AFTER SYLVIE LEAVES MY ROOM, I fall asleep within minutes of my head hitting the fluffy pillow, wrapped up in the sumptuous duvet that covers my bed. I sleep for over an hour, waking up disoriented, the room shrouded in complete darkness. For a moment, I forget where I am.
And then it all comes back to me. I’m at the Lancaster estate in Newport, and we’re going to dinner tonight. All of us. Including me.
And Whit.
He still doesn’t know I’m here. I’m sure of it. Sylvie won’t tell him. She’d rather I appear at the restaurant like a little bomb, perfectly detonated and exploding in his face. I’m sure she’ll get a great thrill out of that. I adore my new friend, but sometimes I wonder if I’m being used as a pawn in her games, gleefully starting family drama wherever she can.
I grab my phone to check the time. Just past six. I see a text from Sylvie.
Dinner reservations are at eight. We’ll leave at 7:45. You have to be in my room no later than 6:30!
Yeah. Probably not going to make that, especially since I still need to wash and dry my hair.
I also have a text from Mother.
Happy Birthday my darling. I hope you’re doing something nice to celebrate.
That’s it. No I remember when you were born, no I love you, I miss you. I wish I were with you.
I’ll answer her later. Instead I send a quick text to Sylvie.
Me: Fell asleep. Just woke up. Hopping in the shower now.
Sylvie: OMG hurry!
I gather my toiletries and enter the luxurious bathroom, my mouth hanging open as I take it all in. This isn’t just a display of wealth. What the Lancaster family has goes far beyond that. It’s heritage. Generational money that runs so deep, I’m sure it feels endless.
The house may be old, but it thankfully has modern plumbing and I can tell the bathroom has been recently remodeled. There is marble and glass everywhere. The shower is huge, two walls of clear glass. The cabinets are painted the palest robin egg blue, and the mirrors that hang above the two sinks are ornate gold. A fresh flower arrangement sits on the counter, with bursts of fall colors including giant sunflowers.
I open the shower door and turn on the tap, gasping when the water steadily begins to fall, reminding me of a rain shower. I quickly shed my clothes and step under the spray, tilting my head back and letting it pour all over me. The warmth relaxes my tense muscles, and so does the lavender scented body wash. By the time I’m finished and drying myself off, I feel languid. Relaxed.
Then I remember what’s going to happen tonight—and who I’m going to see—and the tension is back, creating instant knots in my shoulders.
My phone buzzes and I check it. Another text from Sylvie.
Sylvie: I’ll dry your hair for you. Come to my room!
Me: I don’t know where it is!
Sylvie: I will meet you at the stairs. I’m leaving now!
Thankfully I’ve already slathered on lotion, face moisturizer and deodorant. I throw on my planned outfit—a pair of my favorite high waisted, light wash jeans and a tight fitting black mock turtleneck shirt. It’s slightly cropped and I study myself in the mirror, turning this way and that, hoping I don’t look too scandalous.
What’s a little skin? At least my tits won’t fall out.
Not that Whit hasn’t seen them before…
Clumsily slipping on my old Doc Marten boots, I grab my phone and hurry out of the bedroom, jogging down the endless hall, slowing down when I see Sylvie waiting for me at the top of the stairs, just as she said. She’s smiling, her entire body seemingly vibrating as she waves at me to hurry.
“Let’s go,” she says, grabbing my hand and taking me to her bedroom.
It’s even more opulent than my room, which is, of course, no surprise. The walls are the palest pink, as is the bedding on the gorgeous white princess bed. The entire room is delicate and feminine and ethereal, just like Sylvie is.
“I love your room,” I tell her as I drink it all in, my booted feet loud on the bare floor when I step off the thick rug. If my mother were here, she’d chastise me for stomping everywhere. She hates my boots.
I think that’s half the reason I wear them every chance I can get.
“Thank you. Let’s get you ready in the bathroom. Better lighting,” she says.
