Chapter 23
O nce we’d made it outside into the cool September evening, I wrapped the dainty shawl over my shoulders.
Although it wasn’t as warm as a jacket, it helped keep some of the chill off my arms. The entire Whittier family and plus ones—meaning Hannah and I—made our way to the sidewalk.
The street seemed as busy now as it had been when we’d arrived at the restaurant earlier but, this time, I was sure that the vehicles packing the street belonged to some of the hundreds who’d been in the auditorium with us.
I was prepared to spend more time with his family, reminding myself that this was a special evening for them.
For all I knew, we’d go out for coffee or drinks now—and I was glad that not only had my makeup been done by a professional but that my stomach had calmed down.
The last time I’d gone to the restroom before leaving, I checked myself in the mirror.
The lipstick still looked fresh and perfect while the mascara and eyeliner had stayed in place, despite my crying off and on.
Sinclair once more whispered in my ear.
“You’re the most beautiful one here.”
A blush heated my cheeks, making me grateful that the muted light outside would make it less obvious.
I shook my head, getting ready to tell him I wasn’t, when his father approached.
“Bring this girl to Thanksgiving dinner,” he all but barked at his youngest son.
“Hell, she’s welcome at all our family functions.”
His wife— Madeline?
—wrapped her arm in his and said, “Please do. I think Vivian gets lonely.”
From behind them, Warren and Hannah said goodbye.
Warren shouted, “I’ll call you on Monday, Pops.” Then the two of them all but ran down the sidewalk away from us.
The eldest Whittier’s face turned red, and a vein seemed to pop out on his forehead, something even visible in shadowed lighting.
But then his oldest son said, “Ready, dad?” Both he and his wife approached a limousine—something far flashier than the one Greg drove—and were getting in.
Madeline, letting go of her husband, reached over and took my hand.
“It was lovely meeting you.”
“You too.”
Sinclair and I waved as their limo began crawling down the street.
“We’ll have to walk a block if you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine.” In fact, I thought it might help me readjust to real life.
As we began walking in the direction the traffic was moving, Sinclair wrapped an arm around me.
“Are you cold?”
“I’m okay.”
We walked in silence for a bit before he spoke again.
“Greg and I figured out last year that it was easier for him to pick me up over here,” he said as we turned the corner.
“There’s still a lot of traffic but not that mess in front of the complex.”
I knew that was true, considering we’d walked past the Whittier limousine stuck behind several vehicles a minute earlier.
As we continued walking slowly down the block, I took in the surroundings.
At this time of night, Winchester would still have a few places open and a couple of cars driving about, but it was much quieter and darker.
Here it seemed almost as bright as day and as lively as a bees’ nest with the constant motion.
Finally, we stopped in the middle of the block and Sinclair turned around to look at the cluster of oncoming traffic.
“There he is.” Sinclair pointed toward the signal light where his more modest limousine waited patiently for the light to turn green.
Even when it did, the car was slowed by congested traffic.
It made me glad I wasn’t the one driving.
When he reached us, Greg didn’t pull over and he didn’t have to.
Even though traffic was moving a bit, it reminded me of snow and ice in the gutter back in Winchester when the sun would heat it just past freezing, where the water would almost reluctantly make its way down the street over and under the ice.
But no one seemed to care that Greg had stopped for moment.
There was no honking or yelling through open windows while Sinclair opened the back door for me to get in.
As soon as he closed the door, though, Greg put the car in motion.
As the limo crept down the block, Sinclair said, “So tell me the truth. What did you really think?”
“Of the whole evening—or the ballet?”
Grinning, he said, “I’m pretty sure I know what you thought of the whole evening. But now that it’s just you and me, I wanted to know if you really loved the ballet or if you were just saying what you thought I wanted to hear.”
“Oh, no! I loved it. I…I’ve never been so moved by anything like that. I was literally crying at the end of the performance.”
At my admission, his face softened and he smiled, taking my hand in his.
“Imagine what you’d have done if it hadn’t had a happy ending.”
“I had to read Romeo and Juliet in high school. I didn’t like it, if that tells you anything.”
“Then you’re lucky your first experience was watching this particular performance. The original version of Swan Lake has a tragic ending. Odette dies. And there are other tragic variations as well.”
A shiver ran down my spine, but I didn’t know if it was because I was cold or because of what Sinclair was telling me.
“You’re right. I don’t know if I would have liked that ending.”
“It’s also beautiful—but I prefer the happy ending too. There are lots of versions, which is part of why I like to watch it often.”
“Even the tragic endings?”
“Yes, even those. There’s something about that story that speaks to me.”
The music continued swimming in my head, even as we rode in the limo, and then I figured out where I’d heard so much of it before.
Although I hesitated to say it, I wanted to ask.
“Was the music from the ballet played at the event for the simulation lab?”
Sinclair actually chuckled.
“Yes. Leona knows it’s one of my favorites, so she plays it at every function I attend.” That seemed creepy, but I wasn’t about to say it.
As my mind wandered back to that fateful night, I found it strange that only a few months had passed, but it felt like it had been far longer since I’d seen Dr. Rakhimov.
