I’ll Always Be With You (Lancaster Prep Book 4)

I’M SURROUNDED BY PEOPLE, my supposed friends. A group of us decided to go to one of the local restaurants to celebrate TJ’s eighteenth birthday at the last minute. I should be having a good time. I have my real friends with me, and while Mercedes is a complete nuisance, I can ignore her presence easily enough. Yet I’m completely miserable.

The problem?

The girl sitting across the restaurant with a woman, who I’m pretty sure is her mother.

What the fuck is Carolina Lancaster doing here? What are the odds that she’d be here tonight of all nights, when we’re here too? I figured tonight would be my one chance to get away from her for at least a few hours. Where I wouldn’t have to think about her and worry about her fucking feelings.

Instead, here she is, a constant, physical reminder of what I told myself I can’t have only a few feet away. Looking completely miserable as the woman—I’m fairly certain that is Sylvia Lancaster she’s sitting with—is giving her a lecture, her mouth never seeming to stop moving.

“Hey.” Someone slaps my arm and I glance over at Brent, who’s studying me with concern. “I thought you were looking forward to tonight.”

“I was. I am.” I paste on a smile, but the dubious look my friend gives me tells me I’m fooling no one. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve been in a shit mood since you disappeared, and that was a month ago.” He slaps me in the arm again, harder this time. “Snap out of it, man. You’re a real downer lately.”

“Yeah. I’ll try.” I haven’t told anyone about my father’s condition. He asked that I keep it private and that’s exactly what I’m doing, but fuck, it’s hard.

I have no one to talk about it with. And the one person who probably would’ve listened to me, I pushed away.

I’m a complete idiot.

“You have been in a bad mood for a while.” This comes from Mercedes, who curls her arm through mine, like she’s trying to claim me. I see the way she keeps glancing over at Carolina’s table. She’s trying to send a message to her and it’s the same old bullshit.

It’s also completely untrue.

I’m not interested in this girl. She’s too obvious, too forward, too much. She’s also clueless. As in, she can’t figure out that I have zero desire to be with her, let alone talk to her. I shift my arm out of her possessive grip, wishing she’d take the hint.

“I’ll get over it,” I tell her, my voice clipped, my gaze going in the same direction as hers.

Toward Carolina.

I drink her in, shocked to see she’s still in her uniform, her hair in the usual high ponytail, bright blonde and silky soft. She’s staring at her mother while the woman talks, her fingers absently stroking up and down the length of her neck and I wonder what she would’ve done if I’d grabbed her by the neck and held her in place while I fucked her. Would she have liked it?

My instincts say yes.

But I’ll never get a chance to do that. I ruined what we had.

The only reason I pushed her away is because I didn’t want to hurt her. I’m leaving soon. The plan is for me to leave over winter break for California and not return to Lancaster Prep. My father has been given six months tops, and he wants to take whatever remaining time he has and train me. To have me take over one of the biggest champagne producers in the country, if not the world, once he’s gone.

It’s unbelievable, his expectations.

I’m only eighteen fucking years old. The man is delusional if he thinks I can do it as well as he does. He’s got a solid thirty-five years on me, experience-wise.

“I don’t understand your fascination with her.”

I turn to face Mercedes, at the disgust in her voice, noting the equally vile expression on her face. When she hates someone, she gets ugly about it. “You’re just jealous.”

Mercedes’ face turns about twenty shades of red in approximately ten seconds. “Why would I be jealous of her?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because she’s got more class in her fucking pinky finger than you do in your entire body. You constantly tear her down to anyone who will listen to you babble on while Carolina remains quiet and doesn’t say a bad word about you to a single soul. All you ever do is talk, Mercedes, and if you were smart, you’d learn how to keep that big mouth of yours shut.”

She gapes at me, obviously shocked that I would call her out for her shit. Well, someone had to.

“You’re an asshole,” she finally manages.

“And you’re a bitch. Guess we’re even.” I rise to my feet, ignoring Mercedes’ muttered curse words streaming after me. Also ignoring my friends calling my name, no doubt curious as to where I’m going.

I walk through the restaurant, weaving in and out of the tables, purposely making my way toward Carolina’s. She catches me out of the corner of her eye, doing a double take when she sees my intention, those big blue eyes going wider with every step I take closer to her.

Does she believe I’m going to say something shitty and make her look bad? Act like an asshole, like Mercedes just called me?

