Chapter 2 - THE GROOM BENEATH THE SYCAMORE
For several seconds, Lily forgot how to move.
Grant Whitmore stood beneath the sycamore tree in the same tuxedo he had worn while promising forever to another woman less than six hours earlier.
Moonlight caught along one shoulder.
His bow tie was gone.
His jacket hung open.
The top button of his white shirt had been undone, exposing the first inch of his throat.
He looked less like the billionaire whose wedding had occupied magazine covers for six months and more like the exhausted boy who had once fallen asleep beside her after spending all afternoon repairing a broken fence.
Except he was not a boy.
And he was married.
Lily pulled her feet from the creek so quickly that cold water splashed onto her dress.
“What are you doing here?”
Grant looked at the wet stone beside her.
“Apparently interrupting a tradition.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
His jaw tightened.
“That’s the second time someone has told me that tonight.”
“Who was the first?”
“My wife.”
The word hurt exactly as much as Lily expected.
She reached for her shoes.
“Then maybe you should listen to her.”
“Lily.”
“No.”
She stood.
Her legs were stiff from sitting too long.
“I don’t know what this is, but whatever you came here to say, don’t.”
Grant stared.
“You think I came here to start something?”
“I think you got married today.”
“I’m aware.”
“Good.”
She slipped one shoe on.
Almost lost her balance.
Grant instinctively moved forward.
She stepped away before he could touch her.
The movement stopped him.
Something passed across his face.
Pain, maybe.
But Lily refused to interpret Grant Whitmore anymore.
She had spent nineteen years interpreting.
The wooden bottle meant something.
The forehead kiss meant something.
The way he hugged her before college meant something.
The way his eyes found her during the ceremony meant something.
Eventually, meaning became a room she had locked herself inside.
Martha had been right.
She needed to leave it.
Grant lowered his hand.
“I’m not asking you to betray my marriage.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“The truth.”
“About?”
“Everything.”
Lily laughed softly.
“That’s a small request for midnight on your wedding day.”
“I didn’t know you were still here.”
She froze.
Grant continued.
“I thought you left Whitmore Hall years ago.”
“Who told you that?”
“My mother.”
Lily stared.
“Eleanor told you I left?”
“She said after your father died, you moved to North Carolina.”
“My father died ten years ago.”
“I know.”
“And I’m standing on Whitmore property wearing shoes the estate bought as part of my uniform.”
“I can see that.”
“Then obviously I didn’t move.”
“I know that now.”
Lily felt an old wound open in a new place.
“When did she tell you?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
Grant looked toward the creek.
“Eight.”
Lily swallowed.
She had been twenty-three.
Grant had been twenty-seven.
He had returned to Virginia briefly after his grandfather’s funeral.
Lily remembered because she had waited three days for him to visit the estate office.
He never came.
She had assumed he no longer cared.
Grant said quietly, “I asked where you were.”
Lily’s throat tightened.
“Why?”
He looked at her.
“That’s what you want to ask?”
“Yes.”
“Because I wanted to see you.”
The answer arrived too late to be kind.
Lily shook her head.
“You had my phone number.”
“No.”
“I gave it to you.”
“The old one.”
“I sent you the new one.”
“When?”
“In a letter.”
Grant became very still.
“What letter?”
Lily stared at him.
Then almost laughed.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“You never got them.”
His face changed.
“Them?”
“Forget it.”
“How many?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How many, Lily?”
She looked away.
“Fourteen.”
Grant said nothing.
“I wrote fourteen letters after you moved to London.”
His breathing changed.
“Why?”
“Because apparently I was stupid.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I told you about my mother getting sick.”
Grant’s face went pale.
“I didn’t know until after she died.”
Lily looked back.
“What?”
“I found out from my father.”
“You didn’t know she had cancer?”
“No.”
Lily could not understand.
“I wrote you.”
“I never got it.”
“I wrote you from the hospital.”
His face tightened.
“I never got it.”
“I asked you to come.”
Grant closed his eyes.
The sentence seemed to hit him physically.
Lily remembered that letter.
Her mother asleep beside her.
Machines humming.
Lily eighteen and terrified.
Grant had been at Oxford then.
She wrote seven pages.
Most of them made no sense.
At the end she wrote:
I know you’re far away, but if there is any way you can come home, I need my best friend.
