Of course.
“Excuse me,” I say to the driver, who lifts his gaze to mine in the rearview mirror. “Can you take me to the train station?”
“I was given explicit orders to take you straight to Lancaster Prep,” he says.
“I’d rather you take me to the train station. I need to go see my mother. She’s in Manhattan,” I tell him, my voice firm. “Please.”
He drives for a while, his hands gripping the steering wheel perfectly, at ten and two. I have my permit, but I haven’t gotten my license yet. When you live in the city, what’s the point? I never needed it.
I wish I had it now.
“I will take you to the train station,” he finally says.
Relief makes me slump into the seat. “Thank you,” I murmur as I pull out my phone to check if I have any messages from Whit.
Of course, I have none.
Forty-One
Whit
I enter the house, immediately in search of Summer. I look for her downstairs, in her newfound haunts. The library, where I found her curled up in an overstuffed chair reading a book from my family’s collection. Or our favorite guest room upstairs, the one with the humongous bed, where I’ve fucked her endless times already.
But she’s in neither of those places.
I wander the guest wing, peeking into every open doorway, prepared to find her lying in wait. A smile on her beautiful face as she comes for me, whispering, “Gotcha,” before I sink into her willing kiss.
She’s nowhere to be found.
Her bedroom door is shut, and I sense she’s gone before it’s even confirmed. I suddenly feel hollow. It’s as if my heart stops beating as I wrap my fingers around the door handle, counting to three before I enter the room.
Her things are gone. There’s a pile of clothing in the center of the messy, unmade bed. The very bed which I fucked her in last night. There’s a piece of paper folded neatly on the bedside table with my name written in block letters on the front of it.
WHIT
Frowning, I open the letter to find it typed. Fucking strange.
I have to go. I realized this morning I don’t want to be with you after all. I know your life is mapped out completely, and there’s no room for me in it. And while I’ve enjoyed our time together, I know it won’t last. So I’m leaving now, before we hurt each other too much. You belong with Leticia anyway. She is your destiny.
I’m sorry I typed the letter, but my hands were shaking too much to write it. I found a printer in your father’s study and wrote this letter in my notes app.
Take care,
Savage
I crumple the note into a ball and clutch it in my fist as I exit the room. I don’t stop until I reach my mother’s salon, where I can smell her before I actually enter. How I knew she’d be in there, I’m not sure. But I certainly knew she wouldn’t be in the kitchen, preparing today’s family meal.
She can’t even cook.
I don’t bother knocking on the partially opened double doors. I just stride right in, tossing the balled-up paper directly at her head. She glances up at the last second, her mouth dropping open before the paper ball nails her right in the nose before dropping to the desk.
“Whit.” She sounds furious.
Good. We’re on an even playing field. Our emotions match.
“What did you do to her?” I demand.
Mother doesn’t even bother looking at the crumpled paper. “Which her are you referring to?”
“You know who,” I say between clenched teeth.
Mother sighs. Pushes the paper ball out of her way so she can rest her arms on top of her desk. “Darling. It was bound to happen.”
“What was bound to happen?”
“That your—whatever you want to call her would abandon you for someone else.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What did you do to her? What did you tell her?” My voice is barely contained rage.
“She came to me.” I watch my mother sit up straighter, elegant as always. Completely put together, not a hair out of place. Nothing ruffles her. Not even after discovering her husband was cheating on her for the last ten years of their marriage with a variety of women, I never once saw her lose her damn mind or yell.
When she’s calm like this, it’s infuriating.
“Who came to you? Summer?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to tell you this, but she demanded money from me, or she said she’d go to the police and tell them you raped her.” She drops this bomb with utter calm.
I see red. Would Summer actually do that? “Raped her? Are you fucking kidding me? Let her go tell the police then! She was always willing.”
“Oh, I know. Trust me, everyone has informed me of your—dalliances around the house.”
I start pacing the salon, thrusting my hands in my hair, my mind awhirl with everything my mother just told me. I find it hard to believe. Only earlier this morning Summer and I woke up together, snug in her bed. Her head resting on my chest as I ran my fingers through her silky soft hair. We talked about things we were grateful for, thanks to the holiday, never actually mentioning each other, though I wanted to tell her so badly how thankful I am she came into my life.
I’m an idiot.
“She really threatened to report me to the police?” I pause in my pacing and stare at my beautiful, emotionless mother.
“Yes. Of course, she did. She asked for money and I gave it to her. Then she left.” Her gaze barely drops to the crumpled paper ball at her elbow. “I assume that’s from her.”
Realization dawns. I don’t believe Summer would ever do that to me. Not after everything we’ve shared. “I assumed the letter was from you.”
My mother is an excellent actress, I’ll give her that. She doesn’t even flinch at my accusation. “Why in the world would you think the letter is from me?”
I go to her desk and snatch the paper, smoothing it out so I can read it to her. “’She is your destiny.’” I send her a look. “You’re the only one who says that sort of shit.”
“Who exactly is she referring to? Leticia?” Mother asks calmly.
“Oh, what a lucky fucking guess. Yes, Leticia. And she signed the note Savage. She would never do that.”
“Isn’t that her last name? Isn’t that what you call her?”
Not anymore. Not like that. She doesn’t refer to herself by her last name. Ever. That’s my thing. She’s Summer. My Summer. “You wrote this.”
“I did not.”
“She didn’t try to bribe you.”
“She did. I gave her one hundred thousand dollars to walk away from you. That’s it. That’s all you’re worth to her,” Mother says, keeping her voice, her expression even.
“I don’t believe you.” I crumple the note and toss it at her again, but she dodges it this time, and it lands on the floor. “I’m going to look for her.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I am. Fuck your little Thanksgiving dinner. I’m out.” I turn away from her, but she’s quick. She chases me all the way to the doors, inserting herself in front of me as she pulls them shut behind her. “Move.”