I FINISH PACKING my bag right when there’s a knock on my door. Before I can answer it, Sylvie barges in, an impatient look on her pixie face.
“What’s taking you so long?”
“I’m done,” I tell her, slinging my duffel bag strap over my shoulder. I could’ve brought my suitcase, but decided it would be too large. Besides, it’s only for a week. How much clothing will I need for a relaxing visit over Thanksgiving break?
Sylvie’s eyes practically bulge out of her head. “That’s all you’re bringing?”
“What else do I need?”
She laughs. “You haven’t spent a week with my family at the Newport house, have you? Just wait and see. We might need to take you shopping. Or you can raid my closet.”
I look her up and down. “I don’t think I could fit in your clothes.”
“You could. Trust me. I have a variety of sizes, thanks to my weight always fluctuating.” She sighs dramatically. “Dying is so hard on the body, no matter what age you are.”
“Sylvie,” I chastise, following her out of my dorm room. “I hate when you talk like that.”
“Oh, when I speak the truth? Spencer doesn’t like it either,” she says nonchalantly.
We exit the building, the cold air like a slap to the face. I’m trembling, even in my thick coat, as we approach a sleek black Lincoln town car waiting for us in the parking lot, the trunk lid up, the driver standing beside it.
He rushes toward me, one arm reaching out. “Let me take that for you, miss.”
I let him have my duffel, sending Sylvie a meaningful look once he walks away. She skips alongside me, laughing.
“Being rich has its advantages,” she says. “Like servants at your beck and call and a private driver to take you to your destinations.”
My throat suddenly feels like it could close up. “Is Whit joining us?”
“Oh no. He would never. Once he got his license, he drives himself to our family gatherings. Always.”
Thank God. I don’t think I could sit with him in the car for any amount of time while Sylvie is with us. I’d either jump him or scratch his eyes out.
“Why don’t you ride with him?” I ask as I follow her into the back seat of the car. The driver shuts the door and then settles into the driver’s seat, putting the car into gear and pulling out of the parking lot.
“Mother won’t let him. He’s too reckless, she says. Afraid he’ll wrap one of his cars around a tree with me in it and I’ll die instantly.” More laughter, though it’s tinged with sadness. “She’s so ironic.”
I don’t quite know what she’s referring to, and I’m almost afraid to ask.
So I don’t.
We make small talk the entirety of the drive. It’s slow going, the roadways clogged with people trying to make their escape just like we are. I can’t stop looking out the window and marveling at all the traffic.
“If we would’ve waited any longer, the traffic only gets worse. Next week will be an absolute nightmare,” Sylvie says.
“What are the plans for tonight?” I worry I didn’t bring a fancy enough outfit for dinner, especially considering Sylvie’s reaction to my lack of luggage.
“The restaurant we’re going to is very expensive,” Sylvie drawls. “But don’t worry. It’s also very casual. Outdoor seating. Firepits we can sit by and keep warm. Plenty of alcohol and appetizers to die for.”
“Alcohol?” I ask, my voice weak.
“Daddy always manages to sneak me a few sips.” She laughs. “I used to never drink, you know? Whit still believes I’m a good girl, but lately I’ve been allowing myself to indulge in…things. Specifically ones that aren’t good for me.”
I think of myself at fourteen, sneaking sips out of discarded champagne glasses like a little beggar. What must’ve the rich and snobbish Whit Lancaster thought of me? God, I was pitiful. Thinking I was so old in my tacky, strapless dress I wore as a bridesmaid at my cousin’s wedding the year before. My boobs had grown since then, and that’s why they were practically spilling out of my dress.
The memory has become painful. He saw me as a pitiful girl, I’m sure. One he could swiftly take advantage of, which he did.
“My parents are excited to meet you,” Sylvie continues. “I told them all about you.”
“All about me?” I feel like I’m walking into a trap. After all, I’m the idiot whose mother slept with Sylvie’s father and essentially broke up their marriage.
What if her mother blames me for that, like Whit used to? I’m screwed.
“They know who you are, especially my father,” Sylvie says. “Mother had a few choice words to say, but don’t worry. She would never be anything but polite to you in front of everyone. ‘To be rude is unseemly,’ direct quote.”
I press my forehead against the window pane, closing my eyes. I’m so stupid. Why would I do this to myself? I’m walking into a lion’s den, and every single one of them will be hungry. Eager to take a bite out of me. And Sylvie is useless protection. I adore her, but she won’t be strong enough to stave off her parents.
And especially not Whit.
As if I’ll push him away though. He’s my weakness too.
