“I love you,” he whispers in my ear as he squeezes me tight. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. As okay as it can be,” I admit, closing my eyes.
I’ll have to tell my siblings. And my father. I don’t know how I’m going to say it, but they need to know right away that she’s gone.
Sylvia Lancaster is dead.
“I don’t want to stay here,” I whisper, when I glance up to stare into Spencer’s eyes. “I want to go home. Back to the apartment.”
“We’ll leave soon. They might need to talk to us some more.” He glances up, focusing on the stairwell. “The coroner just showed up.”
“She’s really gone, isn’t she?” The hopeful note in my voice is obvious, and that makes me feel like shit.
Spencer slowly nods, smoothing my hair away from my face, his concerned gaze full of love. All for me. “She will never hurt you again.”
Thank God.
THIRTY-FIVE
SPENCER
We returnedto the city late Friday night, both of us collapsing into bed the moment we entered the apartment. I had fitful sleep, tossing and turning. Dreaming.
So many dreams. Terrible ones involving Sylvia Lancaster and a staircase.
Every time I’d wake up, I realized it wasn’t a dream at all. It happened. It was all so damn real.
And there’s nothing I can do to change any of it.
Before we left the house, Sylvie called Whit, then Carolina, and finally her father. Whit took over the necessary arrangements immediately, reassuring Sylvie she didn’t have to do anything. Carolina had her usual unemotional reaction. Augustus put on a brave front, but I could hear the tremor in his voice. Learning of Sylvia’s death shook him.
Knowing I was the one who caused Sylvia’s death? Shook me too.
I didn’t mean for it to happen. All I could think about was protecting Sylvie. I did what I had to do to ensure her safety. I never thought it would result in Sylvia’s death.
I feel terrible. I made Sylvie lie for me, and I lied as well.
Will I ever be able to forgive myself?
Sylvie wakes me up around eight the next morning, shaking my shoulder gently. “Whit is here. He wants to talk to you.”
I sit up, running a hand through my hair, my gaze landing on her. She’s dressed and put together as if she’s been awake for hours, which is shocking. Sylvie isn’t one to wake up early. “Tell him I’ll be out in a few.”
She offers me a sympathetic look, but otherwise says nothing before leaving the room.
Climbing out of bed, I go to the bathroom and take a piss. Brush my teeth. Throw on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts before I make my way out to the living room to find my best friend sitting on the edge of the couch, clad in a three-piece suit, his expression serious.
Sad.
“Whit.” He turns his head when he hears my voice, rising to his feet to pull me into a hug. We embrace, clapping our hands on each other’s backs like men do before we withdraw. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Whit nods, his face stoic. Only his eyes give him away. They’re blazing with an unfamiliar emotion, and I’m pretty sure it’s sadness. “I spoke with the detectives who interviewed you both yesterday. They said it was an accident.”
“It was,” Sylvie says, coming to stand beside me, forming a united front.
Whit studies her for a moment, turning his attention to me. “Was it really?”
I come close to telling him the truth. I open my mouth, ready to spill our secret, when Sylvie takes over.