Betrayal (Infidelity Book 1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,26

another mimosa. “What, dear?”

“Who said I didn’t meet anyone?”

“Well, you never said you did.” Her lifeless eyes opened wider. “Did you?”

“What does it matter? You seem to have my life planned.”

“No, not planned. I just think it’s time that you thought about your options. You know, the Spencers will be at our gathering tonight.”

The heat of the footbath was lost as my internal temperature rose. Bryce Spencer—Edward was his actual first name, but many of us in the South had multiple names, and he’d always gone by his middle name, Bryce—was two years older than me and the son of my mother’s closest friend, Suzanna Carmichael Spencer. They’d been friends since they were babies.

Another annoying trait of life in the circles of Savannah was that no one ever got out and rarely did anyone new get in. This place was like a spinning vortex sucking select people in and gluing them in the position where they were born. As I looked at my mother, I thought about how it also sucked the life right out of them.

I hadn’t seen Edward Bryce Spencer since the day before I left for Stanford.

“Why, why would you invite them?” I asked.

“Well, Suzanna is still my closest friend. She’s your godmother and she wants to see you.”

I exhaled. “Suzanna was furious when I left for Stanford. Why would she want to see me?”

“Because you’re back, dear. Did you know,” she asked with more excitement than I’d heard in awhile, “that Bryce recently graduated from Booth? He has his MBA and has started working at Montague.”

The mimosa churned in my stomach. Of course he was working at Montague. One of Bryce’s many faults was that he worshipped the ground Alton walked upon. He always had, and strangely enough, Alton had always been attentive to him. I always assumed it was because my mom encouraged it. She was never able to give Alton a son, and Bryce didn’t have a father.

Suzanna’s husband left her when Bryce was young. No doubt, he couldn’t take the pressure of marrying into the Carmichael name. It was never as prestigious as Montague, but at one time it was close. His departure was quite the scandal for our small-town aristocrats.

I didn’t know any of that until I was older. I just knew that Miss Suzanna, Bryce’s mother, and my mother were often together, which meant Bryce and I were together. We were friends, almost like siblings, until one day we weren’t.

“I didn’t know that,” I answered honestly.

“I thought you two stayed in touch.”

“No, we haven’t. I stopped answering, and he stopped calling.” I didn’t know for sure if that were true. I stopped answering and I couldn’t see if he called or not. Chelsea had encouraged me to block his calls and texts and change my privacy settings on Facebook. She helped me see that I couldn’t reinvent myself into Alex with Alexandria’s unofficial fiancé suffocating me.

“Hmm. That’s funny,” my mother murmured.

“Why? Why is it funny?”

Our stylists appeared and sat at stools near our feet. I knew protocol. I knew our conversation was essentially on hold. Nevertheless, I pushed one more time. “Why?”

“He knows all about you.”

As our stylists began to work, my mind slipped back to when I was fourteen and Bryce was sixteen. We’d been close all our lives, and he told me he noticed a change in me. He was right. Carrying the Montague mask was wearing me down. He made a point of spending more time with me.

His advances started innocently enough, but each one made me more and more uncomfortable. Where once we’d held hands as friends, as his intentions became clearer, everything felt different. When I told my best friend, Millie Ashmore, that Bryce Spencer had tried to kiss me, instead of supporting me, she told me I was lucky, and she was jealous. It was then I realized how the other girls at the academy looked at him. The next time he tried, I let him. It was like kissing a brother I never had.

Bryce wasn’t satisfied with a kiss. He wanted more. When I was fifteen, I purposely allowed my mother to see the two of us together. I’d managed to keep Bryce’s attentions to kissing and light petting, but each day was a struggle. I figured if my mother saw us, she’d tell him to stop. She’d tell me to stop. I don’t know what I thought, that maybe she’d be a mother.

She didn’t do any of what I expected. Instead, she smiled