I follow her into the gigantic bathroom, and she settles me into the built-in vanity, the counter covered with every hair tool imaginable. A hair dryer, a couple of straighteners and at least three curling irons, the barrels all of various sizes. She wastes no time, getting right to work on blow drying my hair and within minutes, my hair is sleek and straight, shiny under the bright lights.
“Why don’t you ever wear your hair down?” she asks once she’s turned the dryer off, setting it on the counter.
“I don’t know,” I say, hating how defensive I sound. “It always gets in the way.”
Sylvie runs her fingers through it, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “It’s beautiful. You should show it off. We have to wear those stupid uniforms so at least play up your best features!”
I say nothing as she begins to curl my hair, mulling over her words. Mother always harps on me about my looks. How plain I am without makeup, and she says the same thing Sylvie just did—I need to play up my features. How drab my hair looks pulled into a plain ponytail—don’t I want to go with her to get a blow out? She wants me girly and feminine and beautiful, just like she is. My mother is a beautiful woman. I look a lot like her.
Defying her, turning down her constant requests, is some sort of control issue for me. I don’t want people to be drawn to me only because of my face. I want them to see something else. Something more. I’m not just a pretty face or big tits or long legs.
I think of Whit. Is he only dazzled by my looks? I’m downright plain at school. No makeup, my hair pulled back. I don’t roll up the waistband of my skirt to show off my legs except for that one moment in time, when I was desperate to catch his attention. Otherwise, I’m as dowdy as they come.
But he’s seen me naked, plenty of times. He knows what I hide beneath the uniform. He saw me in that horrible Halloween costume too. He barely looked at me that night. For some reason, my appearance made him angry. My showing up as a sexy devil had the complete opposite effect than what I originally planned.
He confuses me. I don’t know what he wants anymore. Actually, that’s not true. I know what he doesn’t want.
Me.
Sylvie curls my hair into subtle waves. Does my makeup, getting right into my face, her eyes on me. I sort of want to squirm under her assessment, but when I do, she chastises me and has to start all over again with my eyeliner.
So I remain perfectly still, my entire body a ball of anxiety. I’m going to end up looking like I’m trying too hard. I just know it. When she finally allows me to turn toward the mirror, I suck in a sharp breath at first glance.
I look like myself, only enhanced. My eyes are brighter. My cheeks more accentuated. My lips redder. But it doesn’t look like too much.
More like Goldilocks did her work on me and I turned out just right.
“Do you hate it?” Sylvie asks after I remain silent for a bit too long. I meet her worried gaze in the mirror. “I tried to keep you as natural as possible.”
“It’s…amazing,” I say, my voice light. “I love it.”
“Are you sure?”
I turn in my seat to smile up at her. “I’m sure. Thank you, Sylvie. I feel like a princess.”
“You’re welcome. Happy Birthday.” She envelops me in a tight hug, almost crushing me to her.
“I appreciate it. But…can you make sure and not mention my birthday at dinner tonight?” I ask once I pull out of her arms.
Sylvie frowns. “You don’t want anyone to know?”
“I don’t want to make a big deal about it.” This night isn’t about me. I just want to be a quiet observer.
I also don’t want to piss Whit off.
“I can do that,” she says eagerly, pulling me in for another hug. “Thank you for coming here with me this week. I don’t think I could’ve stood this alone.”
I pull away from her with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m being foolish.” She makes a disparaging noise. “I’ll be fine. Especially with you here. Just—don’t abandon me for anyone else, okay? I-I might need you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, and I mean every word. I’ll stick by Sylvie’s side this entire week. No one will be able to separate us.
I’ll make sure of that.
The same driver awaits us as we exit the house, and we take the town car that brought us here to the restaurant near the wharf, right on the water. It’s freezing outside, and I wear the cropped black puffer jacket I bought online last month. Sylvie is similarly dressed in jeans and a dark blue, oversized sweater. Her blonde hair is pulled into a loose braid and it’s draped over one shoulder. Giant diamond studs sparkle in her ears, bringing out the brightness in her blue eyes.
