??????
Her smile.
Jesus Christ. It’s her real smile.
I’m absolutelynot the cause of it, and that’s okay. It’s her surprise that has her nearly beaming. But it’s still short of a full grin I know she’s capable of.
Regardless, I’m glad Vivienne is able to pull it out of her. A version of it, at least.
Vi is her surprise.
She flew in this morning from Kingston. There were so many moments she had messaged me these past few weeks, asking whether she could help be there for Cece. Especially after the clauseleaked—along with that incriminating picture.
Apparently, Cece had stopped replying to her messages. Or had given her sister one-word responses that Vi was familiar with, and didn’t hold against her.
But now that the arrests have been made, and Vi’s courses have a rare lull, she’s here. Doing everything to make my Cece smile even a little bit.
This kid is my star.
“Is she doing better?” Mrs. Wentworth grabs my attention, pulling me from an almost blatant perusal of my fiancée.
“She’s… struggling, Mrs. Wentworth,” I tell her, leaning back into the couch of this massive living room.
Despite the opulence of this estate, it’s still homely. Very unlike the Astor estate. But then again, the Wentworths are a new player in the game of multi-millionaires, having gained their place only two decades ago.
“Are you really getting rid of that clause?” she asks, her voice low enough not to reach anyone but me.
I simply nod, my gaze still locked on Cece. She’s listening intently to whatever Vi is saying. Narrating the chaos of her uni-days in that colorful way she always does.
Eloise Wentworth has never asked after Cece. Not in the time I’ve known her. Which is why the shift to the clause is entirely predictable.
It’s not that she doesn’t love Cece. I’m assuming she does, as well as anyone in her position and power would.
She sighs heavily beside me, taking a sip of her pre-supper wine.
“Well, at least she made it tonight,” she says. “I wasafraid she wouldn’t, even though I gave her short notice.”
My brows furrow at her words. I have no idea what she means.
And just as I’m about to dissect her carefully crafted sentence, she continues. “Take my advice, Levi. When she gets like this, and you want her to attend something important, give her a day’s notice. Or maybe less than a week. That way, she isn’t in over her head about it.”
What the fuck?
My mind immediately flashes back to that conversation. Cece told me about her parents’ anniversary only a week before it happened.
A week.
What kind of parents tell their daughter about an important family event with barely any notice?
A strange discomfort prickles beneath my skin. Because suddenly I can’t stop wondering how many details about Cece’s life I completely missed while convincing myself I knew her better than anyone.
Before I can ask another question, her mother rises from the couch and pats my shoulder gently. “I should check on dinner,” she says softly, disappearing toward a kitchen I’m almost certain she never actually cooks in. At least, not herself.
The second she leaves, the questions inside my head become unbearable. I excuse myself and head toward the guest bathroom.
I’m not drinking tonight since I’m driving us home. But what I wouldn’t do to get a glass of whiskey right now. Just one glass. One burn down my throat to quiet the noise in my head.
Are the Wentworths really like the Astors? MaybeI’m unfairly lumping them together because of my own parents?
