“It’s not like we’re gettingmarried, Syl. It’s all gonna be okay.” I smirk, waiting for her outburst, which comes in seconds.
“What the hell, Spence, are you serious? You said—”
I cut her off with my lips, kissing her until she’s clinging to the front of my shirt, a low whimper sounding in the back of her throat. “I’m just teasing,” I murmur against her mouth, nibbling on her upper lip. “I’m going to make an honest woman of you someday. Just wait. It’s going to happen.”
She swats at my chest, her eyes sparkling. A few weeks ago, I would’ve never been able to tease her like this. She’s come a long way, my Syl.
Then again, so have I.
“Spencer! Sylvie! Lunch is ready!” Mom calls from the kitchen.
Sylvie’s gaze finds mine once more, her lips curved into a faint smile. “I’ve never had a mother make me lunch before.”
“Her homemade lasagna is out of this world. My father still talks about it,” I tell her, leaning in to steal another kiss. She pushes at my shoulders, laughing.
“Come on.” She pulls away from me, taking my hand and leading me back to the kitchen. “I’m starved.”
“We didn’t get a chance to check out my room,” I protest as she drags me down the hall.
“We can do that after lunch,” Sylvie says, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Maybe I’ll even let you kiss me in your room.”
“If I can only be so lucky,” I tease her, loving this light and airy version of Sylvie.
I do need to make an honest woman of her.
Soon.
THIRTY-ONE
SYLVIE
“I wantto go to the family house in Newport,” I tell Spencer later that night, when we’re in bed and the apartment is dark and quiet.
Too quiet.
I’ve been amped up ever since my visit with Summer, and then the lunch with Spencer’s mother. It’s almost like I’m…manic. I haven’t felt this way since Earl died. Full of nervous energy mixed with a healthy dose of uncertainty. Always unsure of what could possibly happen to me next. There are no more visible threats, not really. I have Spencer with me, and he swore he would protect me no matter what.
Even from my mother.
So why the uneasiness? Why is there constant dread swirling in my stomach, making it tough for me to eat? To think? To sleep?
I’ve dealt with this feeling pretty much my entire life, and I hate it.
I want it gone.
The only way I believe that’ll happen is if my mother is truly out of my life. I may have banished her out of it as much as I can, but her energy is still out there, filling up the city. It’s as if I knew she’d returned. I could feel her spiritual pressure or whatever you want to call it. When she went out of the country, I was totally free.
But I’m not free any longer, and it’s the worst feeling in the world.
“You want a cat. You want to go to the Newport house. Next, you’ll want to go back to California.” The amusement in Spencer’s voice is obvious.
“Yes. I’ll probably want to do that next week,” I tease, sitting up in bed so I can look down at him. He’s lying flat on his back, his arms propped behind his head, biceps bulging. I can barely see him, but the city lights from the cracks in the curtain shine through, illuminating him in an orangey glow.
He’s so stupidly handsome, I want to grab my pillow and whack him on the head with it.
Then I think of my mother and her clutching that pillow, eager to press it to my face in the hopes to end my life, and I forget all about it.
“Why do you want to go to Newport? That house is enormous.”