He never came.
She had forgiven him because young men abroad had lives.
Then she stopped forgiving because grief needed somewhere to go.
“You never knew?”
“No.”
Grant’s voice was rough now.
“My father called me after the funeral. He said your mother had been sick but everyone thought I shouldn’t be distracted during exams.”
Lily laughed in disbelief.
“Everyone.”
“I was furious.”
“You never called me.”
“I tried.”
“You didn’t.”
“Your number had changed.”
“I sent it.”
“In the letters I never got.”
Silence.
The creek moved below them.
Somewhere far behind the trees, machinery hummed near the mansion where the final wedding crews were clearing decorations.
Lily felt suddenly exhausted.
“Why are we doing this?”
“Because today I smelled lavender.”
She looked at him.
Grant stepped closer, but not enough to crowd her.
“For fifteen years, I told myself childhood was childhood.”
Lily’s heart began to pound.
“I told myself you probably built another life.”
“Grant.”
“I told myself my mother was right.”
“About what?”
His jaw tightened.
“That people like us don’t get to keep the simple parts.”
Lily stared.
“People like us?”
“Whitmore.”
“Right.”
Bitterness entered her voice.
“The great burden of being a billionaire.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“How did you mean it?”
Grant looked toward the estate.
“My grandfather spent his life telling me I would inherit responsibility before I inherited money.”
“And?”
“My father told me marriage would eventually become part of that responsibility.”
Lily’s expression hardened.
“Caroline is part of the portfolio?”
“No.”
“Sounds like it.”
Grant did not defend himself quickly enough.
That told her everything.
She stepped back.
“My God.”
“Lily.”
“You married her for business.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“It never is when rich people explain why normal rules don’t apply.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“You stood in front of two hundred people today.”
“I know.”
“You promised to love her.”
“I know.”
“And now you’re standing at the creek talking about letters and lavender.”
“I know.”
“Then go back.”
Grant’s face tightened.
“I came because Caroline said something.”
Lily stopped.
“What?”
“After the reception.”
He looked angry now.
Not at Lily.
“At the memory.
“She asked if I enjoyed the view.”
“What view?”
“You.”
Lily went cold.
Grant continued.
“She laughed and said she thought putting you at the head table would finally cure what she called ‘the cottage-girl fantasy.’”
Humiliation burned up Lily’s neck.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“Then she knew.”
“About us?”
“There is no us.”
Grant’s expression shifted.
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
Lily’s voice sharpened.
“I don’t anymore.”
He accepted that.
“What did she know?”
“She knew I loved you.”
The words fell between them.
Grant did not move.
Lily immediately regretted saying them.
Not because they were false.
Because they were true at the worst possible time.
She turned away.
“Forget that.”
“No.”
“I was younger.”
“Lily.”
“I’m tired.”
“How long?”
She closed her eyes.
“Don’t.”
“How long did you—”
“You are married.”
The words cracked across the creek.
Grant stopped.
Lily turned back.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I will not be the woman who stands beside a married man under a tree and lets him ask how long I loved him.”
His face went still.
“You deserve better than that.”
“So does Caroline.”
He looked away.
That surprised her.
After a long moment, Grant said:
“You’re right.”
Lily breathed again.
He stepped back.
“I won’t ask.”
“Thank you.”
“But I am asking one thing.”
“What?”
“Why were you serving?”
“I work here.”
“No.”
“That is literally the answer.”
“You grew up here.”
“So did you. One of us inherited six billion dollars. The other got an employee badge.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
“Then say what you mean.”
His eyes hardened.
“Caroline specifically ordered you to serve the head table.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You heard her.”
“To humiliate you.”
Lily shrugged.
She wanted the movement to look casual.
It did not.
Grant saw.
“Has she done anything else?”
“No.”
“Lily.”
“She’s been here six months. I avoid her.”
“And my mother?”
Lily went silent.
Grant caught it.
“What has my mother done?”
“Nothing.”
“Wrong answer.”
She almost laughed.
“You still do that.”
“What?”
“Interrogate people until they give you the answer you already decided exists.”
“I’m asking because I watched my wife treat you like an enemy tonight, and then I learned my mother lied to me about where you lived.”
“That doesn’t mean conspiracy.”
“No.”
