My mother refuses to listen to me, turning me away or changing the subject every time I try to talk to her. I think she knows what’s going on, yet she won’t do anything to stop it. Heaven forbid she upset Jonas. All she does is flutter around him, trying to keep the peace, but she’s hiding secrets too.
Just like I am.
That’s okay. I don’t want anyone to know about Daniel. I skipped school again today, and we went on an adventure. Just before he took me back to his apartment and went down on me. It was good. I liked it, but I didn’t come. He tried and tried to make it happen, but it wasn’t meant to be, I guess. I finally made him stop, and I gave him a hand job. He came in less than five minutes.
Boys have it a lot easier than girls, I guess.
I slap the book shut, annoyed to read about her experiences with someone else. A jackass who can’t manage to get her off. The dumb fucker. I feel like I could breathe on her and she’d come, she’s that responsive.
Only when it comes to me, I think, pleased.
Only me.
There’s a knock on my door and without waiting for my response, my father bursts into my room. I sit up, shoving the journal under the sheets, scowling at him as he paces my room.
“Already in bed?” He pauses, watching me with his brows raised.
“I’m tired.” I shrug.
“Not out finding an heiress to fuck?” He sips from the glass he’s clutching. Scotch, I’m sure. “That’s your usual plan when you come into the city.”
It never even crossed my mind to reach out to any of the heiresses I know and see if they wanted to go out. “None of them interest me.”
“Your mother would beg to differ.” He drains the glass completely, setting it on my nearby dresser, his back to me. His shoulders are a straight line, and full of tension. “She’s exerting pressure.”
“On who? You?”
He turns to face me once more. “Your birthday is coming up. You’ll be eighteen. Coming into your own.”
As in, coming into my trust fund.
“So?” I’ve known this was the first step in the many layered inheritances I have since I was a child. I was eight years old, maybe? First is the trust fund left by my mother’s side of the family. Then when I’m twenty-one, I come into money from my paternal grandfather. At twenty-five, the rest of my rightful fortune floods my bank account.
My parents won’t be able to control me financially ever again. The freedom is so close, I can practically taste it.
“Your mother has—expectations for you. They were brought upon her. They’ll be brought upon your sisters as well,” Father says, his expression blank.
I know what he’s referring to. Mother was paired with Father when they were in college, though everyone knew they were getting married even before that. The Lancasters are American royalty. We can’t marry any commoner off the street. My future wife has to come from a certain family, be of a certain age and pedigree, and go to a certain school. She must be questioned, vetted and trained. Mother will be in charge of all of it. She’s already chosen the perfect girl for me.
This girl does nothing for me whatsoever.
“Leticia.” I say her name. My body, my mind, nothing responds. She is a zero in my equation.
“She’s a lovely girl, Whit. Smart. Beautiful. Her lineage is impeccable.”
“She’s boring.” I sulk like a little boy, pissed that my entire future has been planned out for me. “I don’t want her.”
“She’s not a doll that you return to the store when you’re done playing with her,” Father says drolly.
“She’s a doll I have no interest in touching at all,” I retort, crossing my arms.
He settles on the edge of the mattress, contemplating me. “I know this isn’t how you want things to be. I’m just telling you what your mother says to me. This is what she wants. What she expects. She’s determined to preserve the Lancaster name.”
“Right. Because you two did such a bang-up job keeping it untarnished,” I toss at him.
He winces. “That statement is fair. And it’s my fault we divorced. I’m the one who cheated on her.”
God, the man is infuriating. He speaks out of both sides of his mouth. He takes full responsibility for the affair, as he should, but I see it now. How my mother drove him away from her. Shoved him into another woman’s arms. I didn’t see it then, when it happened, but I’m starting to get it now.
“You’re encouraging me to do the same thing, don’t you see? I have no interest in Leticia. She’s nice, but I’m not attracted to her. I can’t imagine being married to her, fucking her on occasion while I have affairs on the side.” I thrust a finger at him. “I don’t want your life. Stop trying to force it on me.”
We contemplate each other silently and Father glances over his shoulder, staring at the empty glass on the dresser. I’m sure he’d love nothing more than to gulp more liquor down his throat so he wouldn’t have to feel anything. “Sometimes we have no choice, son.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I spit out. “You and Mother are pushing your agendas on me, and you both ended up miserable and divorced. I’m never getting married.”
“Son—”
“I’m not.” I feel like I’m having a tantrum, but fuck it. “Marriage is a trap. A façade. Something society came up with that rarely stands a chance of surviving. Do you know I don’t have a single memory of the two of you happy together? Not one. Most of my memories are of the two of you fighting. Arguing.”
Seething at each other through clenched teeth. Whisper-shouting so other people wouldn’t hear them, but we always heard them. Their arguments scared my sisters. Servants were fired for eavesdropping. Other women’s names were always brought up by my mother, and my father would always deny he was having an affair.
But he was. He did. He stuck with Janine Weatherstone for years. Like he was addicted to her.
If she’s even remotely like her daughter, I understand the feeling.
My father’s gaze, so much like mine, narrows on me. “Fine. You want some fantasy advice? What I would tell you if money and family weren’t involved and we were just regular people?”
I nod. “Tell me.”
“Fuck the proper lineage and important family names. Find someone who sets you on fire every time you so much as look at her. Someone you can talk to, fight with, and fuck just as fiercely. And once you find that woman, don’t let her go,” he says vehemently.
He grabs his glass, rattling the ice before he drinks the last dregs of alcohol. “You can either do what you’re supposed to and please your family, or do what you want and fuck the whole world. It’s your choice, Whit.”
Before I can say anything else, or ask him any questions, he exits my room, slamming the door behind him.
Nineteen
Summer
My name whispered in the darkness rouses me. I thought I was dreaming at first. The voice was deep. Familiar. Reminded me of Whit’s.
I hear my name again and I squirm beneath the covers, struggling to remain asleep. The dream will be good, if Whit’s involved. I don’t want to miss a thing.