“You look to the manor born,” Cliff says once we’ve reached the top of the stairs, his gaze admiring as he takes me in. A breeze causes my skirt to float and I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Pretty as a painting.”
Pleasure ripples through my veins at his compliment. The gown I’m wearing is absolutely gorgeous, I can’t deny it. It’s floor-length, white with a turquoise floral print, the tiny sleeves constructed of ruffled tulle. The skirt is a frothy delight of multiple layers of tulle beneath, the tiny belt tied in a permanent bow in the dead center of my waist.
I haven’t felt this pretty in a long time. It helps that I’m a little drunk. Liquid courage and all that.
“Wait until you see the paintings in the house.” I mock shudder as we walk through the open double doors. “Portraits of intimidating ancestors line the walls everywhere you look. When I was younger, I swore they were all watching me as I walked past.”
“How creepy.” Cliff sounds distracted as he takes everything in, his eyes wide. Clifford’s family is rich, but not like us Lancasters.
There’s hardly anyone like the Lancaster family. The original Augustus Lancaster was a ruthless son of a bitch who dabbled in a variety of things during The Industrial Revolution. He started out in shipping. Then he moved on to railroads, investing all the money he made selling his ships into the new frontier, in shipping goods. He invested well, but the later generations were smart and pulled out just before the Great Depression. At one point, Augustus and his sons even bought oil fields in Ohio, of all places.
Our family tree consists of a litany of innovators. Generations ago, it was as if we could foresee the future, and were always looking ahead. Some of the Lancasters are still this way, but while we have plenty of success stories, we also have the not so positive tales about various family members. Divorces. Mental illness. Cheating. There’s even a hint of murder here and there. Deception and double crossing and revenge. Hostile takeovers of various businesses and bold moves that nearly destroyed the stock market. We’re an adventurous bunch.
All in the Lancaster name.
We breeze through the house, heading for the open double doors that lead onto the terrace, where the reception will be held. I can hear a string quartet already playing, accompanied by the gentle conversations of people speaking all at once. There are guests clustered around, drinks in hand, all of the women in soft pastels, just as I predicted.
Looking like Easter eggs.
I go to the balustrade railing and glance out at the rolling green lawn, where the ceremony will take place. There’s a gorgeous arbor laden with so many white flowers, I’m afraid it’ll collapse under the weight. The aisle is white, lined with more lush white flowers and there is row after row of white chairs set up, a few people already seated in them.
“Shall we go down there and claim our seats?” Cliff stops right next to me, resting his forearms on the railing’s edge.
“Don’t worry, our seats are already claimed. We’re in the first row, directly in front of Whit.” I smile at him, my gaze momentarily catching on a familiar figure headed down the stairs that lead toward the lawn.
I freeze, my heart in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I recognize that dark head. The tall frame, how he moves. How he carries himself.
“Sylvie. Sylvie. Did you hear me?”
I ignore Cliff, my greedy gaze eating him up. The man walking onto the lawn clad in a black tuxedo, his inky hair gleaming under the sun. I swear he’s taller. Broader even. He approaches another man I don’t recognize, stopping to shake his hand, a faint, closed-mouth smile appearing on his face, and the sight of it is devastating.
Before, he only smiled like that at me. As if I was the only one who made him happy, and he did the same for me, no matter how temporary it felt. He was my respite. A way for me to forget.
Until I made myself forget him.
My heart races. Aches. I’m such an idiot. I should’ve known he’d be here. Was I that naive to think if I banished him from my life, my mind, my everything, that Whit would do the same?
Spence is one of his best friends. Of course, he wouldn’t do that to him. My brother is far more loyal than I could ever be.
“Are you okay?” Cliff settles his hand on my forearm, bringing me back to the present, and I shake myself, offering him a brittle smile. “What happened just now? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I’m fine.” My gaze darts around, seeking out a server divvying out drinks. “Just a little thirsty.”
The concern in Cliff’s gaze is obvious. “I don’t know if you should have anything else to drink before the ceremony, Syl.”
I remember how Spencer would always call me Syl. When we were teenagers, I used to joke that we sounded like an old Hollywood couple. Spence and Syl.
Syl and Spence.
“It’s so hot though.” I fan myself with my fingers, panic racing through my veins, making me want to crawl out of my skin. “I need something to cool me down.”
A sigh leaves him and he shakes his head. “I’ll be right back.” Cliff gives my arm a gentle squeeze before he takes off.
I stand there alone on the terrace of my own home, feeling like an outsider. No one approaches. No one says a word to me, though I can feel them watching. Talking about me in low tones. Curious as to my sudden appearance, when all the rumors claim I’m unhealthy and unable to function.
Anything horrible you can think of has already been said about me. Drugs. A complete mental breakdown. Flunking out of school, fucking a teacher, fucking my father’s friend, my best friend’s boyfriend. Whatever you can come up with, the rumor has been said. Some of them, I even started myself. When I was younger and didn’t care, I told everyone I was fucking my brother’s friend Chad, when really, I only had eyes for Spence.
It was enough to spur Spencer into action and he pursued me heavily, thinking I was with Chad. It worked so perfectly. My mother always said I was an excellent manipulator, which makes sense considering I learned from a master.