After a little over an hour on the road, we finally turn in front of double ornate black iron gates. Within seconds, they part, allowing us entry, and an endless stretch of black pavement curves through the green as far as the eye can see. I gawk out the window like a little girl, my face pressed against the glass, watching as we drive past gorgeous landscape. Lush green grass and giant trees barren of leaves, thanks to the recent turn in the weather. Towering green bushes appear as we make our way, lining the driveway on either side, and I know we must be getting close.
The driveway widens, and then it appears. The Lancaster mansion towers in the near distance, two, no three stories made of stone and marble, four massive pillars at the entrance, an endless amount of windows on either side. It’s imposing, reminding me of one of those grand castles we saw when we went to England a few years ago for a family vacation. Before Jonas and Yates died.
It actually reminds me of Buckingham Palace, which is to say, it’s mightily impressive.
“Like I mentioned before, we normally only come here for the summer,” Sylvie explains as the car curves along the roundabout, the house drawing nearer. “But Mother and Daddy prefer to use this house for our family Thanksgiving while we’re at Lancaster Prep. So much closer for us to travel.”
“You spend your summers here?” I ask weakly, my gaze trailing over the ornate front of the house. Angel statues stare down upon us, their beautiful faces forever caught in wonder, with their chubby cheeks and rosebud lips.
“Yes. Well, we used to, when I was younger. All of us would be here. Even Carolina, though she struggles throughout the season when she can’t dance every single day. Mother turned one of the smaller ballrooms into a dance studio for her, and she spends pretty much the entire summer there. Waking up first thing in the morning, dancing and leaping and wearing herself out until she’s a boneless heap of exhaustion,” Sylvie explains. “Her dedication is mind-boggling. I can barely keep up with her after thirty minutes, and I used to dance too, before I became so sick all of the time. I just know she’ll be a famous dancer someday.”
Her family is so incredibly interesting, where mine has horrible secrets and deep shame, all of it locked up tight.
Well, not all of it, thanks to Whit getting his hands on my diary.
The Lancaster family seems so perfect. Beautiful. Yes, Augustus cheated with my mother and ended up getting a divorce, but that isn’t so out of the norm.
I’m sure their family doesn’t have as many dirty secrets as mine.
The moment the car stops in front of the house, Sylvie leaps out of it and starts pacing, stretching her legs. I follow suit, unable to stop from staring at the house. The massive front door slowly swings open and two women dressed all in black come out to greet us, taking our luggage and rushing back into the house.
“You’ll have a guest room all to yourself.” Sylvie laughs as I watch the servants scurry inside. “No pull-out couch or anything like that.”
“How many rooms are in this place?” I ask as we make our way up the stone steps.
“Fifty? Sixty? I’m not sure,” Sylvie says with a shrug as we walk through the open double doors. The foyer is two stories, her words echoing off the walls and the ceiling. A man in a black suit shuts the door, the sound ringing in the hollow room, nearly making me jump.
“Miss Lancaster, shall I show you and your guest to your rooms?” the man asks in a British accent.
“Please, Alfred.” Sylvie indicates me. “This is my friend, Summer Savage.”
“A pleasure, Miss Savage,” Alfred says with a quick bow.
I blink at him. This entire moment is surreal. The have an authentic English butler at their beck and call. Servants everywhere. The biggest house I think I’ve ever been in, in my life. No wonder the Lancasters choose this holiday to spend together, and in this house. Augustus can have one wing; their mother can have another and they’d barely have to see each other.
“Nice to meet you too,” I say to Alfred before he turns and leads us to the staircase.
“Your room is upstairs,” he tells me. “The family has the west wing, and guests stay in the east wing.”
I nod, mentally counting the steps as we climb them. They’re wide, marble, covered in soft black fabric that resembles velvet. The black matches the ornate iron railings that also match the gate that blocks the commoners from coming in, and once we’re at the top of the stairs, we’re greeted by a massive painting of a stern looking man scowling down upon us.
“The original Augustus Lancaster,” Sylvie whispers in my ear, steering me to the right. “Come on.”
We go up another staircase, to the third floor, trailing behind Alfred as he marches ahead of us. I can’t stop staring, drinking in the massive paintings of their ancestors. The ornate paneled walls, the chandeliers hanging above us, dripping with crystals. It’s like something out of another time.
“The guest rooms are here,” Alfred announces. “I made sure and gave you a room with an ocean view, Miss Savage. As per Miss Sylvie’s request.”
“Thank you, Al,” Sylvie says, skipping right up to him. He stops, shocked, and she rises on tiptoe, giving him a pinch on the cheek. “You’re such a peach.”
Swear to God, the older man blushes.
We walk down the endless hall, until he stops directly in front of a towering door. With a flick of his wrist, he opens it, then holds out his arm. “Ladies first.”
