The smile turns into a faint smirk and she shrugs her bony shoulders. God, she’s the thinnest I’ve ever seen her. “I have my ways. People who feed me information.”
I glance toward the railing, my gaze landing on the empty foyer below. The house is eerily silent and realization dawns.
One of the servants told her about my arrival. I’m sure she paid the person off for the information.
God, I can’t trust anyone.
“I sent everyone away for the weekend. It’ll just be the two of us, and we can catch up. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Mother smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
It sounds horrible. Like my worst nightmare come true.
Mother takes another step toward me, slow and casual. As if she’s not a threat. “I’ve missed you, darling. It’s been so long since we’ve had any alone time together. You’re constantly surrounded by people.”
“That’s on purpose,” I remind her, taking a step backward to create distance, but she just keeps creeping closer. “We can’t spend time together anymore, Mother. It always ends—badly between us.”
For me.
She frowns, her delicate brows drawing together, the only movement on her freshly preserved face. She looks incredibly young. Her features, minus her eye color, remind me of myself, just like Summer told me. “It does not. I’ve only ever wanted to protect you.”
“You’ve done a terrible job of it.” I reach inside my jean shorts pocket, my fingers brushing against the top of my phone. Relief floods me as I whip it out. “Stay away from me. Or I’m calling the police.”
Mother bursts out laughing, slowly walking toward me. “Oh, darling, you sound so silly. You can’t call the police. I’m your mother. All I want to do is talk. Nothing else.” She holds her hands out, palms pointed toward the ceiling. Innocent and nonthreatening—another lie. “I promise.”
I take another step backward, my butt bumping against the wall, my head knocking into a portrait of one of my dead relatives and sending it askew. “The problem with your promises is that you can never, ever keep them.”
“You think so low of me, don’t you?” She makes a tsking noise, shaking her head. “It’s such a shame, how badly our relationship has fallen apart.”
“Well, you know whose fault it is for that.” I brace my other hand on the wall, the phone clutched in my right hand, ready to dial if need be.
“I blame you,” she says, her voice serious. “You’ve pushed me away for years, when all I want is for us to have that special bond we used to share. I don’t have it with anyone else, you know. Not your brother, and definitely not Carolina. She treats me with such disdain, as if being in my presence disgusts her. And Whit thinks I’m an imbecile. He has no respect for women, just like your father.”
I don’t bother correcting her about Whit, because she’s wrong. Though she’s correct in regards to Carolina. Our mother terrifies her and Carolina keeps her distance. She saw how Mother controlled me, and wanted nothing to do with it.
And I can’t hold that against her. She’s lucky she got away.
“You’re saying this is my fault?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course. If you’d just listened to me, your life would be perfect. Now it’s so…messy.” She wrinkles her nose, though there’s not much movement there.
How much plastic surgery did she get?
“Messy in what way?” If I keep her talking, I’ll distract her. And possibly make my way into my bedroom where I can lock her out.
“This relationship with Spencer Donato is not what I envisioned for you. The fact that you’re living with him and not even married is—scandalous.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I contain myself. This is the same woman who tolerated her husband’s multiple affairs throughout their marriage, always turning a blind eye until she couldn’t look away any longer.
“Not as scandalous as me marrying a man old enough to be my father, who I barely knew,” I point out. “A man who was a closeted homosexual and engaged in questionable relationships during our marriage. I’m sure you’ll tell me you didn’t know about Earl’s preferences.”
“I didn’t. He came to me with a very specific request—he wanted to marry you.”
“And use me as a front.”
“You were young and beautiful and wealthy beyond measure. What man wouldn’t want you?”
“You never gave me a choice.”
“You didn’t want one,” she stresses. “You don’t like making decisions, Sylvie. You’ve always said that. You want someone in control of your life always.”