and we can catch up. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Mother smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
It sounds horrible. Like my worst nightmare come true.
Mother takes another step toward me, slow and casual. As if she’s not a threat. “I’ve missed you, darling. It’s been so long since we’ve had any alone time together. You’re constantly surrounded by people.”
“That’s on purpose,” I remind her, taking a step backward to create distance, but she just keeps creeping closer. “We can’t spend time together anymore, Mother. It always ends—badly between us.”
For me.
She frowns, her delicate brows drawing together, the only movement on her freshly preserved face. She looks incredibly young. Her features, minus her eye color, remind me of myself, just like Summer told me. “It does not. I’ve only ever wanted to protect you.”
“You’ve done a terrible job of it.” I reach inside my jean shorts pocket, my fingers brushing against the top of my phone. Relief floods me as I whip it out. “Stay away from me. Or I’m calling the police.”
Mother bursts out laughing, slowly walking toward me. “Oh, darling, you sound so silly. You can’t call the police. I’m your mother. All I want to do is talk. Nothing else.” She holds her hands out, palms pointed toward the ceiling. Innocent and nonthreatening—another lie. “I promise.”
I take another step backward, my butt bumping against the wall, my head knocking into a portrait of one of my dead relatives and sending it askew. “The problem with your promises is that you can never, ever keep them.”
“You think so low of me, don’t you?” She makes a tsking noise, shaking her head. “It’s such a shame, how badly our relationship has fallen apart.”
“Well, you know whose fault it is for that.” I brace my other hand on the wall, the phone clutched in my right hand, ready to dial if need be.
“I blame you,” she says, her voice serious. “You’ve pushed me away for years, when all I want is for us to have that special bond we used to share. I don’t have it with anyone else, you know. Not your brother, and definitely not Carolina. She treats me with such disdain, as if being in my presence disgusts her. And Whit thinks I’m an imbecile. He has no respect for women, just like your father.”
I don’t bother correcting her about Whit, because she’s wrong. Though she’s correct in regards to Carolina. Our mother terrifies her and Carolina keeps her distance. She saw how Mother controlled me, and wanted nothing to do with it.
And I can’t hold that against her. She’s lucky she got away.
“You’re saying this is my fault?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course. If you’d just listened to me, your life would be perfect. Now it’s so…messy.” She wrinkles her nose, though there’s not much movement there.
How much plastic surgery did she get?
“Messy in what way?” If I keep her talking, I’ll distract her. And possibly make my way into my bedroom where I can lock her out.
“This relationship with Spencer Donato is not what I envisioned for you. The fact that you’re living with him and not even married is—scandalous.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I contain myself. This is the same woman who tolerated her husband’s multiple affairs throughout their marriage, always turning a blind eye until she couldn’t look away any longer.
“Not as scandalous as me marrying a man old enough to be my father, who I barely knew,” I point out. “A man who was a closeted homosexual and engaged in questionable relationships during our marriage. I’m sure you’ll tell me you didn’t know about Earl’s preferences.”
“I didn’t. He came to me with a very specific request—he wanted to marry you.”
“And use me as a front.”
“You were young and beautiful and wealthy beyond measure. What man wouldn’t want you?”
“You never gave me a choice.”
“You didn’t want one,” she stresses. “You don’t like making decisions, Sylvie. You’ve always said that. You want someone in control of your life always.”
“That’s what you wanted for me. You never gave me the choice to decide on my own. You guided my every move, practically my entire life.” I clutch the phone tighter in my hand, glancing down when it buzzes. I can tell it’s a text, but I can’t see who it’s from.
“Because you couldn’t make a decision on your own. When you’re left to your own devices, you make endless mistakes.”
“Right, so it’s better I let you make all of my life choices.”
Her smile freezes in place. “Yes. Exactly.”
“So you can decide whether I live or die.”
That smile fades, her eyes going wide. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You just refuse to see it. Acknowledge it.” I glance to my right, my bedroom door so close. “You’ve been trying to kill me for years. You almost did. That’s why I can’t be near you any longer, Mother. Can’t you see?”
