SIXTEEN MONTHS later
I exit the Uber, taking a deep breath of the fresh, damp morning air before I start across the square, toward my destination. I’ve been in Europe, specifically Paris, for the last year. I attend school, studying art history, immersing myself completely in learning the different art periods, the meanings behind the paintings. Studying the artists themselves. It’s been grueling. Fascinating.
I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.
I used to surround myself with beautiful people. Dazzled by their wealth and what they were able to do with it. Now I surround myself with meaningful art instead. Beautiful people will hurt you. It’s just their way. Beautiful art?
It allows you to study it. Absorb it. It makes you feel. And it rarely hurts.
I make my way across the square, taking in the stately buildings surrounding me. The designer stores that are still closed. The hotel in the distance, subtle. You’d never guess a famous landmark was only a few feet away.
Of course, he would stay there. It makes perfect sense.
I haven’t spent much time exploring the 1st arrondissement beyond visiting the Louvre, and even then, I don’t venture much beyond the museum and the gardens that surround it. I’m not one to visit the shops much anymore. Though I never really was. I don’t need to shop, to buy the latest designer clothing or handbags.
I leave that sort of thing up to my mother.
Place Vendome is quiet in the morning. The elegant buildings remind me of another time. The massive column in the center, with the statue of Napoleon on top. I stop and gaze up at it, absorbing the history, the cool breeze, the chatter of French women as they walk behind me.
Leaving everyone behind, leaving the US, has been the balm my damaged soul needed. What the Lancasters did to me still hurts, even after all of this time. Especially Whit, who never reached out to me once I left. He never called, never texted, and I haven’t seen him since. Did he believe the lies his mother told? I’m sure Sylvie spun an intricate tale as well.
After everything Whit and I had been through, it still bothers me that he believed them over me. But of course, they’re family. I’m nothing. He discarded me easily, and never looked back. What we shared ended up a vicious dirty little secret after all. He’s a monster. A villain.
And I’m his stupid little plaything.
Yet despite it all, my feelings haven’t faded. I miss him.
Sometimes, I’m afraid my feelings toward him have only gotten stronger, which is terrifying.
After everything that happened at the Lancaster home, the day after Thanksgiving, Mother took me to a store and purchased me a new phone, and changed my number. I shut down all of my social media, never bothering to check any of my comments or private messages before I did. I started an Instagram account, but don’t really post. I’m on TikTok. I see what’s going on with the people that I went to high school with. Most of them have public accounts, broadcasting all of their exploits for the world to see. I study their posts, watch their stories, and sometimes, when I’m feeling especially lonely, yearning will rise within me. Reminding me of everything I’ve lost.
But being here, I’ve gained so much more.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I will continue to make them, but I feel more in control now. More mature. I know I still have a lot of growing to do, but I was on the track to nowhere back in the States. At Lancaster. With my mother. If I’d stayed in the city, God knows what would’ve happened to me. I am without a doubt my mother’s daughter, though I don’t plan on following in her footsteps.
I see her mistakes. And how she continues to make them.
Using men, depending on them in order to survive, I refuse to do that. I want to fall in love with a man despite his wealth. I don’t care whether he has money or not—I already know it doesn’t buy happiness. I want to create my own career, my own life, so I’m solely dependent on myself.
And no one else.
Ironically enough, right after I graduated early from high school, and before I left for Europe, Mother admitted she kept something from me—Jonas had left me a small inheritance. An account that I could use for college—or whatever I wished. I think of the money as a gift. A blessing from Jonas. I’m sorry we lost him. I know Mother panicked, and believed we would’ve lost everything, which she was probably right. I hate that he died because of it. I loved him as if he were my own father, though I’m not sure how my mother felt about him near the end.
I have no regrets over Yates though. I hope he burns in hell.
My gaze catches on the Van Cleef and Arpels shop nearby and I wander over to study the window display, my gaze lingering on the glittering jewels. Part of a special Romeo and Juliet themed collection, which reminds me of senior year honors English with Whit. Star-crossed lovers who are forbidden to see each other because of their rival families.
Sounds familiar.
The jewelry glitters and shines under the lights. Van Cleef is one of the most expensive, coveted brands. Jonas gave Mother one of their Alhambra necklaces for her birthday when I was fourteen. There was a time she wore that necklace every single day, showing off to everyone she encountered that she was wealthy enough to own one.
Turning away from the window, I go to the Ritz, entering the hotel and trying my best not to look like a country bumpkin who can’t stop staring at the opulence surrounding me. The lobby is absolutely gorgeous, as if I’m stepping into another time. The air, fragrant. The people, elegant. Bountiful spring flower arrangements are everywhere, glittering chandeliers hanging above my head, casting fragmented light into the room.
“My favorite season!”