“Where’s the rest of your family?” I ask nervously, gazing around the interior of the car. I figured we’d all go to the restaurant together.
Sylvie yawns. “Mother’s already there. We got into a huge fight while you were napping. She wanted us to ride with her, but I told her you were asleep.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to cause any problems,” I start.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, interrupting me. “Daddy is meeting us there. He just came in from London, so he had his driver bring him straight to the restaurant.”
“What about Whit?”
“Again, driving his own car. In case he wants to make a quick escape.” She rolls her eyes. “He might be bringing a friend or two. I have no idea.”
This makes me nervous. Just the thought of seeing Whit fills me with trepidation. Will he be mad I’m here? Or will he not even care?
I don’t know what’s worse.
We arrive at the restaurant within minutes, both of us slipping out the back door of the car, shaking when the cold air hits us. We dash toward the front door, the warmth of the restaurant drawing us in. The front area is crowded with people waiting for a seat, reminding me of the last time Sylvie and I went out to eat. Sylvie speaks with the host, giving her name and he smiles broadly before leading us to a private room in the back of the building.
My nerves are beyond amped up. My legs are shaky and my breaths are rapid. I tell myself to keep it together, but I swear I’m going to hyperventilate if I don’t watch out.
We enter the room and I see their mother first. An elegant, painfully thin woman clad in a black sweater dress, each slender arm dripping with gold bangles almost to her elbows. Her hair is cut into a severe, platinum bob and her delicate features remind me of Sylvie, though hers are more pinched.
A flash of annoyance crosses her face when she spots us. “There you are. Couldn’t you have at least worn a dress?”
I ignore the jab, since it’s not directed at me, but her greeting reminds me of my own mother.
“Mother.” Sylvie’s voice is firm. “I want you to meet my friend, Summer Savage. Summer, this is my mother. Sylvia Lancaster.”
Her namesake. I step closer to the table, extending my hand out toward her. She takes it, offering a limp handshake. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, my voice even. The epitome of polite. “Thank you for having me in your home. It’s so beautiful.”
“Any friend of Sylvie’s is a friend of ours, dear,” Sylvia says coolly, her ice blue eyes locking on mine. They remind me of her son’s. Her demeanor does as well. Cool. Detached.
Judging.
“Have a seat,” Sylvia says to the two of us, and we automatically sit next to each other, across from Sylvie’s mother. “Tell me. How was your trip here?”
“Oh, it went perfectly smooth,” I start, but Sylvie interrupts me.
“The traffic was awful, I already told you,” she says, glancing around the small room. “Where’s Daddy and Whit?”
“Your father should be here soon. He just texted me. Claims his plane landed late.” Mrs. Lancaster’s lips draw into a thin line. “And your brother is at the bar, ordering himself a drink.”
“Oh, I want a drink,” Sylvie says with a little pout, crossing her arms.
“I’m sure your father will pour you a glass of wine,” Sylvia says, irritation flitting across her face. “Are you part of the textile Savage family?”
I frown. “No.”
“The retail Savages then. Oh, their athletic wear is to die for.”
“I’m not related to them either.” I’m guessing she already knows this. She’s just…what? Making me feel inferior?
“Oh.” Sylvia wrinkles her nose. “Who’s your father then? What’s his name?”
“Lionel Savage. And I don’t keep in contact with him,” I admit.
“Hmm.” Sylvia taps her finger against her pursed lips. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
Last I heard, Lionel Savage was a gym rat and personal trainer somewhere in Jersey. Of course, his name doesn’t sound familiar.
“What is your family doing for the holidays?” she asks me pointedly.
“My mother is in the Caribbean,” I admit.
Her gaze flickers with irritation at the mention of my mother. No surprise.
“What about Jonas? Oh, I adored that man, especially when he worked with my husband. He was always so sweet,” she says, her lips curling upward in what vaguely resembles a smile.
