“She saw you hustling down the stairs, looking like you just stumbled out of a hotel room—and she knew.”
“So, she came to you?” The betrayal stings even after my fight with her.
“Of course not. She told her husband.” My father thinks he has me now, so he leans forward, goading me with a smug grin.
For a second I wonder how he got to Sterling, but I push it aside because I’m not finished telling my father what he needs to be told. “If you have something to say about my choices, then take it up with me, not my boyfriend. Stop screwing around with my life. You’ve taken enough from me.”
“Taken? What have I taken? I’ve given you everything you have.” His voice is cold rage. His chest swells, and for a second I swear he will get up out of his chair and try to strangle me.
“You know exactly what I mean. You killed Mom.” I don’t care if he does strangle me. It’s worth it to see his goggling eyes, his suddenly fish-like mouth. “Should I go and get you a nice brandy, father? You can drink the whole bottle and then have a temper tantrum until you feel better. Or at least make everyone as miserable as you are. At least, we don’t have to worry about you getting behind the wheel anymore.”
“You—you cannot,” he splutters, his lips curling away,“SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!”
I don’t wait around for his rage-filled tirade to end. I walk out the door, slamming it behind me.
I can’t find Sterling anywhere. I check the ball room, the halls upstairs, even ask a few of the staff—but there’s no sign of him. And every time I don’t find him, my panic grows, until I realize I’m both cold and sweaty. My earlier tipsiness has worn off entirely, leaving a vague, throbbing headache in its place. Tears smart my eyes as each second unravels me a little more.
“There you are,” says Poppy, who bobs into the room trailing Cy behind her.
I didn’t know how much I needed to see a friendly face. I take one look at Poppy and burst into tears, burying my head against her shoulder.
She shushes me gently. “Hey, we’re here now. You’re okay.”
Slowly, my body stops shaking, my anger and fear seeping out of me. I have friends here. We’ll all be able to find him. My father hasn’t won.
“We heard your father yelling. Are you okay?”
Half the wedding probably heard that fight.
“My father cornered Sterling, and they argued. Now I can’t find him.”
“Well, there are three of us. We can split up and look for him. We’re here for you, Adair.” Poppy gives me one of her patented, bright smiles.
Before it can cheer me up, Cyrus clears his throat, kicking the carpet with the toe of his shoe. “Actually, I think he left.”
“You’ve seen him?” I ask. Poppy looks as surprised as I do.
“Cyrus Eaton, we’ve been trying to find Adair for ten minutes, and you didn’t mention this? I thought they might be together! If I’d known he’d left...” Poppy’s brow furrows dangerously. It’s so rare to see her angry, Cyrus doesn’t quite know what to say.
“It’s not like I wasn’t hiding it. It’s just…” he trails off, a little anxious.
“What?” Poppy demands.
“He told me he needed to get away from everyone. He swiped a bottle of whiskey from the bar downstairs and left.” His eyes dart to mine, looking guilty for ratting out his friend.
“Cyrus!” Poppy gasps. “Why didn’t you try to stop him?”
“No—it’s not his fault, Poppy,” I interject. “He probably didn’t want to get Sterling into trouble.”
“Exactly. I tried to talk to him,” Cyrus says. “Look, if he’s on foot, he can’t have gotten far.”
“I have to find him. How long ago did he leave?”
“About fifteen minutes, I think. But I haven’t really been checking the time.”
I go to the dressing rooms, where I left my purse and keys, and Cyrus and Poppy follow after me, offering helpful suggestions about where Sterling might have gone.
I call his phone, but it goes straight to voicemail, meaning it’s probably switched off. I call again, just in case, but the result is the same.
“I don’t think Sterling knows much about this area,” I say, feeling increasingly anxious. The Valmont Country Club is huge, and backs up against a state park, meaning Sterling probably didn’t wander into the woods. “He’ll stick to the main access road, I think. I’ll go that way. You two can check wherever else you think he could be. As soon as anyone finds him, we call to let each other know. Alright?”
“Yes. Now go,” says Poppy, giving me a quick hug and a look that reminds me of my mother: all empathy and love.
Which is probably why I pull her into the world’s worst hug. “Thanks.”
The Jaguar spins its tires as soon as the security guard opens the gate, and I fishtail onto the main road. I quickly realize the car’s biggest fault: headlight power. There are no streetlights along the wide, manicured drive leading to and from the country club, and tall trees line the shoulder of the road, blocking most of the moon and starlight. The Jag’s high beams don’t seem brighter than the normal ones, and I have to force myself to slow down as I go around bends—or else drive straight into darkness.
The main road branches off about a mile down from the gate, but I leave it for Poppy and Cy to check. If Sterling walked at a normal pace, that would leave him somewhere between here and the highway another mile farther down.
My heart leaps when I catch sight of someone walking along ahead of me, and I slam on my brakes. It’s Sterling, holding a bottle in one hand. He holds his other between my headlights and his eyes, and when I turn them down, I see a look on his face I’ve never seen before.
His eyes are somehow wild and frozen at the same time, and when I turn on the dash light so he can see me, too, his look doesn’t brighten. His bowtie is undone, hanging loosely around his neck. His manic eyes fade to a dull grey, and suddenly he looks tired, like he doesn’t have the energy to deal with me.
I’ve seen that look before: in the eyes of the staff at Windfall, or my mother’s eyes even looking back from the mirror. I want to scream at him—ask him how dare he scare me like this—but that’s not what someone needs after dealing with my father. And so, I take a deep breath and do my best to put my feelings aside.
“Hey there, sailor,” I yell, hoping he’ll find it funny.
Sterling doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts toward the passenger seat of the car, which I lean over to unlock for him.
He sinks into the bucket seat with a grunt, not meeting my eyes.
“Are you okay?”
Sterling holds the bottle of booze in his lap protectively, his face a mixture of revulsion and anger.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”
“I won’t make you.” I’m not quite sure where to go, with the conversation, or with the car, but I turn on the engine anyway. “Where to?”
“I don’t want to be around people,” Sterling says through gritted teeth.
“Does people include me?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral, but praying he doesn’t say yes. Does he know how much it would break me for him to say yes?