Sylvie leads me into the room and I stop in the center of it, my mouth hanging open as I slowly turn in a circle, trying to take it all in. But I can’t. My eyes don’t know where to settle first.
The rug beneath my feet is plush, the floral pattern faded, though that doesn’t make it look shabby. No, more like you know you’re stepping on something fine. Expensive. That’s been in the family for generations. The walls are covered in subtle hydrangea printed wallpaper, with blue and pink and white flowers everywhere, allowing a bare glimpse of the pale green background. The bed is a massive four poster. The furniture is delicate, yet ornate. Painted white with gold tufted seating. Another chandelier hangs in the center and I gaze up at it, the crystals sparkling in the dim sunlight.
“I feel like I’m in a fairy tale,” I say to no one.
Sylvie laughs and takes my hand. “Come see the view.”
I follow her toward the slender glass double doors that open out onto a balcony. She grabs the black iron handle and opens one, leading me outside where the bitterly cold wind whips at our hair. Before us is a lush garden, reminding me of the one at school but even bigger, and beyond that, the ocean. It’s wintry blue and whitecapped, the water churning. Restless.
“This is beautiful,” I breathe, turning to find she’s smiling at me, downright giddy.
“I love seeing it through your eyes for the first time. Everyone I know is so jaded. Nothing affects them. I mean, I can tell you’re jaded in some ways, but not all,” she explains.
I try to tamp down my joy and awe, feeling stupid. Their wealth shouldn’t impress me. My mother is wealthy now too, thanks to Jonas and Yates’ passing. Mother got everything. All of it. Jonas’ ex-wife is suing, but she has no grounds for a lawsuit, according to my mother’s lawyer, or so Mother says. The first wife’s only son is gone too. She deserves nothing beyond what Jonas originally gave her in the divorce settlement.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend.” Sylvie reaches out, her hand gentle on my arm. “I like how open you are. How real. Everyone tiptoes around me, treating me like I’m a fragile doll about to break. You don’t.”
“You’re the strongest person I know,” I admit, my voice faint, swallowed up by the howling wind.
It’s true. She’s suffered so much, and still she skips around and acts like nothing bothers her. I’d be in a pit of despair if I believed I was dying.
She almost relishes in the fact that her time is near.
Sylvie visibly trembles and she tugs on my arm. “Come on. Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”
The moment the doors shut, the room is enveloped in complete silence. Alfred is long gone. My duffel bag rests on a bench that sits in front of the giant bed I get to sleep in tonight. It looks so small, downright shabby in the overt grandeur of the room.
“We’re definitely going shopping this weekend,” Sylvie tells me, her gaze locked on my bag. “You have a credit card?”
I nod. I’ll should probably text Mother to make sure she’s okay with me spending money, but I doubt she’d care. She’s too busy vacationing with her friends, soaking up the sun. I didn’t even bother telling her I was going to Sylvie’s house for Thanksgiving. I don’t think she’d really care about that either.
Or maybe she would, considering I’m interacting with Augustus Lancaster this week. I don’t know.
Sylvie smiles. “Perfect. There are so many fantastic shops we can explore. We’ll find you a new look for every day of the week. And a new suitcase to take it all home in.”
“But I brought some clothes,” I start, but she shakes her head, her expression firm.
“Meals are an event. There will be parties in the neighborhood. You’ll want to dress up the entire week, especially at night.” Her gaze skims me from head to toe. “You’re so beautiful, yet you rarely play up your beauty. Please let me do your makeup tonight for dinner. What do you say?”
“I-I guess,” I agree. “What should I wear tonight?”
“Oh, you can dress casual. Jeans. A sweater. And your hair down. You always have it in a ponytail.” She reaches behind me and yanks the tie from my hair, so it cascades around my face, a bend in my hair thanks to the hair tie. “Your hair is gorgeous. Maybe I can curl it for you too. Please let me dress you up? I used to do this for Lina all the time before she went away to school. She was like my own personal Barbie doll I could make pretty.”
“Fine, okay,” I say with a laugh, overwhelmed. “What time is dinner?”
“I’ll ask Mother what time the reservation is for. I’ll go find her.” Sylvie turns wide eyes upon me. “Would you care to meet her now?”
God, no. “I’d rather take a nap, if it’s okay. I’m exhausted.”
“Of course! You’re the birthday girl. You can do whatever you want. I’ll find out what time dinner is, and text you. You’ll need to come to my room at least an hour before we leave so I can do your hair and makeup. Come dressed. I’ll work my magic on you.” She pulls me into a crushing hug, her face pressed against my hair. “I’m so glad you came with me. You’ll be just the distraction I need.”
I pull away from her with a frown. “From what?”
Sylvie’s smile is mysterious. “My entire life.”