But her words are sharp. Carving at my emotions. Reminding me of what I’ve done, and how we can never get them back.
“Mother,” Sylvie chastises, sending her a meaningful look.
Sylvia Lancaster’s expression is one of complete and utter innocence. “What? I did adore Jonas so much. I know he and his first wife suffered through that horrible divorce, thanks to the affair.” She sends me a quick look, full of ire. “But I assumed his new wife was keeping him very happy.”
“He’s dead,” I state flatly.
Sylvia rears back, blinking at me. “What?”
“Didn’t you hear? About the fire? He and—Y-Yates.” I stumble over my stepbrother’s name. I haven’t said it out loud in so long. It feels odd on my lips.
“Oh. That’s right. How could I forget? Such a tragedy.” She frowns, but then it’s gone. As if it never was there in the first place, her face is so smooth. She smiles pleasantly, resting her arms on top of the table, her hands clasped together. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She doesn’t sound sorry at all. I’d take a guess that she mentioned Jonas on purpose, just to make a jab at me. Which is cruel, considering how much I adored Jonas, not that she knows that. He wasn’t able to protect me from certain things, but he always treated me as one of his own.
“Did they catch who set the fire?” Sylvia asks, her brows shooting up.
My stomach twists. There’s nothing in it, yet I feel as if I could vomit all over this table.
“It wasn’t arson,” Sylvie answers for me, sounding confused. She glances at me. “Was it?”
“An accident,” I croak, ducking my head.
The word was tossed around at first, right after the incident. But then it was dropped. Not enough evidence, Mother reassured me, which was a relief.
Sylvie thankfully changes the subject, talking about school, filling her mom in on the latest gossip. Talking about people I have no idea who they are, but supposedly they attend Lancaster Prep, children of her parents’ friends. I don’t really pay attention, too preoccupied with watching the door, waiting and dreading Whit’s entrance. Another man walks in first, though. Whit’s father.
If I wanted to know what Whit will look like when he’s older, he just entered the room.
“Aug, there you are,” Sylvia says, sounding exasperated. “Finally you’re here.”
Augustus completely ignores her, walking straight toward Sylvie. She rises to her feet and embraces him, giving him a lingering hug. I can’t help but feel envious, wishing I had a strong relationship with my father. Or that Jonas was still here. I miss having a father figure to go to for advice. For comfort.
I’m sure I have daddy issues. I won’t bother denying them.
“You look well,” Augustus says to Sylvie, clasping her cheeks with his hands as he stares into her eyes. She beams up at him. “You’ve gained weight.”
“I feel well,” she answers, her voice light. The lightest I’ve ever heard her. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Yesterday she looked like hell. Now she’s sparkling with health.
I don’t get it.
“The flight was terrible. Delayed at takeoff. Bad weather. Glad I made it back in one piece.” He releases his hold on Sylvie, his gaze shifting to me. “Who do we have here?”
“Oh Daddy, this is Summer. My friend,” Sylvie says, smiling at me.
I stand and take his offered hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He tilts his head as he contemplates me, slowly releasing my hand. “You’re terribly familiar.”
“Her mother is Janine Weatherstone,” Sylvie says, a knowing smile curling her lips.
“Ah.” His brows lift in seeming surprise. “Well.” He pauses, his gaze wandering over my face. “You look just like her.”
Great. He realizes I look just like the woman he had a raging affair with. One that ruined his marriage and almost ruined Mother’s.
I don’t bother answering him, because what can I say? Gee thanks, glad I remind you of your mistress?
Talk about awkward.
We all settle back into our seats, Augustus sitting at the head of the table, as far away as possible from Sylvia. I watch as she tries to speak to him, and how he ignores her. Or says something dismissive, his gaze shuttered. Closed-off completely.
This is where Whit learned it from, I realize.
The server comes in to take our orders and Whit still hasn’t entered the room. Augustus orders bottles of wine and a load of appetizers. Sylvie claps her hands in glee, while her mother chastises her ex-husband for ordering too many carb-loaded items.
