“I understand perfectly,” Sylvia says, her voice tight. “Your mother was a naïve cow too. Dazzled by my husband’s looks and charm and wealth. My children are the same way. Charming. Beautiful. Just as my husband seduced her, Whit—and even Sylvie—seduced you as well. You’re just too blind to see it.”
“See what?”
“The Lancaster family use people for their personal gain. Their personal pleasure. Entertainment. You’re just a little toy they’ll soon grow bored with. They will chew you up and spit you out once they’re finished with you, and they’re getting close. Whit will eventually have to straighten up and do his duty with Leticia. She’s going to marry him someday, you do realize this, don’t you?”
I lift my chin. “Yes. Whit already told me.”
Her eyes flicker with surprise, but otherwise there’s no reaction. “Then you understand your place with him.”
“My place?”
“Yes. You’re temporary, my darling. A fun little affair to indulge in. The dirty little girl who lets him do whatever he wants to her whenever he wants, because heaven forbid he could ever ask the future mother of his children to do…whatever it is you two do behind closed doors.” Her tone is snide. Knowing.
The blood drains from my face, my knees growing weak. My head spins and I brace myself, praying I don’t faint. How does she know what Whit and I do? There’s no way he’d tell her just how depraved our interactions are. But she is his mother.
Maybe she just knows.
“So have fun being his filthy mistress. Once he tosses you aside, Sylvie will do the same. She’s loyal to her brother to a fault.” Her smile is cruel as she starts walking, shoulder checking me as she passes by. “Have a lovely day shopping with my daughter.”
I turn and watch her go; my lungs clogged with air. I feel like I can’t breathe.
My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans and I scramble for it, hoping it’s Whit.
But it’s Sylvie.
Where are you? Meet me downstairs, the car is waiting!
With shaking fingers, I tap out a response.
I’ll be down in a minute.
She can wait. I have some searching to do first.
Thirty-Four
Whit
“Get me out of this deal with Leticia.”
This is how I greet my father as I stride into his study. No hey dad, can you do me a favor? None of that casual, help me out shit.
I’m demanding, just like he is.
Augustus Lancaster is sitting behind his mighty desk, in his mighty office with the mighty view. The recently installed floor to ceiling windows are uncovered, allowing in plenty of light, thanks to the clear skies outside. It’s a crisp fall day with the threat of winter just behind it. All of the snow from last week has melted, as if it never happened in the first place, but it’s coming.
“Shouldn’t you be talking to your mother about this?” he says casually, leaning back in his chair.
I stop in front of the sprawling cherry wood desk, bracing my hands on the edge of it. “She’ll tell me no.”
“And what if I tell you no?”
“You’d be more inclined to help me, since you were pulled into the same damn deal I’m about to find myself in,” I remind him.
My grandmother chose Sylvia Whittaker out of all the other girls at my father’s private school when he was eight. Eight. My mother was seven, a grade below him and supposedly as pretty as a picture thanks to her mama’s good genes. She was rich as shit thanks to her father’s side of the family. Even then, she had a cunning mind and a tongue like a viper. She hid all of her unbecoming traits though and eventually, as time went on, my father knew who he was dealing with.
And still he went through with it. They were married at this very estate, on a gorgeous summer day. My father looks blitzed in all the photos—the man had to get blindingly drunk in order to go through with it. My mother was radiant, her smile stretching from ear to ear. She was finally a Lancaster. Her ultimate goal, met at the tender age of twenty.
Their marriage was miserable from the get-go. Supposedly she was a cold fish. They were rarely spotted together the first five years of their marriage, much to her dismay. His father forced him to return to their home they shared, demanding he pretend they’re a happy family or he’d cut off his inheritance.
It took them a couple of years, but I was finally born when my dad was thirty. He fucked her only because he had to. He needed heirs, and she could give them to him.
Her mother turned in the gynecological report, just like Leticia’s did.
We’re a match, but only on paper. As if we’re animals to be bred together.
The mere thought of marrying someone I don’t really want, and ending up with that person for the rest of my life, fills me with major fucking anxiety.
And fury. Plenty of fury.
“Lancasters have a duty to produce heirs.” My father says this as if it’s a rehearsed line, one he’s been forced to say for years.
“We’re not the fucking British royal family,” I spit out. “The supposed Lancaster monarchy won’t die off if I marry someone I actually love and want to be with.”
“Love?” He scoffs. “You’re only eighteen. What do you know about love?”
He’s not fucking wrong. I don’t know dick about love, thanks to my fucked-up family and my shitty morals.
Being with Summer last night threw me for a loop. For the first time, I acknowledged my feelings for her. Not out loud, and not to her face, but within myself. They’ve been growing, despite my resistance. It was bound to happen, with how much time we spend together. I could be as cruel and awful as I wanted, and she took it. She seemed to enjoy it. She likes being with me. Every other girl would tell me to go fuck myself if I talked to them like that. Treated them like that.
And it’s not because Summer is a pushover either. She’s anything but.
Last night had been a realization. This girl is under my skin. We’re connected. We share the same birthday for fuck’s sake. I don’t want to push her away because of some sort of obligation I’m being forced into.
Fuck duty. I want to live my own life.
“I know enough that I don’t want to marry someone who I don’t care about,” I finally say.
“Is there someone in particular you have in mind?” He lifts a brow. I know exactly who he’s referring to, the prick.
I press my lips together, refusing to say her name. I’m not doing this because of Summer.
I’m doing this for myself.
“I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, perfectly willing to do whatever you want.” The pointed look he sends my way irritates the shit out of me. He’s of course, talking about Summer. “But she is not worth dumping your entire future over.”
“I’m not dumping my future. I’m making sure I don’t get caught up in an arranged marriage that makes me fucking miserable for the rest of my life,” I tell him truthfully.
Witnessing Summer interact with my family last night at dinner had also been an eye opener. She’s genuinely close to my sister. She put up with the bullshit flirtation my dad threw her way and the icy coldness from my mother. She took it all with a barely-there smile on her face, impressing me.