Promises We Meant to Keep (Lancaster Prep Book 3)

THE PAST

My brother brought home a special Christmas present just for me, though he had no clue. The moment he walked into the house, the cavernous mansion we’ve spent every Christmas at since I could remember, all the air left my lungs when I first saw the dark-haired boy standing beside Whit.

His best friend, he announced. Spencer. Fourteen and incredibly tall, with ruddy cheeks and braces on his teeth. Hands in his pockets, trying to play it cool, though I could see the way he tipped his head back, taking in the monstrosity called our home that’s been in the Lancaster family for generations.

He was impressed. Who isn’t? Our family wealth is unlike anyone else I know—we are truly the one percent.

Whit introduced us, and all I could offer was a soft hi and an awkward wave, which made Spencer smile.

I immediately wanted to see that smile again.

The first couple of days, I followed them as much as possible, spying on my brother and his friend wherever I could. I was bored, with no one to spend time with. Carolina was participating in the annual production of The Nutcracker at the dance academy she attends, and we never saw her.

Typical.

Whit warned me off at one point, about two days into Spencer’s stay. He caught me spying on them in one of the hallways and yanked me into my bedroom, slamming the door behind him so Spencer wouldn’t witness the tear down.

“Stay the fuck away from us,” Whit had growled, his eyes glowing with anger, his finger thrust in my face.

He’d been angry for a while. At least the last year or so, and I truly didn’t understand why.

“I’m bored,” I’d whined. “And your friend seems nice.”

“He hates you,” Whit told me, making me flinch. “He said so.”

“Out loud?” I found it hard to believe. How could a boy who didn’t even know me hate me?

“He’s not interested in little girls.” Whit sneered. “You’re only thirteen, Sylvie. Quit lusting after him.”

Those words hurt. So much, that I immediately stopped following them everywhere and spying on them. That’s my brother—he knew just what to say to cut you deep. His words were harsh, and they’re only getting worse.

Two days before Christmas, Spencer found me sitting in the library that overlooked the expansive back lawn. I was in the deep blue velvet chair next to the Christmas tree that stood in the window, magnificent with its sparkling white lights and silver ribbon threaded throughout the lush green branches. It was one of the only real Christmas trees in the house, and therefore, it was my favorite.

Plus, no one came in here. Not really. It was a way for me to get away from my mother’s stifling behavior, at least for a little bit.

“Why are you in here alone?”

I startled at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, glancing over my shoulder to find Spencer standing in the open doorway of the library, his dark brow furrowed in…what? Confusion? Concern?

He doesn’t even know me. And supposedly he doesn’t like me. The reminder hurts, making my chest ache, and I return my focus to the tree, not looking at Spence as I say, “Go away.”

Clearly, he doesn’t listen, because he steps farther into the room, until he’s standing on the other side of the tree, his gaze on me. I feel it and I want to squirm where I sit, but my mother raised a lady and so I don’t move an inch.

“Why are all you Lancasters so mean?”

My gaze flits to his, wondering if he’s mocking me, but I see the earnestness in his gaze and realize it’s a genuine question.

“You’re the one who didn’t like me first.” Oh, I sound so young. I wish I would’ve never said that.

“Who told you that?” Before I can answer, Spencer answers his own question. “Whit.”

I nod, curling deeper into the soft chair. I bend my legs, holding them to my chest as I contemplate him. “I didn’t mean to follow you guys around like that. I just wanted to hang out with you both.”

“You should’ve said something. I would’ve let you.” He shrugs, and like the greedy girl I am, I let my gaze wander all over him, eating him up. The longing I suddenly feel deep within me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and I have a thought.

I want him. All to myself.

“I never said I didn’t like you,” Spencer says, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “I think it’s more that you were irritating Whit.”

“Everything irritates Whit,” I mutter, unable to hold back.

Spence smiles. “I’ve noticed.”

“Why do you put up with him then?” I am curious. We have to deal with Whit because he’s blood. Why do people actually choose to spend time with him?

“He’s a good friend. Loyal. He’s funny. And he’s got access to some really good weed.” Spencer laughs at my shocked expression. “What, it’s true.”