Sinclair continued, “She always panders to me. She likes the money.”
I couldn’t help the next words that came out of my mouth.
“Can you blame her?”
“No. Schools have limited budgets. They get some tax money and, of course, tuition, but those income streams aren’t always enough, especially for smaller schools. That’s why we help.” By now, he was looking out the side window, even though one of his hands still held mine.
“And we like to give special attention to Winchester. It’s a special place for the Whittiers.”
It was all I could do to not rail out against the place of my birth—or speculate verbally why it was so special to them.
Was it the place itself or was it because of the minerals they wanted to mine?
And, of course, that sent me back to thoughts of my father.
How was he doing? How many bad days had he had without me around to help?
Before the sadness could overwhelm me, Sinclair looked at me again.
“You really seemed to capture my father’s attention.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. He doesn’t normally warm up to guests like that.” As if it were an afterthought, he squeezed my hand.
“By guests , I mean dates . My father’s barely accepted Augie’s wife Vivian, and they’ve been married twelve years and have three children. Then again, Warren usually brings inappropriate women to these functions. Hannah was quite the exception.”
Asking what he meant by inappropriate might bring up topics I didn’t want to hear…
because I’d probably been just that before my makeover earlier in the day.
Had I fooled them? The poor girl, daughter of the enemy, in the disguise of the wealthy?
So I kept the conversation light.
“And even she seemed to rub him the wrong way.”
“You picked up on that, did you?”
I wasn’t going to tell Sinclair something he probably already knew, that his father’s anger with the woman had been almost palpable.
So I just nodded, relieved that I didn’t have to spend every day around those people.
I’d probably take prison over a sentence like that.
Sinclair said, “But maybe we should thank Hannah. My dad might have given you a frostier reception had he not been disappointed by her.” Oh, lucky me—liked only because I was the lesser of two evils—and he must have seen it on my face.
“I’m being sarcastic. I know the exact moment my father became enamored of you.”
“Really?” I thought I did too, even though it hadn’t made sense to me.
Augustus Whittier the second, the man who didn’t actually seem to value his family, had wanted to discuss negotiations with Hannah West’s family’s company—and she’d turned him down, even when he’d suggested that they were all family.
“Of course. She was trying to pick a fight with the old man, and she tried to get you on her side. But you showed your loyalty, even though you’d only just met the rest of the family. My father appreciated that.”
Loyalty?
Who was I becoming?
As my stomach churned again, reminiscent of earlier in the evening, Sinclair continued talking.
“I’m almost jealous at how easily you won his affection.”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious—but I was dealing with my own internal crisis at the moment, feeling like I had betrayed my father tonight.
Offhandedly, I said, “I have that effect on people.”
That was probably the biggest lie I’d ever told Sinclair.
I’d never had that effect on a soul—with the one exception of Mr. Sherwood, the WCC instructor who had an inappropriate interest in me.
When you spend your life trying to blend into the background to avoid barbs and pokes, you never have a chance to even try to influence people in any sort of way.
Fortunately, Sinclair didn’t pick up on any of the struggle at my core—because he said, “I believe it.”
And, if I continued lying to him, how long would it be before I started lying to myself?
Was I already?
When we arrived back at the mansion, Greg walked down the main hall toward the east steps while Sinclair and I took the ones on the west. He’d kept up the illusion that I was simply filling in as a date even as we entered the hall—because if Greg had really been curious, he might have discovered our secret.
If I’d gone straight to Sinclair’s room, for instance, it might have been obvious.
Sinclair didn’t seem to care and he appeared to assume that I was going to follow him to his room.
It took him a few seconds to realize I’d stopped at my door.
“Probably a good idea,” he said, taking two steps back to join me.
“I can help you hang up your dress and take off the necklace.”
“Actually…I’m feeling tired.”
His cool blue eyes softened as he ran the back of his fingers along my cheek.
“It has been a long night—and I’m sure it was far harder on you.”
Although my insides were roiling with conflict, I really was grateful to Sinclair.
Our heightened relationship wasn’t dictated by contract; it had been purely consensual—but, at this point, he might have demanded that I bend to his will.
That he didn’t sparked in me again those feelings that had been escalating for the man since the moment I’d met him.
“Thank you.”
So, after we entered my bedroom, I let him remove the necklace, replaced by his warm lips on my delicate skin.
And I allowed him to help me out of the gown, revealing that I was only wearing a pair of white panties.
Under the heat of his gaze, I wanted him again, pushing back the thoughts that I had deserved my lot in life.
After all , my brain said, why would you sell out so quickly?
But as my fingers unbuttoned Sinclair’s crisp white shirt, I forced out all the negative thoughts.
I cared about him too—and it was nothing I could help.
By the time Sinclair was moving inside me, I had given myself over to pure passion and unmitigated desire.
If I could have stayed in that altered state, I might have been able to sleep that night.
Sinclair held me close in his arms as his breathing slowed so much, I could hardly hear it.
It was strange having him next to me in my bed—my one sanctuary in this place—but I found his arms comforting, nonetheless.
