OH, I’m really drunk. All those neat little whiskeys sent me right over the edge, to the point that I’m swaying by the side of the dance floor as I watch everyone lose themselves to the beat, the music flooding my veins.
Or is that the alcohol?
Harry Styles himself performed earlier, singing a slower version of “Adore You” while Summer swayed in Whit’s arms, their gazes for each other and no one else. He’s actually still here, out on the dance floor and surrounded by mostly women. Even Summer is dancing near him, laughing every time Whit glares at her.
Which is often.
Carolina is on the dance floor in our father’s arms, elegant and graceful as she twirls and twirls. My father eyeing her as if he can’t quite believe she is his daughter.
I mean, I get it. Sometimes it does feel like Carolina came to us her own little person, fully formed at birth and immensely talented from the get-go. She never seemed to fit in with the rest of us.
Do any of us fit into the supposed family ideal though? I’m starting to think no.
The song ends and my father approaches when another begins. I start to shake my head, laughing when he catches my hand and drags me onto the dance floor. I’m not as smooth as my baby sister, but that’s okay. He pulls me into his arms and we gently sway to the soft song, the mood shifting. Becoming quieter.
Summer and Whit are dancing on the floor together, too, staring into each other’s eyes. I glance over at them with a wistful sigh, not trying to hide it as I usually would.
“I like her,” Father says, the approval clear in his voice. “She’s good for your brother.”
“She doesn’t put up with his shit,” I say, feeling bold.
He chuckles, swinging me around. “You’re right. She doesn’t. And that’s what he needs.”
“Is that why you and Mother divorced? Because she always tolerated your antics?” We never talk about their divorce. It’s still somewhat shrouded in mystery, what happened between them to end it for good.
I still believe it was our father who finally put his foot down and moved on. Mother clings—it’s a bad habit of hers.
It can be a bad habit of mine, too, thanks to her.
His mood goes somber, just like that. “I did some things I’m not proud of.”
“With Summer’s mom?” My brows lift in question, even though I already know the answer.
He barely nods. His past makes for some awkward family moments when we’re all together. “With other women too. It’s no secret I was unfaithful. Your mother was too. We weren’t a good fit.”
“Much like me and Earl?”
His expression turns stern. “I hope you know I never approved. Your marriage to that man was all your mother’s doing.”
His words infuriate me. “Really? Why didn’t you stop her?”
“You didn’t give me a chance, and neither did she. Why do you think you were married so quickly? I was out of the country, remember? Your mother made her move because I was gone.” We’re barely dancing anymore, too wrapped up in our conversation in the middle of the floor, couples shuffling past us. “He was older than me, Sylvie. Why would I want you to marry someone like that?”
“Because he could take care of me, when I couldn’t take care of myself.” That was one of the lines my mother fed me.
An irritated sound leaves him. “That’s something your mother would say.”
Now I’m the irritated one. All these years, my mother has been doing—things to me. Poisoning me. Convincing everyone I was sick. That I was dying. And my father never did a damn thing about it. He never interfered, never said a single word to stop her. To help me.
Ever.
“You’ve always got an excuse, don’t you?” The annoyance is replaced with anger and I’m suddenly consumed with it. “I didn’t give you a chance. My mother always prevented you from helping me. Whatever. You knew that something wasn’t right, yet you didn’t interfere. You didn’t try to help. Ever. It’s like you don’t even care about me.”
“My God, how can you say that?” His face falls, and I know I’ve upset him. “I care, Sylvie. I always have. I love you. My God, you’re my child. How could I not—”
I shake my head, making him go quiet.
“No. You say you care. That you love me. You act like the doting father whenever you see fit, but for the most part, you’ve left me to the wolves my entire life.”
The wolves. More like one singular wolf.
He stiffens, his eyes flaring with unmistakable anger. “I take offense to that.”
“Good. You should. You also need to take a long look at your behavior over the years, and see if you’ve really come through for me. If you actually opened your eyes for once, you might realize how much you’ve disappointed me.”
