Didn’t take though. I’m still the same fucked-up Sylvie I’ve been for what feels like my entire life.
“He won’t taint the day,” I murmur. “He was never much a part of my life with my family. I think Whit met him once, and that was reluctantly, on my brother’s part.”
“Why only once? And why reluctantly?”
Because the marriage was fake. Because Whit knew that and had no desire to spend time with my husband, who’s our father’s age. Because everything in my life the last few years has been one giant performance, not an ounce of it real.
He knew what our mother did, and told her to her face he didn’t approve, but she did it anyway. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks.
Certainly not me. Especially not me.
“Whit was too wrapped up in Summer,” is my answer, and close enough to the truth. “At the time I was getting engaged to Earl, Whit was in hot pursuit of Summer in Paris.”
“Really.” Cliff’s voice is flat, the expression on his face, doubtful. He doesn’t believe me.
I never said Cliff wasn’t smart. I like surrounding myself with intelligent people. Then I feel smart too. But when they’re too smart?
They become…dangerous.
“Find me a dress.” I wave a hand at the racks of clothing, desperate to distract him. “Something beautiful and appropriate for a big wedding on a beautiful spring day.”
“Something not so black?” His question is pointed as he resumes his search.
Surely I have something in my closet to wear to my brother’s wedding. As a matter of fact, I know I do.
“Help me get out of this.” I approach Cliff, turning my back to him so he can undo the zipper. He unzips it, giving me the freedom to shrug out of the well-constructed garment, and I shed it like a skin. I grab an empty hanger and slip it back on, smoothing out the skirt before I hang it on the door of my closet.
“It’s a beautiful dress,” Cliff says off-handedly.
“For a funeral,” I add drolly.
Our gazes meet, just before we crack up.
THREE
SYLVIE
We arriveat my family’s Long Island estate where the wedding is being held because, of course it is. The scene of the crime, so to speak, where Whit first fell madly in love with Summer during that one Thanksgiving break, when I brought her with me to be my support system. Instead, she fucked Whit every chance she got in secret, the two of them sneaking around for a week, much to my mother’s disgust. Hooking up everywhere, the servants reporting their antics to her whenever she asked.
I don’t blame them. They were compensated for their tattling. Mother needed as much evidence as she could gather to show that Summer was nothing but a common whore, just like her mother. Not that Whit cared. She scared Summer instead, and made her run away.
Again, who’s laughing now? I can only imagine how disgusted Mother is, that Whit is marrying Summer. That she’s the mother to the next generation of Lancasters, with their adorable baby boy August. I’m sure the ceremony being held at our estate is a way for Summer to rub it in Mother’s face that she won.
I admire Summer’s bravery, I really do.
“I knew you Lancasters were wealthy, but Jesus. This is something else,” Cliff mutters as he leads me up the steps toward the entrance to the main house, my arm curled through his. “This house is a friggin’ castle.”
“It’s been in the family for generations. We used to only summer here,” I explain as I gather up more of my long skirt in my other hand. The dress Cliff found for me was hanging on the back of my closet door, forgotten. It had been delivered from the designer only last week, in the hopes I would wear it to the wedding and have my photo taken in it.
Lucky them, it’s happening. I can feel the shutters clicking as we slowly trudge up the stairs, trailing after the other guests arriving for the wedding. Motherwouldhire paparazzi to take photos. She’s always been more of the why fight them type when it comes to photographers.
Once upon a time, for a brief, shining moment, I was an it girl. A darling of the paparazzi—only because I gave them so much fodder to work with. Drinking and drugging and partying with pretty boys. I was every photographer’s dream come true.
I became somewhat of an influencer too. Whatever I wore, carried on my arm, slipped around my wrist, sold out immediately upon my photo hitting the internet. It was a wild moment in my life that lasted far too briefly.
Mother helped squash it. She’s not one to believe in bad publicity. It’s good or nothing. Plus, she was probably terrified I’d open my mouth and tell my truth.
She trained me well, though. I’ve kept my mouth shut.