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

TWO YEARS later

HE DIDN’T PROVE SHIT.

As a matter of fact, Weston Fontaine never came back to the Lancaster Prep campus. He never reached out to me again. Like, who does that? He ghosted me when he swore up and down that once he returned, he would tell me everything.

I was devastated. I cried for days. Weeks, even—and I cry over no one. It felt like I didn’t matter. Though we never made any promises to each other, and we were only sort of committed, so I guess if I was devastated by his seeming abandonment, that was on me.

Figures.

Of course, I now know why he didn’t come back. His father died of cancer, or so it said in the otherwise vague articles I read on the internet. Just before Thanksgiving of our senior year. He should’ve returned to Lancaster weeks before the holiday, but he never did. Was his father already ill when he went back to California for the suspension? Did he have to stay there to help his parents out? At the very least, he could’ve texted and let me know. I would’ve understood. I’m not a total bitch.

I deserved an explanation.

After the last couple of years, I’ve come to the realization that West’s problems had nothing to do with me. He was going through his own crap—something he mentioned to me a few times. And I have a feeling his father’s cancer diagnosis had something to do with the family pressure and secrets West couldn’t tell me. His father was the head of a very important company. One of the finest champagnes in the world. The House of Fontaine Champagne equals elegance. Class. Prestige. Wealth.

And while still in his teens, West somehow became the CEO of the company? With his mother’s assistance, which is just … so wild to think about. Eighteen and with all that responsibility resting on his shoulders. I don’t know how he did it.

How he’s still doing it.

Once I realized West left me at Lancaster Prep to fend for myself, I got out of there as quickly as I could. That took a lot of whining to my father on my part. And begging—when I never beg. But I was desperate and couldn’t stand being there any longer. I felt bad leaving Sadie, but she had Brent. She’d made friends in her class, while I had …

No one else. Not a single soul. Nothing felt the same there without West. Being at Lancaster Prep made me sad, which is the most useless, awful emotion in the world.

I called the London Dance Company and spoke to Madame Lesandre, who was overjoyed at the thought of me returning. She encouraged me to come right away, that they needed me there.

And that’s what I did. By the beginning of the new year, I was back in London. Always shivering in the damp air, savoring those bitterly cold winter days that I didn’t realize I missed so much. Hours upon hours of rigorous training were heaped upon me, Madame calling me out in class for having grown soft, which only spurred me on to work even harder. I lost all those pounds I’d gained, not that they were much, and my muscles ached in the very best way.

I had no friends upon my return—not any real ones. Not even Gideon, who left London just before my return. He was picked up by a dance company that is currently touring their way through Europe, and I’m sure he’s having the time of his life.

I didn’t need him, I told myself, and I was right. I soon learned that I really didn’t need anyone. My time at Lancaster Prep, with West, taught me that much. Depending on someone else for your entertainment, your happiness, your emotions, got you nowhere.

It still hurt, that he abandoned me. I was forgotten like yesterday’s trash, and now when I think of West, all I can imagine is me giving him a big fuck you to his face.

The satisfaction of that imagined interaction never fails to amuse me.

Now I’ve returned to the States to attend my brother’s wedding. Whit is officially settling down, though he’s been with Summer for years and they have a child, with another one on the way. Of course, I had to come home for the wedding. Though the minute I arrived at the house in Newport, I had mad regret for coming here.

The family drama was in full swing. Mother was lamenting that Summer didn’t allow her to participate in the wedding or reception arrangements, meaning she was afraid Summer would put together something that would end up looking like a tacky mess. I was annoyed that Father still let our mother stay at the house while we were all there for the wedding, but it’s large enough that her room could be on one end of a wing and his could be on the opposite side, so they’d never really run into each other unless they had to.

Mother also came crying to me over Sylvie. How my sister chooses to ignore her, when all she wants to do is love her – direct quote.

I just smile and nod, counting down the days until I can leave.

The wedding day itself dawns bright and sunny, everything coming together beautifully while I stay out of the way. Summer gets ready at the house and invites me to have my makeup and hair done with her, so I join her in the salon, surprised at how friendly she is toward me, when we haven’t spent much time with each other. She’s so warm and thoughtful, and I appreciate that.

The complete opposite of my brother, though I suppose we owe Summer for being the reason Whit has mellowed out so much.

The wedding is beautiful and the reception is perfect. Spring is my favorite season and I dress accordingly in a simple, pale pink satin sheath dress. I “borrowed” it from my mother’s closet and plan on never returning it, because it’s beautiful in its simplicity and it fits me perfectly. Plus, it’s from Calvin Klein’s collection in the mid-nineties—it’s vintage. When I told the makeup artist what I was wearing, she got excited and claimed she wanted to give me the “Hailey Bieber at Met Gala 2019 face” and I wasn’t disappointed.

A subtle cat eye with thin black liner and pink eyeshadow, and the most beautiful pink, shimmering highlighter on my cheeks. I’ve been on the stage countless times, worn a variety of cosmetics over the years, and I swear, this is the prettiest I’ve ever felt.

