Betrayal (Infidelity Book 1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,27

and walked away. Later she came to me and told me how happy she and Miss Suzanna were. Even though Bryce was only a junior at the academy, I swear my mother and Miss Suzanna began making wedding plans. Not literally, but they’d make comments about a Montague and Carmichael heir.

When Bryce graduated from the academy he chose to go to Duke, even though he’d been accepted to Princeton. Duke was closer. For two years he drove back and forth to Savannah for every academy dance or family obligation. It wasn’t that I asked him; he just did. I couldn’t have dated anyone else even if I’d wanted to. Everyone in Savannah knew I was Bryce Spencer’s girlfriend.

When it was my turn to apply for colleges, Bryce pressured me to apply to Duke. I did, and I was accepted. I’ll never forget the day I told him I was moving to California. He lost it. I’d never seen him like that. It was a full-blown Alton rage, complete with red cheeks and screaming. According to him I’d ruined everything. He’d planned on proposing once we were together at Duke. He even had the ring.

For the first time, my childhood friend and first boyfriend scared me. I ran to my room and locked the door. The next day he arrived with flowers, to celebrate my acceptance to Stanford, he told my mother. Later he apologized and made me promise that we would stay in touch.

I promised, but we didn’t.

How then does he know all about me?

WHILE WE RODE in the backseat and Brantley drove us toward lunch, my mother fingered one of my long auburn curls, making it spring against my shoulder. “Your hair looks lovely. This is so much more becoming than the dreadful way you pull it back. Look how it frames your face.”

I refrained from shaking my head as I gave her a closed-lip smile. Sadly, I believed she thought she’d just complimented me. I’d agreed to the pedicure, manicure, and hairstyle. I drew the line at having my makeup done. It was only lunchtime. I didn’t need to be painted to perfection for the tearoom.

“You’ll look stunning tonight at your welcome-home party.”

“Welcome home? I thought you said this was to celebrate my graduation?”

“It’s one and the same, don’t you agree?”

No. I don’t agree.

“Who else have you invited to this celebration?”

“Oh,” she said, dismissively waving her hand, “a few people. Of course I invited Millie Ashmore and her parents. She can’t wait to see you. I’m sure you know she’s engaged to that young man she met at Emory. His last name is Peterson. I really don’t know much about his family. They’re in the wine business. I believe that’s what I’ve heard.”

I clenched my teeth tighter. This was going to be hell.

“Your aunt and uncle will be there,” she continued.

While Millie and I had at one time been best friends, our story didn’t end as happily as momma and Miss Suzanna’s. I had limits. Hard limits. The thought of my hard limits brought a much-needed smile to my face.

“I knew you’d be happy to see them,” she said, misconstruing my expression. “They were disappointed that they couldn’t attend your graduation.”

I could argue that Gwendolyn and Preston Richardson weren’t my aunt and uncle, that Gwendolyn was Alton’s sister and therefore not related to me, but if I did, it would be a petty comment like my mother had asked me not to make. So instead, I just thought it.

“I’m sure they were. Will Patrick be there?” If Gwen and Preston were my aunt and uncle, then their son Patrick would be my cousin. He was the one Fitzgerald I actually liked. We’d spent many days and nights calling bullshit on our parents’ messed-up code of social status.

“No. You know that he’s living in New York now.”

“I didn’t,” I said, genuinely interested. “Where? What’s he doing? It’ll be good to have him close.”

“Close?”

“To me, Mother. Close to me. I have a small apartment on the Upper West Side, close to the university.”

“You’ve already rented an apartment?”

Is she serious?

“Mother, classes start in a few weeks. Of course I have an apartment.”

“But you still have an apartment in California and classes don’t begin until September.”

“Orientation begins in August and July is almost over. I know I still have an apartment in California. That’s why I don’t have time for this.” I motioned around the backseat, my gaze catching Brantley’s in the rearview mirror. His narrowed eyes reminded me to watch what