Promises We Meant To Keep: Chapter 6

“WHY WERE YOU TALKING TO SPENCE?” I ask Carolina, my voice purposely light.

Inside, I’m as dark and turbulent as a brewing winter storm, ready to unleash my fury if she says the wrong thing.

The amused expression on my sister’s annoyingly beautiful face makes me want to slap her. Her delicate brows lift, a challenge in her gaze. “Jealous, Sylvie?”

“Never.” My response is too quick and I take a brief moment to calm myself. “Why would I be jealous? He doesn’t matter to me any longer. Did he ever?” The laugh that slips from me sounds so fake, I immediately clamp my lips together to silence it.

“Someone protests far too much.” A sigh leaves Carolina as she glances about the room. The reception has been in full swing for almost two hours and we’re currently sitting at a table with the family, finally eating the main entrée—steak or fish. I chose fish, though I don’t have much of an appetite. The day has been far too stressful, starting with my worry over interacting with my mother. Then seeing Spence. Feeling his wrath.

It’s my fault for not thinking he would be here—and that he would be angry with me.

Thank God, Mother is on the opposite end of the table, so I feel relatively safe in being here, not having to talk to her.

Even if the conversation I’m engaging in with my sister is a tad uncomfortable.

“I was just catching up with him,” Carolina says, as vague as ever. “It’s been a while since I saw Spence.”

It’s been a hot minute since I last saw him too. The memories rush through my mind, one after the other. Arriving at his apartment that night, desperate and needy. Revealing my naked self beneath the coat. How he went down on me while I was sprawled across the kitchen counter, making me come with his perfect mouth before taking me to his bedroom and fucking me thoroughly. Just as I requested.

My intent when I went to his apartment was clear from the start. I had a task to complete, and nothing was going to stop me. I firmly believed my mother had sold my virginity to the highest bidder, and I was determined to get rid of it, thinking my lack of a hymen would completely ruin the wedding plan.

But Earl didn’t want me. Not like that. He wanted the status my family name brought—and access to the Lancaster money, which he didn’t always take, much to my confusion.

The money, the status, it didn’t make him happy. Not much made my late husband happy.

“He’s changed.” When I shoot her a questioning look, she clarifies, “Your Spencer.”

“He’s not mine.” Was he ever?

Yes, once upon a time. But no longer. I went and married someone else, and he’s going to hold it against me forever.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I was disloyal. In his eyes, he believes I gave myself to another man. Spence doesn’t know it was in name only. And I’m sure he’ll never give me the opportunity to explain myself either.

“He was,” Carolina reminds me. “I’ve heard the stories.”

“What stories?” I frown.

“Stories you told me, or did you forget? The two of you were very close when you were at Lancaster Prep.” A haze of something clouds Carolina’s eyes and I’m about to ask what’s wrong, when our father shouts our names.

We turn to look at him, hating how my gaze snags on Mother, who’s watching the conversation with curiosity lighting her eyes.

“Do either of you want to give a speech in honor of your brother and his new bride?” Our father smiles, looking rather pleased with his suggestion, his gaze never straying from Carolina. His favorite daughter.

Though he’d deny it until he took his last breath, I know it’s true.

Augustus Lancaster is a handsome man, and only seems to grow more distinguished looking as he ages. I’m sure my mother hates him for it. She hates him for everything he does.

“I don’t think they would approve if I gave a speech,” I say hesitantly, imagining the look on Summer’s face while I talk about love and promises kept. My abandonment still lingers in her mind, and yes, she already knows I was under the influence of my mother when it happened, but I don’t know if that’s a good enough answer.

I was only sixteen and highly impressionable. I couldn’t think for myself—I really didn’t know how. But I should’ve believed Summer, even though she hurt my feelings. I viewed her as the enemy once she abandoned me that week. I invited her to the house, not Whit. She was my friend, and Whit had no problem stealing her from me.

I suppose since I did it to him with Spence, he thought Summer was fair game. But look at the two of them now, madly in love and officially married. Spencer standing beside him as his best man.

Whit got everything, while I was left with nothing. Not even a scrap.

Typical.

Back then, when I was resentful and hurt, my mother ran my entire life. She had complete control of me, and I let her. I preferred it. I thought I was so strong, when I wasn’t at all.

No, I was weak. Pathetic.

Well, no longer.

“I’m afraid I don’t know Summer that well,” Carolina adds.

“Monty is giving a speech. I thought it would be nice if one of you did too.” The disappointment on my father’s face is obvious when his gaze lands on me.

“Monty and Summer are very close,” I remind him. “It makes sense, that he would give a toast.”

“Spence is giving a speech as best man.” Dad smiles. “I’m glad those two are still friends.”

My father is clueless. He never knew that Spence and I had a thing, and we were so obvious, especially during that one Thanksgiving week, when I begged Spencer to come here and spend it with me.

“Where is your date anyway?” Carolina asks me.

“Talking with Monty over at the bar.” We both glance over at where they’re standing, their heads bent close together. “I’m playing matchmaker.”

“That’s the sweetest thing.” Carolina’s gaze returns to mine. “And what about Spence?”