“You smoke weed?” My voice is a rasp. I’m just—shocked. I snuck a few sips of alcohol here and there, but I’ve never done drugs. Of course, I go to a very sheltered, all-girls’ private school, so we’re not exposed to much. This is my last year though. Once I finish the eighth grade, it’s off to Lancaster Prep I go. Where Whit is.

And Spence.

I was never excited about going to Lancaster Prep but now…

I totally am.

“I do.” Spencer tilts his head toward me. “Have you?”

I shake my head furiously, practically making myself dizzy. “Never.”

“Want to?”

“With you?” I gape at him. “Where’s my brother?”

“Talking to your dad. They got into a fight earlier. God knows how long that discussion is going to last.” Spencer glances over his shoulder quickly before he reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a little baggy of green stuff. “Know somewhere we can smoke this?”

This is how I came to have my first experience smoking weed with Spencer Donato.

I led him outside and over to the garden shed, which no one really uses in the winter. We enter the small, dark shack, our gazes adjusting to the dimmed light, and I lean against the wall, watching in utter fascination as Spencer uses the potting table to lay out his paraphernalia. He has the baggie of weed, plus a glass pipe that’s actually quite beautiful. A swirl of various colors formed into a delicate shape. He packs the tip of it with the marijuana, pulls a lighter out of his pocket and sparks it up before taking a slow, deep inhale.

“You gotta hold it in your lungs for a minute if you wanna feel it,” he says, his voice strained before he exhales all the smoke in my direction, making me wrinkle my nose.

“Maybe I don’t want to feel it.”

“I think you do.” He takes another puff, not holding this one in as long. “That’s why you came in here with me.”

“I think you wanted me to come in here with you because you can go back to school and brag to all your friends you got Sylvie Lancaster high for the first time.”

He chuckles. “No one knows who you are.”

I’m offended by his comment, but he’s probably right. Why would they know me? I’m just Whit Lancaster’s little sister.

“Come here.” He waves the pipe at me. “Let’s do this.”

I take cautious steps toward him, still keeping my distance while watching him prepare the pipe for me. “I don’t know…”

“Just don’t inhale as deep as me.”

Panic zips through my veins. I think of my mother. My health problems. I’ve been feeling good since arriving at the house once winter break started. Mother has been preoccupied with holiday preparations, giving me some much-appreciated freedom, and it’s so weird, how when I’m not around her as much, I always feel better.

Sometimes I think she’s just bringing me down. Her moods. Her drinking, which has increased lately. She complains about Daddy a lot, and I think they’re having problems.

“I don’t have the best lungs,” I admit, noting the irritated look on Spencer’s face. He must think I’m so young and scared.

Well, if that’s the case, he’s right. I am.

“How about we shotgun?” He raises a brow.

“What’s that?”

“I’ll inhale, and then breathe it out into your mouth,” he explains. “It’s like the ultimate contact high.”

My entire body tingles at the thought of Spencer’s mouth close to mine. Is he for real? “I don’t know…”

“I’ll go easy the first time.” He tilts his head to the side, his lips curling into a small smile. “Come on.”

I walk forward as if in a trance, shocked when he takes my hand and pulls me closer. That skin-on-skin contact sends electricity racing through my veins, making me shake, and when he lets go of my hand, I can still feel his touch, as if he imprinted on me. “What do I do?” I ask shakily.

“Stay right where you’re at. After I inhale, open your mouth and inhale too. Ready?”

I nod, silent, my heart beating so hard I’m afraid something is wrong with me. He takes a hit off the pipe, his lips slamming shut, and I shift forward on instinct, parting my lips just as he leans in close, his mouth opening, allowing all of the smoke to flow from him to me.

I inhale softly, my lungs tickling, my gaze stuck on his lips. They’re perfect. Equally full on the top and bottom and I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.

“Wasn’t close enough,” he says when we’re finished. “But did you feel it?”

“Yes.” I’m not sure if it’s the marijuana or if it’s him, but I feel giddy. A little shaky.

“Want to try again?”

“Yes,” I repeat without hesitation, making him laugh.

But it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at me. More like he thinks I’m funny. Maybe I’m too eager. Perhaps I should be playing it cooler, but I don’t want to.