He looked toward the mansion.
“But something is wrong.”
Lily slipped on her other shoe.
“Then investigate your family.”
“I intend to.”
“Good.”
She started walking.
Grant said:
“Lily.”
She stopped but did not turn.
“Did you keep it?”
Her breath caught.
“What?”
“The wooden bottle.”
For nineteen years, Lily had assumed Grant forgot.
Slowly, she looked back.
He stood under the sycamore.
His expression was different now.
Not billionaire.
Not groom.
The boy at the creek.
“How do you remember that?”
Grant gave the smallest smile.
“I spent three weeks carving that horrible thing.”
“It was terrible.”
“I cut my thumb twice.”
“You deserved it.”
“You said it looked like a potato.”
“It did.”
His smile disappeared.
“Did you keep it?”
Lily should have lied.
Instead:
“Yes.”
Something moved behind his eyes.
Before he could respond, headlights swept through the trees.
A golf cart.
Then another.
Grant straightened.
Caroline stepped out of the first.
Still in her wedding gown.
Veil gone.
A white fur wrap around her shoulders despite the warm night.
Two members of estate security came behind her.
She looked from Grant to Lily.
Then smiled.
“There you are.”
Lily’s blood turned cold.
Grant’s voice became controlled.
“Caroline.”
“I wondered where my husband disappeared to.”
Her eyes moved to Lily’s bare ankles, damp from the creek.
Then Grant.
The smile sharpened.
“How nostalgic.”
Lily started to leave.
Caroline said:
“Actually, Lily, stay.”
Grant turned.
“She doesn’t work for you.”
Caroline raised an eyebrow.
“Not anymore.”
Lily froze.
“What?”
Caroline’s smile widened.
“I had your employment terminated twenty minutes ago.”
Grant’s entire expression changed.
“You did what?”
“She abandoned her assigned duties during our wedding.”
“The reception ended.”
“She left before final service.”
“I approved staffing.”
“And I’m Mrs. Whitmore now.”
She looked directly at Lily.
“So I assume household decisions concern me.”
Grant’s voice went quiet.
“Reinstate her.”
Caroline laughed.
“No.”
The security men exchanged uncomfortable looks.
Lily’s humiliation returned in full force.
She refused to stand there while newlyweds fought over whether she could scrub their silverware.
“I’m leaving.”
Caroline lifted a folder.
“Not yet.”
Lily stopped.
“What is that?”
“Just a small employment matter.”
She extended the folder.
“Sign, and you can collect your things tomorrow.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed.
“What is she signing?”
“A housing release.”
Lily took the papers.
The first page looked ordinary.
Cottage occupancy.
Staff termination.
Property access.
Then she reached the third page.
LEGAL DESCRIPTION OF EASTERN PARCEL.
Her forehead tightened.
“What is this?”
Caroline’s smile vanished slightly.
“Standard estate language.”
Grant took the document from Lily.
He read.
Then again.
His face changed.
“This isn’t an employment release.”
Caroline said nothing.
Grant looked up.
“This is a land easement and lease renewal.”
Lily stared.
“What land?”
Grant turned to her.
The pages trembled slightly in his hand.
“The eastern acreage.”
“The pasture?”
“Mill Creek.”
Lily looked around.
The sycamore.
The creek.
The rock.
“What about it?”
Grant read the owner line.
Then slowly lifted his eyes.
“According to this document…”
His voice became very quiet.
“You own it.”
Lily laughed because the sentence was impossible.
“What?”
Grant looked at Caroline.
Caroline had gone pale.
And suddenly Lily understood something terrifying.
Caroline Ashford had not forced her to serve champagne merely because she knew Lily once loved Grant.
She had needed Lily humiliated.
Dependent.
Fired.
Afraid of losing her cottage.
Afraid enough to sign whatever was placed in front of her.
Grant held the paper tighter.
“How long did you know?”
Caroline said nothing.
“Caroline.”
Her expression hardened.
“Long enough.”
The creek kept moving beneath the sycamore.
But Lily’s entire understanding of Whitmore Hall had stopped.
Because beneath the wedding, beneath the jealousy, beneath the white roses and family names, Caroline had been planning something else.
May you like
And apparently, Lily Carter was not standing on Whitmore land.
Grant Whitmore was standing on hers.