I frown. “What about him?”

“Do you still care about him?”

I wave a hand. “That was a long time ago.”

She arches a brow. “Not really.”

“I’ve been married and widowed since I last spoke with him. He’s moved on, surely.” I’ve not heard much about his love life, but I haven’t heard much about him in general since we were last together. He’s always been a private person. Even a little secretive.

Maybe that’s why I was always drawn to him. I love a good secret. After all, I’m an expert at keeping them.

“I suppose.” The mysterious way Carolina just said that infuriates me.

“He has.” My words, my tone, are insistent. I can’t believe he would still give me another chance. Even if he did…

I wouldn’t deserve it.

“Darling.”

We lift our heads in tandem to find our mother hovering over the two of us, though her gaze is only for me.

“What?” I snap, irritated.

That fake pleasant look on her face disappears in an instant. “I was hoping we could speak.” She glances over at Carolina. “Privately.”

A sigh leaves Carolina and she rises to her feet. “Ignoring me as usual. Love how you haven’t changed, Mother. You can have my chair.”

She walks away before I can stop her, my gaze lingering on the back of Carolina’s perfect blonde head as she abandons me.

Leaving me alone.

With our mother.

A woman who scares me to this day.

“Finally.” Mother falls into Carolina’s chair, her smile aimed right at me. She’s impeccable in a vintage Oscar de la Renta dress. I only know this because I recognize it from her closet, which I always loved to go through when I was little. “You look well, Sylvie.”

“Thank you.” It’s only because I’m out of her clutches. When I spend too much time with my mother, I end up skinny and frail. Sickly.

Always sick.

“There’s color in your cheeks. And you’re even a little…plump.” Her gaze drops to my chest. My breasts.

My laugh sounds rough as it scrapes at my throat. “I am far from plump and you know it.”

“You’ve definitely gained weight—”

“Stop trying to make me feel bad.” I can tolerate her for only so long. “What do you want?”

“I miss you so much, Sylvie. My little twin.” Mother leans forward, gathering my hands in hers and clutching them tight, her gaze never straying from mine. At least I didn’t get her eyes. Otherwise, I could be her identical twin, born twenty-plus years later. “We used to do everything together, but once you got married, you tried to cut me out of your life.”

My gaze drifts. It’s hard to look at her. “I had to.”

She doesn’t ask what I mean by that because, deep down, she knows. And besides, she wormed her way back in eventually. Once my husband died and I needed someone, anyone to help me. “Sylvie, look at me.” When my gaze finds hers once more, she keeps talking. “I just want to be there for you, darling. I’m so sorry for your loss, and what you’ve gone through at such a young age. You know I am. What happened to Earl was…unthinkable.”

I remain quiet. There’s no point in protesting her sympathy or her statement about Earl. What happened to him was definitely unthinkable. No one should die as he did.

“I know you suffered over Earl. You’ve suffered so much your entire life. It hasn’t been easy. All the money in the world, and look at what you’ve dealt with.” She squeezes my hands, like she’s never going to let them go. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

There are so many things she could be apologizing for. The list is endless. But I don’t believe she’s sincere. I don’t think she’s sorry for what she’s done to me.

I’m not sure she even realizes exactly what she’s done to me over the years. She pretends everything is fine between us whenever I see her, when it so clearly isn’t.

Carefully, I pull my hands from her grip, ignoring the disappointment on her face when I withdraw them. “I appreciate the apology.” Why I’m being kind to her, I don’t know. “But it’s too late.”

She frowns. “Too late for what?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I leave her, blindly walking away, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, in my blood. I push past people as they approach me with friendly smiles and a greeting on their tongue, ignoring them when they say my name. I don’t stop until I’m at the bar, ordering a whiskey neat, gulping it down the moment the bartender sets the glass in front of me.

“Well, well. Someone’s traumatized.”

That droll voice can belong to only one person.

Glancing to my right, I see Monty standing there, Cliff directly beside him. Two gorgeous, fashionable men who would make the perfect couple.

My matchmaking skills are on point, I swear.

“Sylvie. Sweetie. Are you all right?” Cliff frowns, taking a step toward me.

I request a refill from the bartender before I turn my attention to my date, who’s ditched me. “I’m—recovering.”

“From a conversation with Sylvia,” Monty adds, earning a sharp look from me. “I saw the two of you at the table just now.”

I take the refilled glass the bartender just set on the counter and sip from it, trying to control myself, but it’s hard. My hands are literally shaking, and the temptation to down the whiskey is strong. “I don’t know why I came to this wedding. I knew I would end up having to talk to her.”

“He’s your brother. Of course, you’d come. You love him. Would do anything for him,” Monty says, his voice gentle. His gaze, kind. He’s speaking the truth. I adore Whit. He’s protected me my entire life from his jerk friends and anyone else who might’ve been a threat, with the exception of our mother. “Have you had a chance to speak to Summer yet?”

“Not really.” I take another sip, hating how jittery I feel. Wishing I didn’t have to worry about Summer and Spence and my mother. I’m sure there are other people at this party tonight who hate me. Who I burned with a careless remark or malicious gossip. I was the worst.