“Now wait a minute…”
I pull out of his arms, abandoning him right there on the dance floor, my anger too big to pretend anymore. My father faintly calls my name—barely loud enough for anyone to hear—but I ignore him.
Most of the wedding guests have already left for the evening, yet the massive room is suddenly stifling. I head for the doors that lead onto the terrace, taking a big, gulping breath of cool air the moment I’m outside.
I go to the spot where I stood earlier, before the ceremony began. The gorgeous arbor laden with flowers still stands outside, but the rows of white chairs are gone, as well as the white aisle runner. I lean heavily against the railing, an idea forming in my mind and, as usual, I give in to my impulses.
And run down the stairs, heading straight for the arbor.
The heady scent of roses greets me, and I breathe deep, noting the tang of salt in the air. The ocean rages just beyond the hedge of green in the distance, and I shiver when the breeze hits me. While it was a gorgeous spring day earlier, once the sun went down, the temperature plummeted.
Goosebumps line my arms, but I ignore them, reaching for a white rose, plucking it from the arrangement and tucking it behind my right ear. I find a piece of ribbon among the flowers and tie my hair back, then change it into a loose bun on top of my head, before I proceed to grab another rose. And another one.
Until they’re all in my hair, surrounding the bun like a flower crown.
I start to spin around, the breeze catching my skirt, lifting it and exposing my legs. A giggle escapes me, the heavy flowers shifting in my hair and threatening to fall out. I reach up to hold them in place, pricking my finger with a leftover thorn on the stem.
“Ow.” I check my wound, squinting into the twilight at the droplet of blood forming on my fingertip. I stick my finger into my mouth, sucking on it, the coppery taste on my tongue when I hear a voice.
A familiar male voice.
“Still always hurting yourself, I see.”
My skin prickles with awareness and I slowly turn to find Spence in front of me, dashingly handsome in his tux. The bowtie is long gone, a few buttons undone on his shirt, revealing the strong column of his throat. He still has the jacket on, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, his distinct scent mixed with the breeze, filling my nostrils.
Filling my head with melancholy and longing. No one smells as delicious as Spence.
Not a single person.
I drop my hand to my side, guilty. “You caught me.”
“Stealing roses?” He glances above my head at the arbor behind me.
“I didn’t think anyone would notice. There are so many.” I shrug, feeling silly and immature.
I’m a grown woman. A widow, for the love of God. I shouldn’t be dancing in the moonlight by myself, plucking roses out of the arbor and making a flower crown. Only children do things like this.
I am not even twenty-three. Regardless of what I’ve gone through, I’m still young. Even though I feel so incredibly old sometimes.
“I noticed.” His gaze sears into me, making my skin feel as if it caught fire, and I go still, wondering what he means by that. “Did you get into an argument with your father?”
I frown. “What…”
“I saw the two of you inside. On the dance floor. You seemed mad. Then you walked away from him and I realized you were actually pissed.” His voice is so low I take a step closer, so I can hear him. “What did he say to you?”
I’m not going to tell him. I don’t necessarily trust Spence. Not yet. Or maybe not ever. My feelings are so conflicted. A riotous mess in my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Always so dismissive, our Syl.” His smile isn’t pleasant, and I wonder if he hates me.
He probably does.
“Why did you follow me out here, Spence?” My voice is quiet. A whisper on the breeze, but he heard me. Even takes a step closer to me this time.
“I’ve never been able to resist your siren call, even when I know I should. Even when I’m so mad at you, I can’t see straight.” He says it all so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been living with this wretched feeling his entire life.
Which, maybe he has. It feels like I’ve known Spencer Donato forever, but do I really know him?
No. Not anymore.
“Remember Halloween night? When you were sixteen?” he asks. “You dressed up as a dark angel.”
Of course, I remember. It’s a night that’s burned forever on my brain, embedded deep into my memories. The pleasure. The humiliation. We took it so far, the two of us. Almost to the point of no return.