“Well, can’t you see how much I love and adore you?” She rushes toward me, until she’s standing directly in front of me. Staring at her face is almost like looking in a mirror, her features are so close to mine. Only our eye color is different. Her face shape, her cheekbones, her chin. Her lips, the slope of her nose.
It’s all me. I know I resembled her, but I never thought it was this close.
“Amazing, isn’t it? How much I resemble you?” Her eyes are sparkling, her smile wide. She’s still so attuned to me, it’s freaky. “I brought photos of you with me to my consultation. I told him this is who I want to look like.”
My vision gets blurry, and my head starts to spin. What she’s saying is so…weird. Distressing.
Not normal.
I think I’m going to faint.
“What?” I ask, my voice weak. I sidestep toward my bedroom, not bothering to hide that I’m trying to get away from her, but she moves with me. Like she’s never going to let me escape.
“You heard me. I wanted to look like you. I want people to see us and think we’re sisters. We have such a bond, you know. We’re connected. I know what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling, what you want to do next. You’re my mini me. My special girl. I named you after me. You’re mine. And look, now we resemble each other even more. We could totally pass for sisters now.”
“I’m not your sister. You’re my mother.”
“Oh, I know. We just…it’s easier to say we’re sisters now, don’t you think? When you were younger, you were so needy. I might’ve done some things to you to keep you quiet. What’s the big deal? Lots of moms do it.”
I blink at her, shocked by her confession.
“I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, my darling, but that’s all in the past. I can’t help it if being so worried about you brought me so much attention. Your father was too busy fucking other women to notice me anymore. I had to do something.”
Leave it to her to blame my father for this. She still can’t take responsibility.
“What you did was wrong, and you know it.” I slip my hand behind me when I’m at my bedroom door, reaching for the handle when she lunges toward me, her hand settling over mine.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I say nothing, a trembling breath escaping me when she tightens her grip on my hand. She’s standing so close to me, her body brushes against mine, making me want to recoil from her. I lean my head back until it thumps against the door, desperate to get away.
“You can’t escape me, Sylvie. No matter how hard you try, I will always find you. I will always be there for you. No matter what.” She reaches out with her other hand, gently touching my cheek, and I flinch. Her hand drops away, a frown on her face. “I only want to take care of you. We need each other. Can’t you see?”
My breaths come faster, to the point I feel like I’m going to start hyperventilating, and I close my eyes, mentally telling myself to calm down. “Please back up,” I tell her when my eyes pop back open. “I can’t breathe.”
“Oh, darling. Are you having an asthma attack? Come with me.” She takes my hand, leading me away from my bedroom door and down the hall. “And give me your phone.”
“No.” I shove the phone in my shorts pocket before she can grab it. “Let go of me.”
I try to pull away, but her grip is like a lock, clamped tightly around my wrist.
“I’m doing this to help you. I have an inhaler in my room. One of your old ones.” She keeps walking, never looking back as she drags me behind her. “I’ll take care of you, darling. Take deep, calming breaths if you can.”
Her words are causing my breaths to come faster, my throat growing tight, as is my chest. I blink hard, my vision going blurry, and I know, without a doubt, I’m having a panic attack.
“Stop,” I tell her, my voice soft. Too soft. She doesn’t hear me or chooses to ignore me, I’m not sure.
We pass the staircase, heading for the other hallway, where her bedroom is. She stays in the same room she always has, the one she used to share with my father.
That he allows her to stay here is very generous of him. This is a Lancaster residence, and in his eyes, she is no longer a Lancaster. Even though she never changed her name. I doubt she ever will, even if she marries someone else. The Lancaster name just carries far too much prestige for her to willingly give it up.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pausing when I hear the sound of the door opening.
Mother stops, her head whipping to the side, staring at the foyer downstairs. Spencer appears, shutting the door behind him as he slowly glances around.
“Sylvie,” he calls. “Where are you?”
I try to speak, the words getting caught in my throat. But as if he can sense me, his head lifts, his gaze landing on mine, and his brows draw together when his gaze shifts.
And settles on my mother.
