SUMMER
AFTER SYLVIE LEAVES MY ROOM, I fall asleep within minutes of my head hitting the fluffy pillow, wrapped up in the sumptuous duvet that covers my bed. I sleep for over an hour, waking up disoriented, the room shrouded in complete darkness. For a moment, I forget where I am.
As the memories come flooding back, I find myself at the Lancaster estate in Newport, preparing for tonight’s dinner. We’re all going, including Whit, who still has no idea I’m here. Sylvie is keeping it under wraps; she’d rather have me show up at the restaurant like a perfectly timed bombshell. I adore her, but there are moments when I wonder if she’s using me as a pawn in her own family dramas.
I glance at my phone; it’s just past six. There’s a text from Sylvie: “Dinner reservations are at eight. We’ll leave at 7:45. You have to be in my room no later than 6:30!” I’m running late, especially since I still need to wash and dry my hair.
Another text pops up from Mother: “Happy Birthday, my darling. I hope you’re doing something nice to celebrate.” That’s it—no nostalgic reminiscences, no expressions of love or longing. I’ll respond later. Instead, I quickly text Sylvie: “Me: Fell asleep. Just woke up. Hopping in the shower now.” Her reply is immediate: “Sylvie: OMG hurry!”
I gather my toiletries and head into the lavish bathroom, marveling at the luxuriousness of it all. The Lancaster family’s wealth isn’t just about display—it’s a deep-rooted heritage. The bathroom is a testament to this, with its modern upgrades, marble, glass, and a shower that feels like a rainstorm. The decor is tastefully done, with pale blue cabinets and ornate gold mirrors, complemented by a vibrant bouquet of autumn flowers.
As I step under the shower’s warm spray, I feel my muscles relax, the lavender-scented body wash soothing my nerves. By the time I’m finished, I feel serene. But the calm is short-lived; I’m reminded of tonight’s dinner and the impending encounter with Whit. My phone buzzes again—Sylvie: “I’ll dry your hair for you. Come to my room!” I reply: “Me: I don’t know where it is!” Sylvie’s quick response guides me to the stairs, where she’s already waiting.
I hastily apply lotion, moisturizer, and deodorant, then slip into my chosen outfit—high-waisted light jeans and a snug black turtleneck. I inspect my reflection, ensuring I strike the right balance between stylish and appropriate. I quickly lace up my trusty Doc Marten boots, grab my phone, and dash down the hallway to meet Sylvie.
She greets me with a smile, pulling me towards her room, which is even more opulent than mine. It’s a pale pink sanctuary, delicately feminine and entirely fitting for Sylvie. I can’t help but express my admiration. Sylvie leads me into her bathroom, which is a haven for hair styling tools, and immediately gets to work on my hair.
As she blow-dries and curls it, she comments on how beautiful my hair is and encourages me to wear it down more often. Her words remind me of Mother’s constant critiques, urging me to enhance my features. I’ve always resisted, not wanting to be defined by my appearance.
With my hair styled and makeup done, I feel transformed yet still myself—just a bit more polished. Sylvie’s efforts are impressive, and I assure her that I love the look. I ask her to keep my birthday a secret tonight, wanting to blend in rather than stand out.
As we leave the house, the driver from earlier is waiting to take us to the waterfront restaurant. Sylvie and I are dressed warmly for the cold, and she casually mentions her family’s arrangements for dinner. Her mother’s already there, her father’s on his way from London, and Whit is driving separately, possibly bringing friends. The mention of Whit unsettles me; I’m anxious about his reaction to my presence.
At the restaurant, the bustling crowd and warmth contrast sharply with the cold outside. Sylvie introduces me to her mother, Sylvia Lancaster, a woman whose elegance is tinged with sharpness. Sylvia’s cool reception and probing questions about my family leave me feeling out of place.
As we settle in, Sylvie’s father, Augustus, arrives, and I see the strong family resemblance in him. His relationship with Sylvia is strained, a dynamic I observe keenly, trying to understand Whit better. When Whit finally appears, he’s accompanied by Leticia, a girl he’s supposed to marry. The sight of them together sends a jolt through me. Whit’s demeanor is cold and distant, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
Dinner is a tense affair. Whit barely acknowledges me, his focus on Leticia. His touch on her sends a pang of jealousy through me. I sit quietly, sipping my wine and observing the Lancaster family’s complicated interactions, trying to piece together the puzzle of Whit’s behavior towards me.
