No one can save me now. Not even the boy who always swore he would run to my defense.
I think of that boy and can’t help the small smile that curls my lips. Sweet, dumb Spencer Donato. He tolerates me like no other, which drives me mad. His father may have supposed mafia ties—that’s the rumor, anyway—but Spence takes more after his sweet, loyal mother from the Midwest. He’s always been the one I can count on to help me forget.
At least for a little while.
“Good.” She takes a few steps, as if she’s going to leave the room, but then stops directly in front of me instead. “You know I’m only watching out for you, Sylvie. You can’t take care of yourself, not after everything that’s happened. You need someone to guide you, and what better choice than an older, wiser man for your husband? To get with someone your own age could end up being a—mistake.”
I say nothing. I’ve already come into one inheritance. The trust fund becomes mine, without stipulations, when I turn twenty-one, which is in less than two years. I assume she believes I would waste every last dollar, and there are hundreds of millions of them in that trust fund.
She doesn’t trust me. She never has.
Which puts us on an even playing field, because I don’t trust her either.
“Like that sweet teddy bear of yours. Spencer.” I flinch at her saying his name out loud, and she catches it. Of course, she does. Many others would consider the smile that appears to be kind, but I know it’s not. She dispatched her weapon, and it wounded me, just as she’d hoped. “He doesn’t understand our world, darling. Not really. He’s more like his simple-minded mother.”
Sylvia Lancaster likes no one, respects no one. She believes she’s above it all.
“His family is very rich—” I start, always trying to defend him, but she cuts me off.
“Not like our wealth. Not even close. And besides, so much of his family’s money is—tainted.” She mock shudders. “It’s best to cut him off. Don’t you think? For all we know, he’s working closely with his father now.”
I don’t bother responding. We don’t know what he’s doing. I don’t ask him. We haven’t spoken in months. His social media says he’s a student at NYU, but is he really? I don’t know.
If my mother has her way, I never will.
“You need someone who is solid. Established. Like the choices I gave you. They’re both excellent, and no matter who you end up marrying, they’ll take care of you, even with your—ailments.”
My ailments. What a sweet little way to put how she fucked me up so hard mentally since I was a child. It’s the same thing she’s said to me for years. Since the first time she took me to a doctor’s office in the hopes they could figure out what was wrong with me.
Everything’s wrong with me, I’ve concluded.I’m a mess. Who would want me?
According to what my mother said earlier, Earl Wainwright the fourth has put in the highest bid for me, followed by another, much older gentleman whose name I’ve already forgotten.
Earl is near seventy. Divorced and lonely and looking for a pretty young thing to escort to social events.
He wants me. And she’s offered me to him for a most tidy sum. Not quite sure how much, but I know she recently lost some money in a bad investment.
A shiver moves through me at the realization that I’ve been promised to someone.
When my heart belongs to someone else. It always has.
And always will.
* * *
I knock sohard on the door it hurts my knuckles. I’m soothing them with my tongue, while clutching a chilled bottle of champagne in my other hand, when the door suddenly swings open.
Spencer is standing there, surprise etched all over his handsome face when he sees me on his doorstep, licking the back of my hand. “How did you get in the building?”
Pausing, I glare at him, dropping my injured hand to my side.
No,hello, come in.
No,oh my God, I’ve missed you so much, Sylvie.
None of that. He just wants to know how I snuck into the building.
“I gave the doorman a hand job.” I push past him and enter the apartment, glancing around the clean, uncluttered space, doing my best to blink back the tears.