I say nothing. A quiet little observer of the Lancaster family dynamics, trying to put it all together in regards to Whit and his behavior. He runs so hot and cold. He still wants me. I know that much after the blistering kiss we shared earlier today.
But his attraction toward me is always accompanied by anger and hostility. He’s an absolute prick toward me most of the time. I don’t understand it.
I still don’t understand him.
“Oh, the birthday boy has returned!” Sylvia suddenly exclaims and I lift my head to see Whit standing in the open doorway, an absolutely stunning girl under his arm, staring up at him adoringly.
My stomach sinks and I keep my head averted. He brought a girl—and not Caitlyn. Of course he did.
“Father,” Whit says, sounding surprised when he spots him. “You made it.”
Augustus stands with a grin, going to his son. “Do you really think I’d miss my oldest child’s eighteenth birthday?”
“I wasn’t sure,” Whit says truthfully, meeting his father halfway. He releases his hold on the girl and the two men embrace, slapping each other’s backs in that purely male way. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Happy Birthday, son,” Augustus says sincerely. “I see you brought Leticia with you.”
Dread consumes me. He’s with Leticia. The girl who’s been chosen as his future wife, like we’re living in the middle ages.
“Hi, Mr. Lancaster,” Leticia says sweetly, shaking Augustus’s hand. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Lovely to see you too. Call me August. None of that mister talk. Always feel like my dad is nearby,” he says jokingly, glancing around as if he’s looking for him.
Leticia’s tinkling laughter is, of course, delicate and pretty. Much like she is.
“Come, the both of you. Please sit down,” Augustus says, taking over as host.
From the frosty expression on Sylvia’s face, she doesn’t approve.
“Your sister brought a friend with her,” she says to Whit when he arrives at the table, gesturing toward me. “You know her, of course, since she attends Lancaster Prep. Summer.” Her lips curl. “Savage.”
Whit turns his wide-eyed gaze upon me, his lips drawing into a thin line. “Barely,” he bites out, his gaze flickering over me, as if I don’t even exist. Typical. “Hello.”
I nod toward him but otherwise don’t say a word.
Conversation continues around me, but I don’t hear it. I can’t. All I can do is watch Whit out of the corner of my eye. He continuously sips from the glass of amber liquid he brought with him from the bar, his gaze on no one, anger radiating from him in palpable waves. It’s as if no one else senses it though. Leticia makes a plate of appetizers for him like a good little girlfriend when they arrive, but he doesn’t even touch them. She scoots closer to him, whispering in his ear, and his gaze drops to the front of her shirt, where it displays a healthy amount of cleavage. Her tits are enormous. Bigger than mine.
He touches her there, a casual caress, his fingers briefly skimming her skin, and seeing it jars me to my very core. I grab at the full wineglass sitting on the table in front of me and gulp from it, just before I push my chair back and stand, so quickly the chair clatters to the floor, effectively silencing everyone’s conversation.
“Sorry.” My cheeks burn with humiliation and I try to smile, but it just won’t come. “I’ll be right back.”
I flee the room before anyone can say anything to humiliate me further, fully expecting Sylvie to chase after me, but thankfully she doesn’t. I find my escape in the elegantly decorated ladies’ bathroom. I stand at the sink, my shaking hands braced on the white marble counter, staring at myself.
What am I doing here? Why did I come? Did I really think Whit would be happy to see me? Clearly, I’m delusional. I should feign sick the moment we return to the house, and leave in the morning. They won’t want me there if they believe I’m contagious.
Calmed by my new plan, I soap up my hands and wash them, turning away from the sink to dry them under the automatic dryer when I hear the door open and quickly close.
The quiet snick of a lock turning into place.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Whit, leaning against the door. Watching me. Slowly I turn to face him, my heart racing, my chest heaving with every labored breath.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice deathly quiet.
“Washing my hands,” I say calmly.
