Her gaze catches mine at one point and she leans in, her voice low when she murmurs, “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is perfect,” I answer without hesitation, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “I think your tea party is a raging success.”
She looks pleased as she slowly pulls away. “Thank you. I think everyone is having a nice time.”
“And you’re beautiful.” I kiss her again because I can, right on the lips, and her cheeks flush with pleasure.
“Thank you for letting me have the party here,” she murmurs.
“I will give you whatever you want.” I touch her cheek, streaking my fingers across her soft skin.” All you have to do is ask.”
Sylvie stares at me, the party happening all around us. Conversations and laughter and carrying on, but we’re lost in our own little world for a moment, studying each other. I don’t let my gaze stray because I want her to know how serious I am. I mean what I say.
I will give her whatever she wants, whenever she wants it.
“Spencer,” she whispers, swallowing hard, “I lo—”
“Well, well, would you look at this!” a familiar voice screeches from the door that opens out onto the terrace.
We both turn to find Sylvia Lancaster standing there, clad in a bright pink suit, her gaze zeroed in on Sylvie and sparking with barely contained fury.
Dread and anger fill me and I rise to my feet, my hands clutched into fists at my sides.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice deadly calm.
Sylvia barely pays any attention to me. “Coming to see my family. I think I have every right to be here.”
“Now the party has really started,” I hear Monty say drolly, and I glance over my shoulder, sending him a ferocious glare.
He blinks, leaning back in his chair, his lips snapping shut.
If he invited Sylvia, there will be hell to pay.
I guarantee it.
TWENTY-SIX
SYLVIE
My heart pumps furiouslywhen I see my mother standing on the terrace as if she belongs here, wearing one of her beautiful pink tweed Chanel suits. It’s warm outside and I’m sweating, yet there’s not even a sheen to my mother’s face. Her makeup is perfection, her hair coiffed into the standard Sylvia Lancaster style. That severe blonde bob that looks like a weapon when she swings her head. Sharp and cutting.
Much like the words she says.
I glance around the table, the shocked expressions on my friends’ and families’ faces, and I wonder which one of them betrayed me.
My heart cracks at the realization.
Mother walks out onto the terrace, stopping one of the servers with a gentle hand on his arm. “Can you set an extra place at the table for me, young man?”
“Of course.” He dutifully nods and heads into the house, closing the door behind him.
Only moments ago, we were talking. Laughing. Now it’s dead silent, everyone sending secret looks to each other, the air growing more and more uncomfortable the longer nothing is said.
Straightening my spine, I march over to my mother, curling my fingers around her elbow and steering her toward the door. “Let’s talk inside.”
Before she can say anything, I drag her into the apartment, shutting the door behind us. My gaze catches on Spencer, who’s watching us both, his expression impassive, though I see heat in his gaze. Anger.
That man will burst in here and save me if he has to. All I need to do is give the signal.