I glance over to see Monty approaching as he glides down a flight of elegantly curved stairs, a smile on his friendly face. I go to him, his arms coming around me and holding me close. I cling to him, giving him a squeeze, so thankful we have remained friends. He somehow found my obscure new Instagram profile and reached out via DMs. We’ve stayed in contact ever since. When he messaged me recently saying he would be in Paris and wanted to get together, I couldn’t agree fast enough.
“It’s so good to see you,” he says as he pulls away, his hands still clutching my shoulders. He blatantly checks me out in his typical way. “You look marvelous. Paris is good to you.”
“You look wonderful too,” I tell him. It is so nice to see a friendly face. “Why are you in Paris?”
“Oh darling, let’s save that for when we sit down. Now come, let’s go have some tea and discussion.”
Monty escorts me to a lovely restaurant that’s straight out of a Parisian dream. Beautiful gilt trim frames the massive windows, the ceiling painted the color of the sky, the paneled walls painted a milky white. All of the furniture is cream and pale pink and the lightest gold, the tablecloths a stark, pure white with thin glass vases filled with delicate fresh flower arrangements.
We sit on the dainty chairs, and I quietly admire Monty, who seems completely in his element. Wearing a brown checkered suit and a pastel yellow button up, sans tie, his longish hair flopping over his forehead, his eyes dancing with mischief as they meet mine.
“You dressed…impeccably.” He smiles, his gaze scanning my attire.
I’m wearing a simple floral print dress I found in a little shop last summer. My hair is loose, diamond studs that Jonas gave me on my sixteenth birthday in my ears. I carry one of my mother’s old black Chanel bags, bringing it out only because I’m in the Ritz and I hope I look the part.
Always desperate to fit in. A habit that’s still proving hard to break.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” I tell him with a smile.
“This old thing?” He glances down at his chest before returning his gaze to mine. “I was going for the dandy look.”
“I think you succeeded.”
The server approaches and Monty orders tea for us. “It’s still early,” he says once the server is gone. “They’ll humor us while we sit here for a few hours and gossip, until it’s finally lunch and we can order from the menu. Unless you have other plans?”
“My day is completely cleared, just for you.”
He props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his fist as he bats his eyelashes at me. “Tell me what you’re doing. How many pretty boys have you met? Why haven’t you gained fifty pounds because of the pastries and butter? Swear to God you’re thinner than ever, darling.”
“Tell me first why you’re here.” I haven’t changed my ways when it comes to talking about myself.
I still don’t like to do it.
“Oh, a man. Of course.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I came for the dick. Unfortunately, he turned into a giant dick, kicked me out of his shitty little flat and now here I am at the Ritz for the next week, not sure what to do next. Change my flight and return home early? Or enjoy my time here in the city of love?”
“You have to stay.” I reach across the table to gently touch his arm. “Explore Paris. Eat lots of croissants with butter.”
“By myself?” He frowns. “I’d rather spend time in that shitty little flat with that shitty guy and his giant dick. Unless you want to show me the sights.”
“Haven’t you been here before? You could probably show me around better than I ever could,” I remind him.
“True. I’m sure you’ve been on a bus tour and went up the Eiffel Tower since your arrival and that’s about it, am I right?” He raises a brow.
I roll my eyes. “Of course that was one of the first things I did. It was my first time here. But now I’m over that. I only hang out in the Louvre when I’m in class. Otherwise, I hate it around there. Too many tourists.”
“Ah, soon you’ll be smoking cigarettes, sitting outside of a small café, full of disdain.” He laughs, sounding thrilled. “Paris has been very, very good to you.”
“I’m sorry that it didn’t work out with your boy,” I say softly, once his laughter has died. “Are you sad about the breakup?”
“Darling, I am most definitely not sad. It wasn’t what I would call a breakup. I came here for the sex. That’s it. It wasn’t a grand love. Not like what you suffered through.” Monty makes a tsking noise.
He’s the only one I told about Whit and what happened between us. I didn’t go into all the details, but he knows enough. And now, even a year later, he thinks we’re star-crossed lovers who were meant to be, until Whit’s family interfered and messed everything up. In Monty’s eyes, we are a modern-day retelling of Romeo and Juliet.
If only it were that simple.
For the next hour, we gossip and laugh and I hang on Monty’s every word as he shares stories from over the past year. He graduated from MIT in December and he’s now taking a gap year between college and real life.
“Is that a thing?” I ask, frowning.
“No. Probably not. But I made it a thing. Who wants to get right to work and toil their life away?” He waves a hand. “Not me.”
“Do you even need to work?” I ask, taking a sip of my milky tea.
“Of course not. My children’s children won’t need to work, not that I plan on having any. But I’d get bored. A man can travel around and fall into one relationship after another for only so long. Oh, and shop.”
“Do you like to shop?” I ask, sounding hopeful. I suddenly have the itch to check out a few stores. Something high end and beautiful. Little commercial works of art.
