“That wasn’t her sole purpose in life, though I doubt I could convince you otherwise. You’ll believe what you want to believe. And no, I haven’t found another heiress to marry. I don’t plan on ever getting married, if you must know,” he says insolently, reminding me of a spoiled prince.
“Just going to travel for the rest of your life and spend all your money?” I arch a brow.
“I couldn’t spend it all for the next three generations at least,” he says, fully bragging. “And what the fuck is wrong with that anyway? I didn’t come here tonight to fight with you, Savage.”
“You can’t just walk back into my life as if you never left it, Lancaster,” I toss back at him, annoyed.
“I just did,” he says, seeming very pleased with himself.
The server returns, and the night quickly turns into one course after another, each one better than the last. A delicious artichoke soup with black truffle. A variety of baked bread with fresh, rich butter that tastes like sin. More and more wine, until my vision gets blurry and I have no problem whatsoever shoving a forkful of lamb in my mouth, immediately wanting to cry afterward when I think of the poor furry creature who was slaughtered in order for me to enjoy this meal.
“You’re acting like a baby,” Whit chastises after I push my plate away, disgusted with myself.
“Lambs are so adorable.” My lips quiver. I’m this close to crying.
Whit can only shake his head at me, his lips curling.
I don’t understand what’s happening between us, but I don’t want to question it. Worse, I don’t know what’s happening to me, or why I’m so emotional. It’s confusing, being with Whit once again. Eating an extravagant meal with him, basking in his presence. I should be furious with him. I also should be stronger. Letting him back into my life is most likely a mistake.
He’ll just use me. I know he will.
Once our dinner plates are taken away, Whit leans back in his chair, contemplating me, his demeanor one of pure, lazy insolence. Oh, to be so confident, so commanding of your surroundings. Money gives him power, though I’m sure his parents told him he could have whatever he wanted.
All he had to do was buy it.
“Come back to my hotel with me,” he says, his voice dark.
The word yes is on the tip of my tongue, but I refrain. “Why? So you can fuck me?”
He grins. “I’m game.”
“I’m not.” I toss my napkin on top of the table and rise to my feet, ignoring my shaky ankles.
Stupid shoes.
Taking a deep breath, I stalk toward the window, keeping my back to Whit, staring outside. The traffic has died down. There are hardly any people on the street. The wind still blows, and when I reach out to touch the glass, it’s ice cold.
Staff enters the room, and I can hear them clearing the table, their low murmurs of French, Whit conversing with them as well. I’ve picked up quite a bit since moving here, but I’m not fluent like Whit. His voice is melodic as he speaks, his accent precise. Perfect. It’s sexy.
Everything about him is sexy, damn it, when it absolutely shouldn’t be.
Frowning, I press my entire hand to the glass, needing the cold to shock my system. The frigid air seeps into my palm, awakening me from my wine and rich food-laden stupor. I am the one who ran away from him in the first place. He couldn’t control his mother, or his father. They were controlling him, and I was a distraction. They needed to get rid of me, and I fell right into their trap.
Like the idiotic, naïve girl I was.
Once the server and staff have left, I hear Whit move. His footsteps draw closer, until he’s once again directly behind me, his heat stretching toward me, trying to lure me in.
I close my eyes briefly, reminding myself I need to stay strong.
“When you left the house,” he starts, then immediately stops. As he’s trying to find the right words. “It was almost a year and a half ago, and that day is still so vivid in my mind. I figured out what my mother did to you, but you were already gone. I tried texting you. Calling you. But you didn’t respond. You never responded. It was like you ran away and completely disappeared. I figured you didn’t want to be found.”
“I didn’t,” I admit, my voice soft.
“And then everything happened with my sister.” He sighs, and my heart aches for him, hearing all of the emotion in that one sound. “Leticia was a problem as well. All of it distracted me, and I needed to be there for my family. Sylvie is still not well. She accuses our mother of making her sick on purpose, and I don’t know what to believe.”
I whirl around at his last sentence, my mouth dropping open in shock. “Are you serious? About Sylvie?”
He nods, his expression pained. “I don’t believe her though. Our mother would never do that. She loves Sylvie more than anything. She just wants her well.”
I remember all of the things Sylvie said to me. All of the little clues. It makes perfect sense, hearing the accusation. I believe her. But I can’t say that now, not in front of Whit.
“Early last year, I tried to search for you myself. But when I came up with nothing, I hired a private investigator, and he found you here. In Paris. I ran into Monty a few weeks after that, and he confessed he’d been talking to you,” Whit further explains.
“Why come to see me now? Why not back then?” I ask, needing to know.
“Time heals all wounds?” His smile is weak and it immediately disappears when I glare at him in return. “I don’t know, Summer. I knew you wouldn’t want to see me.”
The problem is, I would’ve loved to see him, but not like this. Not when he conspires with Monty and tricks me into coming to a restaurant under the guise of a fabulous dinner party with other guests.
“You tricked me into seeing you. As if that’s so much better,” I retort, crossing my arms. The movement only causes Whit’s gaze to drop to my chest, his eyes flaring with heat. “Luring me here under the guise of a dinner party. Did you really think I would be okay with that?”
“It was Monty’s idea,” he punctuates with a frustrated exhale. “I should’ve known you’d be angry.”
“Why did you search for me, Whit?” I ask, my voice soft. I need to know.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he admits. “I felt—guilty. As if I were responsible for making you leave.”
“I was scared,” I admit, my gaze going to the now clean table. Only my journal sits on top of it. God, I hate that thing. “Your mother is someone I don’t want to cross.”
“She’s all bark, no bite,” he says, though I don’t believe him. Maybe she’s that way with him, but certainly never me. “I’ll never let her hurt you.”
“I won’t be back in her life to give her the chance,” I tell him.
“If you’re with me, she’ll be in your life,” he says.
Forty-Six
Whit
I wait for Summer’s reply, everything inside of me seizing up in anticipation. She’ll most likely tell me to fuck off. I’d deserve it. After everything I’ve put her through when we did spend time together, and then tricking her to see me tonight, she should tell me to fuck off once and for all and that will be the end of it.