A flash of annoyance crosses his beautiful face. He’s freshly shaven and smells crisp. Like fragrant fall air. If I could, I’d crumple to my knees in front of him and beg him to touch me again, but I refuse to be that sort of girl.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he says, his voice flat.
“Sylvie invited me for the week. She wanted me to spend the holiday with her,” I offer, but he holds up a hand, silencing me.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
His words are like a knife, carving into my stupid and always hopeful heart. You’d think I’d learn by now. “I know,” I say, my voice trembling. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
We stare at each other, the silence, the tension growing between us, making it hard for me to breathe. He pushes away from the door, heading straight for me and I feel like a rabbit who’s been ensnared by its prey. Stalking me as I stand rooted to the spot.
He crowds me, his big hands settling on my hips, his warmth seeping into me. My body lights up, responding to his familiar, devastating touch and I tilt my head back so our gazes meet.
“If I’d known you would be here, I would’ve never—”
Whit presses his lips closed, cutting off whatever else he was going to say to me. And I feel like I need to hear the rest of those words. I need some sort of confirmation that he doesn’t mind finding me here.
But this is most likely wishful thinking on my part. He’s not pleased by my appearance. I’ve probably ruined everything.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, feeling lost. Inept. Being around him, his family, I know I don’t measure up. I’m no Leticia. I’m sure her family is prestigious, while mine is full of scandal. Shameful.
My mother had an affair with his father for God’s sake. We’re the epitome of scandalous.
A gasp escapes me when he grips my hips and pulls me to him. “Be my birthday present,” he demands.
Before I can ask him what he means, his mouth is on mine, the kiss instantly deep. I moan when his tongue licks mine, his hands going to my ass and lifting, settling me on the edge of the counter. He comes to stand between my spread legs, breaking the kiss so he can stare at the space between us.
“I could fuck you right here,” he says, cupping the front of my jeans, his thumb pressing against the seam. It hurts. It feels amazing. “You’re at the perfect height.”
My panties flood with moisture. I want him to fuck me right here. While his parents and the girl he’s brought with him are in the next room. Waiting for us. “Please,” I whisper and he smiles.
In less than a minute, his cock is out and my jeans and panties are down, bunched around my ankles, the marble cold against my butt. He slides inside of me with ease, his eyes falling closed as he pushes himself to the hilt, fitting his body to mine completely. I squeeze my inner walls around him, smiling when he groans.
Whit presses his forehead to mine, completely still, his cock throbbing inside of my body. I wait, suspended in time, unsure of what to do next. He sucks in a deep breath, licking his lips, and begins to move.
He fucks me in earnest. I grip his shoulders, watching him the entire time, completely fascinated by the myriad of emotions I see washing over his handsome face. It gets better between us every single time, I think, as I race my hands over his chest, wishing I was touching his bare skin. His movements become faster, the room filling with the scent of sex, and I moan softly with his every thrust. The drag of his cock in and out of my body makes my belly tighten and when I can’t take it anymore, I close my eyes.
“Fucking beautiful,” he mutters under his breath. “Addicted to your pussy, swear to fucking God.”
He kisses me, his mouth frantic, his tongue insistent. I return the kiss, slinging one arm around his neck, anchoring myself to him. His breaths come faster and he ends the kiss, his face in mine, low grunts falling from his lips, matching the pace of his hips.
“Goddamn,” he says just before he groans, spilling himself inside of me. I can feel his semen flood my body, our harsh breathing loud in the silent room, his body jerking with every wave of his orgasm.
Within seconds, he’s pulling away from me, tucking himself back inside his pants and zipping them up. I sit there in a daze, watching him. My pussy throbs. I feel downright desperate to come, I’m so on edge. As if he can sense it, he reaches out and drags his fingers against my wet slit, stroking me once. “You want to come?”
I nod, wincing when his fingers toy with my swollen clit. “Yes.”
He removes his hand from my body. “Later,” he says with an evil grin.
Just before he turns and exits the bathroom without a backward glance.