“I am gay and I’m into fashion. Of course, I love to shop,” he says drolly, rolling his eyes. “Let’s have lunch and I’ll take you somewhere.”
We order salads and split a sandwich, and the food is delicious. As is the company. Monty tells so many stories, about people I’ve heard of but don’t really know. Of people whose younger siblings I went to school with. He even mentions Sylvie.
“She was admitted to the hospital just before Christmas,” he says, his voice lowering. “She almost died.”
“What?” I may hate what she did to me, but I will always care about her. Even if she despises me.
“Yes.” He nods, his expression solemn. “The family kept it very hush hush. She’s out now. I believe she was released on New Year’s, but they still don’t know exactly what’s wrong with her. She’s never returned to Lancaster Prep. I hear Spence is beside himself.”
“That’s awful,” I say, gazing at the tablecloth, my mind filled with memories of Sylvie. She was so good to me—until she wasn’t. “And what about—Whit?”
“What about him?”
Monty’s voice is filled with so much barely restrained humor, I glance up at him sharply, my eyes narrowing. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“So. Much,” he says, his smile devilish. “Where shall I start?”
“Tell me the juiciest thing first.” I lean forward, anxious for any news. Good and bad.
“He ended everything with Leticia.”
“What?” I suck in a harsh breath, my mind awhirl with the news, turning it over and over. He may have said that’s what he wanted, but I thought that was just talk. That he didn’t mean it. That his parents would never allow it.
“Here’s the deal.” Monty’s voice lowers to a whisper, as if he could know someone in this room who would hear him gossip. And he just might. “She’s a huge coke addict. It got really bad. The Christmas before you left? She was in a bad way. Flunking school, barely functioning on a day-to-day basis. Her parents sent her to rehab at the beginning of the year. Whit came up with some nonsense about how they signed a contract, and that she broke a clause because of her drug use. I mean, I can’t blame the guy. Who wants to marry a coke fiend?”
“Is that true though?” I ask, trying to wrap my mind around the idea that they actually brokered a bona fide deal. “They had a contract for their impending marriage?”
“Something like that. I’m sure they did. Old money families are weird. They want everything in writing.” Monty shrugs. “Anyway, he ended things with her. He also tested out like you did, and graduated early. Didn’t go away to college either, much to his parents’ shock and horror. He decided to do what every respectable young man of means does and travel the continent.”
I frown. “The continent?”
“Mostly Europe, darling. The Virgin Islands for a while, where he picked up a deep tan. Australia for a very short period. I heard he thought the people were too nice there.”
I want to laugh. I also want to cry. It sounds just like something Whit would say—that the friendly Australians were too nice.
“He’s been all over. Don’t you follow his Instagram?” Monty asks.
I wouldn’t allow myself. I blocked him immediately after everything that happened and I didn’t check up on him. No matter how badly I wanted to. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” Monty shrugs, but there’s something in the tone of his voice, the way his eyes twinkle.
I think he might know, but he’s not telling.
Once we’re finished, Monty pays for the tab—he wouldn’t let me split it, calling me his guest—and we leave the hotel, walking past the Van Cleef and Arpels window display slowly.
“God, their jewelry is exquisite,” he says, darting over to one of the windows. “Like little works of art.”
“It’s beautiful,” I agree once I stop to stand next to him.
He stares at it for a while, and something changes in his expression. As if he suddenly came up with the best idea. His gaze never leaving the window, he says, “If you could have any piece of fine jewelry, say a giant diamond ring or huge emerald earrings, what would you choose? What would be your most coveted piece?”
“A necklace,” I say without hesitation.
“A necklace?” He frowns as his gaze meets mine, seemingly disappointed.
“Yes. If the sky is the limit, I’d want it to be thick with diamonds, and it would clasp tightly around my neck, almost like a collar.” My mind wanders toward Whit, as it’s so wont to do. Still. Even after all this time. “I want it to be heavy, so I can feel the weight of the stones and the metal on my skin. And I want the person who gives it to me to see the necklace as almost…a claiming. As if they own me.” I clamp my lips shut, embarrassment quickly following.
I got a little lost in my fantasy there for a moment.
“Well, well,” Monty drawls. “That sounds downright kinky.”
My cheeks catch fire. “I told you before I like that sort of thing.”
And he’s the only one who knows about it—with the exception of Whit.
“Noted. So when your fantasy man comes to me one day asking what he should buy for you, I know what to tell him,” Monty says.
“I doubt my fantasy man will want to buy a diamond necklace for me,” I say.
Monty purses his lips, offended. “And why not?”
“My ultimate fantasy man most likely won’t want to be seen with me. I’m probably banished for life from New York society,” I tell him. My mother is more on the fringe, sneaking around with her lover, Howard. Always the mistress. Very rarely the bride.
Am I destined for that life?
No.
I won’t let it happen.
“Darling,” Monty drawls. “With me by your side? You will be the queen of New York society. And don’t you ever forget it.”