Until I pushed him away and he was so angry with me. Sexually frustrated. We got into an argument. We didn’t speak for weeks after. Then I almost died.
Though that wasn’t his fault, the almost dying part. That I can blame squarely on my mother.
“I still think about that night,” he says, his voice distant, as is his gaze. “How you looked. So gorgeous in that costume. How carefree you were—and drunk. You were always locked up so tight most of the time when it was just the two of us. Only giving me pieces of yourself here and there, like stray little crumbs I couldn’t help but gobble up.”
“I was scared,” I admit.
His gaze jerks to mine, surprise etched in his face. “Scared of what? Me?”
I shake my head. “Never you. Just of—the repercussions of you.” Nothing good lasts. I learned that early on.
We don’t look away from each other. It’s like we can’t.
“I gave you everything when I was younger.” He removes his hands from his pockets, taking another step toward me. Until he’s so close, I can feel his body heat reaching toward me, drawing me in. “Yet you pushed me away every single time.”
“I was an idiot.”
Spence shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. I was the idiot. Always there for you. Never turning you away, even though you rejected me constantly. I let you use me.”
He reaches out, his fingers landing on my face. Tracing the line of my jaw slowly. So slow I close my eyes, my lips parting. God, I still savor his touch. His closeness. The very essence of him.
“I was young and stupid,” I whisper, my eyes flashing open. I suck in a breath when he dares to touch the corner of my mouth. My entire body prickles with awareness, waiting for him to make a move, but nothing happens.
Much to my disappointment.
“I was too.” His voice is harsh, slashing into my precarious emotions, shredding them to ribbons. “I’m not the same person I was back then. I’m stronger. Meaner.”
My brows draw together. Meaner? I can’t imagine Spencer ever being mean.
Especially to me.
His fingers drift down, until they’re gently circling my throat, his thumb pressing into my skin. “You don’t know what I’ve been through the last couple of years. How much I’ve changed.”
He doesn’t know what I’ve been through either, and how I’ve changed as well. Maybe we’re too different now. We don’t have anything in common anymore, and the realization…
Makes me sad.
“Pretty little fairy princess with the roses tucked in her gold-spun hair.” His words are sweet, but his touch is crushing. His fingers tighten, making the air stall in my throat and my eyes flash open to find him watching me, his eyes glittering in the darkness.
There’s a matching darkness that lies within him. I see it now. Can feel it surround me, holding me in its grasp, much like his fingers around my neck.
“You look like pure innocence, Syl. In that blue and white dress and the flowers in your hair. But I know the truth. You willingly married that man, and he was a pig.” He jerks me forward, pulling me by the neck, and my body collides with his, my skin tingling upon impact. “How was it, fucking the old man? Did you enjoy it? Could he even get it up?”
I stare up at him, trying to find my voice. He doesn’t know. He thinks I let Earl touch me, but my husband wasn’t interested in me. Not like that.
And I never understood why. Never questioned it.
I preferred it. I didn’t want him to touch me. The only person who’s been inside me, is the very man whose fingers are currently around my neck.
“You’ve been tainted, you know that?” He presses against the underside of my chin, tilting my head back as he bends over me, his mouth hovering above mine. Tempting me to rear up and press our lips together. “Fucking ruined for life, Sylvie. I hope you enjoyed your time with that asshole, however brief it was. No one will want you now. Especially me.”
He shoves me away from him before I can say a word, leaving me gasping for air. Bending forward, I rest my hands on my knees, swallowing hard as I try to catch my breath. The flowers fall out of my hair, one by one, landing on the ground with a soft plop. Yet he doesn’t say another word.
Just walks away and leaves me there alone, fending for myself.
“You’re a liar, Spencer! I know you still want me!” I call out to him, though he doesn’t look back. Of course he doesn’t.
I watch him walk away, anger and pain hitting me like a double punch to the heart. For the first time in my life, I feel utterly abandoned by Spencer Donato.
And it hurts far more than I ever thought it could.