We repeat the process, and this time, he yanks me close, our lips brushing when he exhales into my mouth at the exact moment I inhale. This time, I take a lungful that makes me cough, and he looks pleased.

“You’ll feel that for sure,” he murmurs, nodding. “One more time?”

“Okay,” I say weakly, not doing it for the high the weed might give me.

No, I’m doing it for the chance to brush lips with Spencer again. I’ve never kissed a boy before. This is as close as I’ve gotten and I want more.

“Or do you want to say fuck it and just kiss for a while?”

I blink at him, taken aback by his words. At the sudden gleam in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Is he living inside my head or what?

“What did you just say?”

“I know you’re a pretty, rich girl and you’ve probably kissed a bunch of boys already, but I thought I’d shoot my shot.” He shrugs. “If you’re not interested, it’s cool.”

He starts to back away and I grab his sleeve, pulling him back to me. “I’m interested.”

His smile is warm, and it makes my stomach twist and tumble over itself. “Is that why you were following us everywhere?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, channeling my inner Whit by acting like a snot. “Is that why you suggested we get high together?”

“I just wanted to get high, and found you in the library so you lucked out.”

“You’re saying it’s my lucky day, that I get to kiss you in the garden shed?” I raise my brow.

“Well, it was kind of hot, sharing smoke with you. Not gonna lie.” He rubs the back of his neck, a little uncomfortable, which is adorable. “I probably shouldn’t do this with you. You’re my best friend’s sister.”

“It can be our little secret,” I whisper, my gaze falling to his perfect mouth yet again. “I won’t tell Whit if you don’t.”

“Okay,” he readily agrees, and the next thing I know, I’m in Spencer’s arms.

And he’s got me pressed up against the rough wooden wall, crowding me.

His body is warm. And firm. I tilt my head back to find he’s already watching me and when his head descends, and his mouth brushes against mine…

I melt. Until I’m nothing but complete goo, rendered useless by Spencer’s perfectly shaped lips and flickering tongue. I follow his lead, not sure what to do with myself. With my hands or the rest of my body. When I finally settle my palms against his chest, he deepens the kiss, his searching tongue sending all sorts of foreign sensations coursing through my body.

When he finally pulls away, breaking the kiss first, I press the back of my head against the wall, my eyes still closed as I try to catch my breath. I can feel him fumbling around and I realize he’s searching for his phone. I hear him open it. The distinct sound of his fingers tapping out a text response. The swooshing noise of it being sent.

“Whit’s looking for me.”

I open my eyes to find him watching me.

“I have to go.”

Unable to find my voice, I nod, the movement slow. I feel…weird. And I don’t think it’s just from the kisses we shared.

He’s laughing. “You high, Syl?”

No one calls me Syl. Not really. I’m Sylvie. That’s it.

“Maybe,” I offer, my voice weak.

“We should do this again.” He kisses me, a brush of lips so soft, I could almost imagine it didn’t actually happen. “Tomorrow?”

“It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow,” I protest.

“Even better reason to do it then. We’ll need to be high to get through the family shit,” he mutters.

I frown, his words making me ask the question. “Why aren’t you with your family for the holidays?”

“They’d rather go off by themselves and try to fix their fucked-up marriage.” He rubs a hand across his mouth. “Sorry. Brutal but it’s the truth.”

“I think my parents aren’t doing well either,” I admit softly.

“Your brother said they’ll probably get a divorce soon.” And with that shocking statement, Spencer heads for the door. “Wait a few minutes before you come back into the house.”

“Okay,” I say to his retreating form, but I’m not sure if he even heard my response.

The door shut behind him the moment the word left my mouth.

I think about what he said the entire walk back to the house. Turning his words over and over in my mind. The kiss was amazing, and yes, I’m probably a little high, thanks to the shot-gunning or whatever you call it, but I can’t stop thinking about the offhand statement he made about my parents.

And how they’re going to get a divorce, according to my brother.

I can’t wrap my head around it. Worse, I hate how scared it makes me feel.

If my mother doesn’t have my father to focus on anymore, that means she’s going to focus all of her attention on…

Me.