I’m still not much better.

“Oh.” The disappointment in Monty’s voice is clear, and I hate myself. I disappoint everyone.

It’s as if I can’t help it.

Inhaling deeply, I blow out a long, slow breath. “Has Summer said anything to you about me?”

“Not today. She’s a little preoccupied,” he reminds me. “Truthfully? She hasn’t mentioned your name to me in a while.”

I don’t know if I should be bothered by that remark, or relieved. If she’s not talking about me, maybe Summer has forgiven me.

Or she’s not talking about me because I’m not worth her worry.

“It was a beautiful wedding, wasn’t it?” Cliff smiles brightly. It’s obvious he’s trying to change the subject and the mood, which I can appreciate. “Whit Lancaster is delicious.”

“Isn’t he? Oh, the man is divine.” Monty rests his hand on his chest as if he’s overcome. He’s always reacted this way toward my brother. His crush on Whit isn’t a secret.

I roll my eyes and give in, downing the rest of the liquor in one swallow. It leaves a fiery trail burning down my throat, settling warm and tingly in my stomach. “Stop salivating over my brother. He’s a married man now.”

“Summer is such a lucky woman,” Cliff says. “Look at how he watches her.”

We all turn to observe Whit and Summer sitting at their table, completely engrossed in each other. Whit’s gaze drops to Summer’s lips and he touches the corner of her mouth with just his fingertips, and I tear my gaze away from them. I feel like an intruder on their intimate moment.

He’s always looked at her like that. As if he’s completely fascinated and can’t quite figure her out.

“They’re in love,” Monty says with a wistful sigh. Have I ever heard him sound like that before? “They can’t get enough of each other.”

“It’s a beautiful thing to witness,” Cliff adds.

I turn away from them, requesting one more refill for the road from the bartender, who delivers it immediately. I leave my friends be, wandering the ballroom in search of a friendly face. There are a lot of Lancasters here, and plenty of distant relatives too—other branches of the family. Hundreds of people are in attendance, because when the oldest son of the oldest son gets married, you can bet that everyone who is anyone will be invited to the wedding.

On the other hand, my wedding was in a government building downtown on a cold and dreary winter day—a Wednesday. I wore a white tweed Chanel suit that belonged to my grandmother, and a funny little hat covered in white feathers, with white netting that hung over my eyes. My hair was pulled into a severe updo, not a strand out of place—I was trying to emulate my little sister now that I think back on it. I’m sure I looked ridiculous. I was also drunk and high on prescription pills—that was the only way I could go through with the ceremony.

I wouldn’t mind a pill or five right now, if I’m being honest with myself. The alcohol can only work so much.

“Sylvie.” Someone grabs my arm to stop me, and I turn to find my cousin Grant studying me, his gaze filled with concern. “How are you?”

He leans in and drops a kiss on each of my cheeks before he gives me a hug. He’s much older than me, so we’re not what I would call close, though I’ve always liked him. Tall and imposing, Grant is the oldest son of my uncle Reggie. And he’s currently studying me as if he can tell I’m drunk and agitated, which I am.

“I’m wonderful,” I tell him, my voice falsely bright. “I heard you recently got married.”

“Six months ago now, yes.” He rubs absently at the platinum band around his left ring finger.

“Congratulations. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it to the wedding.” I was still dealing with the aftermath of my husband’s death and didn’t feel it was right to be seen in public, celebrating when my husband was dead and gone.

“I was sorry to hear about your husband.” His gaze and tone are somber, showing me respect.

He might be a mean and moody Lancaster male, but it feels like our generation has softened a bit. They’re not as mean, not as fierce as our fathers.

“Thank you.” I nod, trying to keep my expression solemn, but it’s no use. I cave and finish off the whiskey.

“I knew your husband. Did he ever mention that to you?” He tilts his head, sending me a questioning look

I go still, staring at Grant. He has that same Lancaster look as the rest of us. The only exception is his hair is darker. “No, I don’t recall him ever mentioning it.”

“Finn and I handled a lot of his real estate transactions the last few years,” Grant explains, referring to his younger brother. “Before we…lost him.”

What a sweet way to put it. As if Earl is merely wandering around the city, confused and unable to find his way home.

“He didn’t own much real estate that I know of.”

“Only because he was selling off so much of it,” Grant says, his brows knitting together. “Did he not tell you that? We unloaded a lot of properties for him the last three years or so. He made a lot of money too.”

Interesting, considering he wasn’t what I would consider liquid when he passed. I was even accused of hiding all of his assets at one point by his children, which was laughable. “I wouldn’t know, since I wasn’t in his will.”

“Are you serious?”

“As if I need the money, Grant. We’re Lancasters, remember?” I arch a brow.

He chuckles. “True. It’s just—he told us repeatedly he needed cash. That’s why he got rid of so much real estate. I didn’t think anything of it in the moment. People do that sort of thing all the time, but now…”

“Now what?”

“If he didn’t have much cash in the bank when he passed away, where did it all go?”

Hmm.

Good question.