“Carolina.” I nod at her when I stop at her table, her mother’s gaze full of approval when it lands on me. “Nice to see you.”

She stares at me, unblinking. It takes her mother furiously whispering her name to get her to speak. “Hello, Weston.”

I feel about a thousand pounds lighter hearing her say my name. Just being in her presence. I stare at her, shoving my hands in my pockets, a crooked smile curving my lips.

“I’m Sylvia.” Her mother draws my attention away from the girl who haunts my every waking thought by thrusting her hand toward me, giving me no choice but to shake it. “Carolina’s mother.”

“I believe we’ve met before,” I tell her, extracting my hand when I realize she’s not going to let go first. “At the Met fundraiser last summer.”

“Oh, perhaps we did. I know your parents. Well, in passing. Lovely people. How are they?” Sylvia asks politely.

I flinch, hating that I have to lie. “They’re well.”

Such a lie. My mother is doped up on antidepressants and my father is dying. They are both the farthest thing from well.

“Are you celebrating something?” Sylvia inclines her head toward the table I just abandoned. “With your friends?”

I glance over my shoulder to find them all laughing and talking amongst themselves, save for Mercedes, who’s tracking my every move.

“A friend’s birthday. We planned it last minute.” I send Carolina a look. “I would’ve invited you to come with us, but—”

“You don’t need to lie to look good in front of my mother,” she snaps, that sexy, haughty expression on her face. She won’t look at me, her posture rigid, her lips pursed, as if she’s contemplating spitting in my face.

I get off on an angry Carolina, for whatever strange reason. When she’s mad, she’s sexy as fuck.

And the best thing? She doesn’t even realize it.

Grinning, I run my hand along my chin, impressed with her bravery. I love how she doesn’t hesitate to stand up to me and tell me off. “You’re right. Guess I shouldn’t bother with the excuses then.”

“Carolina, my goodness!” Sylvia sends me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Weston. My daughter is impulsive and sometimes speaks out of turn.”

“She’s not wrong though. I wouldn’t have invited her tonight, even if I had run into her.” I bow like I’m in front of the Queen of England and slowly back away, turning on the charm. “You ladies enjoy your meal and have a lovely evening.”

I turn tail and head for the bathroom, my original destination, my steps hurried like I can’t get away from them fast enough.

That’s a lie. I would’ve stayed there longer, but I know Carolina would’ve completely lost it. I don’t regret talking to her and her mother though. Stopping by Carolina’s table just to bask in her presence for a little bit, to listen to her sweet yet biting voice—it was worth it. Seeing that flare of anger in her beautiful blue eyes doesn’t make me feel bad. Not even a little bit.

I made an impression on her mother at least.

Might not have been a good one, but fuck it.

I’m washing my hands when the door swings open and Carolina enters the restroom, planting herself against the door as soon as it closes, her hair falling out of the ponytail, her expression frazzled.

Someone seems upset.

I turn off the water and stick my hands under the automatic air dryer, shouting over the droning noise. “What are you doing in here? Pretty sure you took a wrong turn.”

“I wanted to talk to you.” She sniffs, disgust written all over her pretty features. Funny how she can be mad at me and still look beautiful, while Mercedes is angry and looks like a freaking beast. “You should’ve never stopped at our table.”

“Why not?”

“Now my mother thinks I have a chance with you.” She crosses her arms in front of her, pouting. “You’re an asshole.”

“That’s the second time someone’s called me that tonight.” I vigorously rub my hands together under the blast of hot air, enjoying every second of this.

I’d rather argue with Carolina for only a minute versus having a regular conversation with anyone else.

“Who else called you an asshole?’

“You don’t want to know.”

“Mercedes?”

I smile helplessly and shrug.

“God, I hate that I agree with her,” she mutters, her hand reaching out for the door handle. “I should go.”

“That’s all you wanted to do? Bust into the men’s bathroom to tell me that you think I’m an asshole?”

Her hand drops, her scowl deepening. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

“I’m not making it into anything.” I pause. “You are.”

She pushes away from the door and marches toward me, her loafers practically on top of my feet when she stops. “You’re the one who said you couldn’t do this.”

“I lied.” Oh fuck. Here I go. “I still want to do this.”

Carolina blinks at me, her lips parting, her hands coming out …

And shoving me in the chest, so I go toppling backward, bumping into the slick-tiled wall behind me.

“Fuck you, Weston.” She shakes her head once, exiting the bathroom.