After a time, I thought he’d fallen asleep—until he spoke.
“Would you like to see Swan Lake again?”
“You mean, like, in the next week or so?”
“No. Next time it’s in Denver again.”
“Oh.” This was yet another reminder that I would be here for a long time.
“Yes.”
“You’ll just have to be prepared for a tragic ending. In the original, they die together but they’ve broken the curse. You mentioned you didn’t like Romeo and Juliet because of the ending—so I fear you might not enjoy any of the tragic endings. Most of them are quite reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet .”
“Then maybe not.”
Behind me, I felt him sit up.
“Why not? You’re older now. You might appreciate it.”
Rolling over, I looked in his eyes—those captivating sky-blue eyes that had, over the past few months, managed to help me see other possibilities, even while I doubted all of them tonight.
“I don’t think I would. I’ve never understood why people like tragedies.” My life had been enough of a tragedy—I escaped into books and movies for happy endings, not sadness…
even if a sad story might have made my life seem less depressing.
“I can’t speak for everyone, but I appreciate them because they make me feel something.”
I had no retort for that, but he’d managed to make me feel more for him—because if he had to watch a ballet to experience emotion, to feel something that was more than his day-to-day…
And then my mind began putting pieces together.
Earlier, Sinclair had been careful to not mention the fact that he’d probably brought other “dates” along to his family’s functions, but I knew it had to be true.
And had those previous relationships been cold and unsatisfying, just like his childhood might have been?
I had to know.
“I wanted to ask you about something.”
Apparently, basking in the glow of good sex and having his current date enjoy what he did made him receptive.
His eyes were mere slits when he answered.
“Anything.”
“Who is NS ?”
“What?”
“NS. The woman who called herself Mrs. Sinclair Whittier .”
Curious, he propped his head in his hand, his elbow denting the pillow underneath.
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“The laptop I use to record everything downstairs—that was the screensaver, the text Mrs. Sinclair Whittier moving and bouncing around. And then, on the underside, initials: NS + WS .”
Sinclair smiled, his brows softening.
“I think I might know who that is.”
I wasn’t going to present my other evidence—the hair clip, the bubble bath in his bathroom, items fairly feminine.
And, even if not, Sinclair’s short hair would never require a clip.
Because I knew some deep-seated part of himself desired his father’s approval, I suspected he’d never even considered letting his hair grow longer.
“That would be Natasha Sullivan. And, if you need my reassurance, we were never married.”
“Clearly she wanted to be.”
“Are you jealous?” he asked, a twinkle in my eye.
“Maybe a little.”
Leaning over, he kissed my nose.
“There’s no need. Did we have a relationship? Yes. But I learned pretty early on that she was psychotic. She’d said something about marriage the first night we slept together. We were never even engaged.”
As much as I hated thinking about him with another woman, I was comforted by the fact that she hadn’t meant anything to him.
But was I the same? Was I nothing more than a woman he had sex with because he could?
As we rested our heads on my pillows again, I closed my eyes, praying for the sweet release of sleep—and still it wouldn’t come.
My thoughts drifted back to the ballet, an experience I would forever be grateful to him for—but, unlike Odette and Siegfried, I knew in my heart that Sinclair and I could never be together, regardless of how much I loved him.
Regardless of if he felt the same way for me…
even though I suspected he didn’t.
And that meant that my story would be more like Swan Lake ’s tragic endings.
Still, the words tumbled out of my mouth for the first time as I felt his arms tighten around me, my head nestled against his chest. “I love you.”
Silence fell over the room like a blanket but, as it continued, it grew loud, ringing in my ears.
And his body felt stiff against mine.
Was he really asleep?
Even if so, was his subconscious rebelling against my words?
Or was he merely pretending so that he wouldn’t have to reciprocate?
His silence was a confirmation.
He too must have understood that we would never work, no matter how much I loved him.
Even if he felt the same way—our fathers would never accept us together.
In that way, we were like Romeo and Juliet .
And why would my life, destined to be a tragedy, end any differently?
Except that I didn’t simply want to accept fate.
But as I lay there long enough for Sinclair to truly fall asleep, his arm becoming a heavy weight against me, something that happened earlier popped up in my head again.
When Sinclair had introduced me, it had simply been with my nickname Lise .
Not Annalise and no mention that my last name was Miller.
Sinclair hadn’t had the courage to tell his father who I was, any more than he’d let the staff know we were in a relationship.
He too understood that we couldn’t be together forever.
We would never work.
The only difference between me and Juliet was that I would survive.
That was the one damn thing on this earth I was good at.
And even though I’d grown to love Sinclair to the depths of my soul, he was most certainly the one thing I had to survive above all else.
With that realization, I didn’t sleep a wink that night.
Still, I spent that weekend trying to figure out how I could continue with this charade even as I built walls inside my heart to stop the progress of this disease called love.
I hope you’re loving Sinclair and Lise’s story!
But it’s not over. Their star-crossed romance concludes in Thick and Thin.
Will they find a way to be together or will they have to let go?
Get Thick and Thin now!