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

JUST HAVING Carolina sitting across from me and being able to stare at her gorgeous face makes my heart ache—my entire body aches with wanting her. She’s so close yet still so distant, and I know without a doubt …

I can’t fuck this up. I just wasted the last two years of my life without her in it, and now I need to work on winning her back.

Did I ever really have her though? At one point in time, I believe I did. She was all in. And then I had to go and ruin it all. I could’ve handled my father’s death better. I could’ve handled the Mercedes’ situation better too. That’s where I really fucked up. Keeping that from Carolina was my downfall.

But I’m persistent. I knew I could break down her walls and get her to at least leave with me, and now here she is, sitting in public with me, about to down an espresso martini and I can’t wait to get a little liquor in her. Maybe she’ll loosen up. She’s always so damn tense, especially around me.

Not when she’s on stage though. Being able to watch her in her element, see her perform night after night, was awe-inspiring. I never got tired of seeing the same performance. She’s a beautiful dancer, her body fluid when she moves. I swear to God she got better and better with each performance. To the point that I leapt to my feet when it was over earlier, clapping and shouting her name like I was at a football game.

I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed, though I think she might’ve been.

“Do you mean the day we were suspended?” I ask when I realize she’s waiting for me to speak. Not a moment I want to relive.

Talk about an asshole move. I regret what I said. What I did to her. How abandoned she must’ve felt by me.

Will I ever be able to make it up to her?

“How about why you never came back to Lancaster Prep after our week suspension?” She lifts her brows, the challenge on her face obvious.

I stare at her for a bit because I can, and I cherish each second as I track her every feature. In the darkest of days, right after my dad’s death, I never thought I’d see her face again. My dad told me I couldn’t return to Lancaster Prep the moment I arrived at their sprawling home in Napa, saying he needed me. I took one look at his face, the pallor of his skin, the haunted look in his eyes, and I knew.

He was dying—near death. And he knew it too.

I opted out of school early. I had enough credits to graduate. I was going because who wants to grow up yet? Not me. Yet I was saddled with all of the responsibilities of running a fucking champagne business that makes hundreds of millions of dollars a year—assisted by men who were much older than me. Some of them are even old enough to be my grandfather.

Clearing my throat, I tell her exactly that. About my father and how ill he was when I arrived in Napa. How he made me stay with them so he could train me. Show me everything he did in what little time he had left. Less than a month later, he was dead. My mother was beside herself. Crying hysterically and asking me what we were going to do, wailing and falling to her knees. I had to be strong. Bear the brunt of the tragedy, the business. I had to be the adult and I was only eighteen years old.

The sympathy in Carolina’s gaze is surprising—and relieving. “I’m sorry for your loss. That sounds like it was … rough.”

“It was terrible.” I don’t bother delving into all the details.

“I’m sure you were consumed with learning the business.”

“Yeah, I tried. I’m still trying.” Thank God for having a board and competent staff who run everything for you. There may be many of them who resent me, but there are also plenty of men and women who worked for my father and only wanted to help me. They were already rewarded with the proper pay and bonus structure, and I still bonused some of them even more after that first year of me being at the so-called helm.

Her voice is soft. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“Too much,” I agree.

“Did it take up all of your time?”

“Between working constantly, trying to manage the estate with my mother, who was paralyzed with grief and unable to make a decision for at least a year, yeah. I was fucking swamped.” I scrub a hand over my mouth, hating that I sound like I’m complaining, but if I can’t be real with this woman, then what’s the point of pursuing her?

“I can’t even imagine.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t much fun.” My gaze locks with hers. “Just know that I thought about you, Carolina. You were on my mind always. I missed you.”

She never saw it, though she came close to discovering it. Maybe I should show her—

Or maybe she’ll think I’m a complete stalker who had a low-key obsession with her. Now might not be the time to show her anything.

Carolina digests what I said silently, her gaze dropping from mine, like she can’t look at me for a moment, and my mind spins at what she might say next. When she finally speaks, I brace myself.

“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t at least send me a text. Let me know you were okay. Or that you weren’t okay and you never wanted to talk to me again. Whatever. I just—I deserved to hear from you. At least once in the last two years.” She presses her lips together, sadness glimmering in her eyes, and I feel like a world-class asshole.

“I have no explanation for it,” I say without hesitation, and it’s the goddamn truth. “I was so caught up in my grief, and then I couldn’t grieve anymore. I didn’t have time for it. I had to work. I had to learn how to manage the House of Fontaine, and deal with the crotchety assholes who resented me for taking over the business. Thank God there weren’t too many of them, but they caused enough problems that shit got stressful real quick. Every day was a fucking challenge. I worked from sun up to sun down. I’d go home, collapse into bed and then wake up the next morning to start all over again.”

“Sounds like a grind.”

“It was. And I’m sorry for … all of it. Everything. I just—I didn’t handle things well. I still won’t. I’m a work-in-progress.” I offer her a small smile.

She returns it and damn if that isn’t a relief. “Aren’t we all?”

I need her to understand that I didn’t forget about her. I just didn’t know how to deal with my life at that time. Everything hit me at once.

“After everything that happened, it’s not that I wasn’t thinking of you, Carolina. I just … was incapable of dealing with everything at that point. I was completely overwhelmed. I had nothing left to give. Not for myself or anyone else.”

“I’m sorry about your father.” She reaches out and rests her hand on top of my arm for the briefest moment. Voluntarily touching me, which isn’t like Carolina. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

“Thank you.” Her fingers on my arm burn, even through my suit jacket and shirt. She might electrocute me if she touched my bare skin.

She removes her hand when the server appears with our drinks and she sips from her espresso martini eagerly once he’s gone, making a low humming noise that is like a shot to my dick.

“This is delicious,” she murmurs, licking her lips.

Jesus.

To distract myself, I raise my glass and she hurriedly raises hers, some of the liquid spilling over, little brown drops on the pristine white linen tablecloth. “To old friends.”

“To old friends.” She smiles as we clink our glasses together, our gazes never breaking as we each take a sip of our drinks. “I’m still mad at you, West.”

“I know, Carolina. I fucked up.” I don’t even bother trying to deny it.

Her expression turns stern. “You did. I’m still not over it.”

“I wouldn’t be either if I were you.” I take a long swallow from my martini, noticing that she watches me the entire time, and when I set the glass on the table, I ask, “Everything okay?”

She nods a little too frantically, her cheeks pink. “Everything is fine. It’s great. You know what?”

“What?”

Her smile is slow. Lethal as fuck. “I find that I’m suddenly ravenous.”