I’m moving about the crowd at the reception, stopping to chat with various relatives and people I know here and there, when I run into my younger cousin Arch Lancaster, who is currently hiding behind a large flower arrangement, drinking straight from a champagne bottle.

A Fontaine bottle, I might add, because of course he is.

“What are you doing?” I put on my best shocked mother voice, which causes Arch to spill some of the champagne he’s drinking down the front of his suit.

“What the hell, Carolina?” He’s coughing and sputtering and I can’t help but smile. As the youngest in my family, I could never pick on anyone.

They all picked on me.

“You shouldn’t be drinking.”

“If I was in Europe I could. Archaic, puritanical laws in this country, I swear to God,” Arch mutters, looking disgusted.

“You’re not even old enough to drink in Europe,” I point out.

“I will be eventually.” He wipes at the front of his tie, which is stained with droplets of champagne. “Why the hell did you just scare me like that anyway?”

Arch Lancaster is the oldest son of George, my father’s younger brother. Arch is sixteen and awful. Much like my brother. There is something about those oldest Lancaster boys that make them behave so terribly.

“Because I could,” I say simply, smiling at him. “How’s school?”

“Miserable. Only two more years in that hellhole and then I’m out for good.”

“Please. You aren’t enjoying your time at Lancaster Prep?” Every Lancaster boy seems to because they get away with almost anything, which is completely misogynistic and totally unfair.

“Fine, it’s not terrible.” That’s all he says, a sly smile appearing on his classically handsome face. “I’ve heard some stories about you, though.”

I have learned to dodge these questions about my tenure at the family prep school. “I was barely there.”

“Long enough to have a sex tape go viral.” He holds up his hand for a high five. “Pretty scandalous, Carolina. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

I stare at his proffered hand before I silently shake my head and walk away, annoyed he would bring up such a thing.

Men. They’re the worst. Even when they’re sixteen.

Especially when they’re sixteen.

I wander around the ballroom where the reception is being held—yes, the house is big enough to have its own ballroom. It was built during a different time and is grandiose and completely over the top, but I love it. I spot Spencer Donato, Sylvie’s first love, and I turn to go in the opposite direction.

I’ve already talked to him enough today. The poor man is still completely besotted with my sister and seems even a little angry over it. I don’t feel like analyzing their relationship yet again.

“Darling! Oh my goodness, I’ve been looking for you! I want you to meet someone.”

I turn to find my mother standing before me, an overly bright smile on her narrow face. She’s been on some sort of diet that’s left her thinner than usual and she doesn’t look well. And I think she’s been indulging in too many cosmetic procedures too. “Who?”

This is the same woman who wanted to speak to Sylvie alone earlier, so she banished me from the conversation with a few pointed words. Now she acts like she wants to be my best friend.

“Her name is Madison Collins. Oh, she’s a sweet girl. Tall and blonde. Actually, she reminds me of you. She’s now seeing someone you’re terribly familiar with and I think you might like her. Oh, Madison!” Mother’s voice rises and she waves her hand, gaining the attention of an attractive blonde woman who was engaged in conversation with a few other wedding attendees.

She disengages herself from the group and makes her way over to us, her expression curious. “Sylvia, it’s so good to see you again.”

“Lovely to see you too, Mads.”

Mads? What, like they’re best friends?

“I wanted to introduce you to my youngest daughter.” Mother smiles at me, her eyes sparkling. “This is Carolina.”

Madison’s expression falters for the briefest moment, but then corrects itself, her smile smooth as she offers her hand to me. “Carolina, it’s lovely to finally meet you in person. I’ve followed your career for a while.”

I’m shaking her hand, trying not to frown. A little thrown by her comment. “You have?”

“Oh yes. When I was little, I wanted to be a ballet dancer so badly, but I always skipped class. I’ve always admired your dancing. I’ve even seen you perform.” She releases my hand and steps back, that smile still stretching her mouth. It almost looks painful. “We also … share an acquaintance or two. Well, mainly only one.”

“We do?” I’m full-blown frowning now, curious as to who she’s referring to. I don’t know this woman. I don’t recognize her either, and I wish I did. She does remind me of someone, but I can’t place who.

Madison nods. “I came with him tonight.”

Him? Now I’m even more confused. I figured our mutual someone was a female, though no clue why. “Who are you here with?”

Mother laughs, the sound reminding me of a tinkling bell. Though it’s more like a warning clang of impending doom. “Oh, darling, you remember Weston Fontaine, don’t you?”

I blink at my mother, her question on repeat in my brain. It may have been over two years since the last time I saw that asshole, but I haven’t forgotten him.

How could I?

“You know West?” I ask Madison.

“Yes. I’m his date tonight.” Madison’s smile fades, and I realize in that moment she knows exactly who I am—and who I was to West.

My gaze shifts to Mother, who’s watching this all unfold with glee dancing in her gaze.

God, she made sure this little encounter happened, didn’t she?

Of course she did.