Whit is definitely terrifying. Though he wasn’t last night, in my bed. He was almost…
Sweet.
“I see you getting all dreamy-eyed. Stop thinking about him.” Another bop of the pillow, this time on top of my head. “You missed the family breakfast.”
My stomach growls as if on cue. “I’m starving.”
“We can grab something before we go shopping.” She hesitates for only a moment. “While we were eating, Mother suggested Whit invite Leticia for Thanksgiving dinner.”
My appetite leaves me. “What did Whit say?”
“He said no. He doesn’t want her here.” Sylvie plops onto the edge of my bed, making it bounce. “Then Mother suggested I send you home. Claims you make her, and I quote, ‘uncomfortable.’”
My stomach twists into a painful knot. God, that woman is awful. Though I suppose I shouldn’t blame her for not wanting the daughter of her former husband’s mistress at her home for a fun-filled family holiday.
Talk about convoluted.
“Whit told her no. You’re staying. They got into an argument.” A little smile dances across her face. “Over you.”
I remain quiet, taking her words in. I’m sure yesterday he would’ve fought for me to leave and Leticia to stay. What changed? One night of cuddling? Is that really all it took?
I find that hard to believe.
“Whit and I—”
“Are together,” Sylvie finishes for me. “He also mentioned that to Mother.”
“What?” I gasp, my eyes going wide. “He did not.”
“He kind of did.” Sylvie shrugs. “He said you were his guest too, and he refuses to send you back to school so you can spend the holiday alone. You’re staying. He shut her down every time she tried to argue her point. It was rather amusing.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed the moment,” I say, my thoughts riotous. “Where is he now?”
“With our father. Whit just went to his office. He said they had some business to discuss.” Sylvie’s gaze is shrewd. “I’m thinking it has to do with you.”
“Doubtful.” I roll my eyes, refusing to get excited about any of this. Sylvie could be exaggerating. Whit might treat me terribly when we see each other next. That’s his normal M.O. Passionate one minute, awful the next.
Why would he change?
“Do you want to go shopping with me?” Sylvie asks. “Or are you going to hang around outside Daddy’s study and hope Whit comes out soon?”
She sounds vaguely jealous, which is a side of Sylvie I’ve never seen before. “I’m your guest,” I stress. “And I’d love to go shopping.”
Her smile is genuine. “Yay. Well, get ready, sleepyhead.”
I realize she’s fully dressed, while I am most decidedly not. “Um…”
“What?”
“I need a few minutes. I’m uh.” I wave a hand at myself. “Not decent.”
Sylvie laughs. “Why, are you naked under those covers, Summer?”
My cheeks grow warm. “Maybe.”
“So he did sneak into your room last night.” Sylvie rises to her feet, making her way to the door. “I asked him if he did, but he denied it.”
“He did?” I ask, my voice small.
“Yes, but he turned just as red as you are now, so I knew he was full of shit.” She glances over her shoulder. “I won’t tell on you two. Your secret is safe with me.”
I certainly hope so, I think after Sylvie leaves.
It scares me though, that she knows so much. She could tell his parents. Everyone at school. She knows what Whit and I are up to.
She could ruin my life with a snap of her fingers. Of course, Whit could ruin my life too, after reading my stupid journal that he refuses to give back.
I take the quickest shower ever and throw on some clothes, leaving my hair down and in its natural state, which is haphazard waves that I don’t particularly like, but for some reason, today they look good. Though I know my mother has never liked my hair like this, I think as I apply a coat of mascara onto my lashes. She always wanted my hair perfectly straight, or perfectly curled.
But I’m not perfect. I’ve done things, said things that I’m not proud of, and that’s okay. We make mistakes and we’re allowed, because we’re only human, right?
I blink at myself in the mirror, thinking of one mistake I made in particular. The fire that night.
It was all my fault. I’m the reason Yates and Jonas are dead. And while I don’t necessarily mourn the loss of my stepbrother—and this makes me feel even worse than I already do—I do miss Jonas. He was a good man.
Good to me. And my mother, despite everything she did to him.
Standing up straight, I drop my mascara into my cosmetics bag and zip it closed, telling myself I need to stop thinking about…everything. There’s nothing I can do to change what happened in the past. I have to live with it.
No matter how difficult that is.
Grabbing my coat, I barge out of my room and pull the door shut, stopping short when I see Sylvia Lancaster standing in the hall, almost as if she was waiting for me. Our gazes meet, her dark blue eyes narrowing as I draw closer to her.
“Good morning,” I say in greeting, forcing myself to be friendly.
“Slept in late, I see,” she says coolly.
I stop right in front of her, taking her in. She’s draped in pale pink silk, and I wonder if she’s going somewhere. I stand up a little taller. No way can I let her intimidate me. “I was tired.”
“I’m sure. Considering you were with my son throughout the night.” I open my mouth to deny it, but she cuts me off with a short shake of her head. “My son does what he wants, and he also does who he wants. It’s no surprise to me that the two of you are—involved.”
Her voice drips with disgust.
I don’t know how to reply. She’s rendered me completely silent, and from the pleased expression on her eternally pinched face, I can tell she’s extremely happy about it too.
“You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last, you know. Somehow though, you’ve convinced both of my children that they should spend time with you, when we know the truth,” she says.
I’m taken aback at her vaguely referring to me as a bad person. “And what’s that?”
“That you’re a whore, just like you’re mother.” She raises one thin brow, waiting for me to deny it.
But I don’t. What’s the point? She’s going to think what she wants.
“Normally, this sort of thing wouldn’t bother me. My daughter bringing home her latest pet, who just so happens to be fucking my son. Everyone all twisted up in each other’s lives, though I suppose it’s perfectly normal. You’re all in school together. You’re an attractive girl. Why wouldn’t my son be interested? And Sylvie’s starved for attention. Everyone else has grown weary of her little mind games, and you’re fresh and new. Easily manipulated. It’s written all over you, you know. They can see it.” Sylvia’s gaze rakes over me, and it’s as if everything inside of me shrivels.
“That’s not how it is,” I say quietly, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. “You don’t understand.”