“Of course! You’re the birthday girl. You can do whatever you want. I’ll find out what time dinner is, and text you. You’ll need to come to my room at least an hour before we leave so I can do your hair and makeup. Come dressed. I’ll work my magic on you.” She pulls me into a crushing hug, her face pressed against my hair. “I’m so glad you came with me. You’ll be just the distraction I need.”
I pull away from her with a frown. “From what?”
Sylvie’s smile is mysterious. “My entire life.”
Thirty
Summer
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.