Then West opened the door, leaning against the frame. “Go on a date with me, Angel.”
“I thought you worked during the day?”
“Today I was supposed to settle some final things with Crowne Industries over the marriage, but…” He laughed. “They’re busy.”
I furrowed my brow, confused, and West pulled up his phone, coming to me.
GRAYSON CROWNE, PLAYBOY PRINCE: VIRGIN.
I must have stared at the headline for over a minute. A full-page print about how Grayson Crowne was a virgin before he married Lottie.
“Never saw that coming,” West said.
I swallowed. “Right…”
“Anyway, today is a shitshow, so I can take you on a date.”
“How, um…” How was Grayson handling it? The comments were horrible. Some were nice. But so many of them were cruel. Every mean thing I know he’d called himself secretly. “How are the Crownes reacting?”
He stared down at me, eyes narrow, as if he saw the real words in my head. Then he smiled.
“The entire house is in lockdown,” he said softly. Again, I felt like he was saying something else. “Beryl has come back. I heard him yell a few choice words…I think Tansy has locked herself in her room.”
I swallowed, my heart cracking for him.
His lip lifted higher. “I don’t know about Grayson. I think I saw him downstairs. Maybe you want to go check?”
I scoffed, looking away. “Why would I want to do that?”
I swear I heard him laugh. “So a date then?”
“I guess…” I didn’t want to go out with West, not because I didn’t want to, but because for the first time, I didn’t actually hate the idea of it. “I just need a minute to get dressed.”
“Sure thing.”
He left me alone, and it only took five minutes to get dressed in a dark, high-collared lace blouse and knee-length skirt.
Downstairs.
Fuck.
I picked at my nail.
I really wanted to see if Grayson was okay. I don’t think I could go the entire day without knowing how bruised his eyes were.
I tore open my door, seeing just a glimpse of him would do. Like before, when I used to watch him.
I stopped short on the stairs. Ellie was on her knees before Grayson, crying.
“Please, Mr. Crowne. Please. I have nowhere else to go. My life—I…please.”
“You’ll manage,” he said.
Ellie ran off, tears in her eyes.
The first night with Grayson blasted through me.
He was wearing another three-piece suit. It looked impeccable on him, tailored to his tall, lean frame. The charcoal color was timeless, and his rose gold hair didn’t have a strand out of place. He was perfect. Cold.
And he wasn’t Grayson.
“Who are you?”
He tensed at my voice, then turned to face me, jaw flexed.
“What happened to the Grayson that donates his shoes? The one that made sure my uncle’s wish came true? You just…” I looked away. “I’m starting to wonder if that Grayson ever existed, or if you were always that man who threatened me at the hospital.”
I was slowly watching the Grayson I knew dissolve before my eyes.
“I came to check on you…” Because I was worried. Because I’m a fucking idiot. “This was a bad idea. My husband is waiting for me.”
“If you mention your husband one more fucking time—”
I spun. “You’ll what? Threaten to send me away? Get someone off in front of me? Marry her after you fucked me? Threaten to lock me away?”
He worked his jaw to the side.
“You don’t care about me. You never did. You’re just bothered by the idea of West touching something you thought belonged to you.”
His eyes grew, his lips parted.
Grayson pounded to me. “Get it through your fucking skull, Story. I don’t give a shit about that. He hurt you. He’s continuing to hurt you. I let it happen. I’m supposed to protect you.” His words were strangled and raw.
I don’t know why they bothered me so much.
I guess I wanted him to be a little bit irritated by the prospect of me sleeping with West. The same way it ate and ate at me imagining him with Lottie.
“You want the truth? No one wants this baby but us. If I have to stay married to Lottie to keep you safe, I will.”
“How fucking chivalrous of you, Grayson.”
I shoved him, but he grabbed my elbow, thrusting me against the stair’s railing, yet throwing his hand behind me so my back was cushioned.
“Let me go.”
His jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t have said anything. You should have kept walking. Shouldn’t have let me know you were here.”
“So let me go.”
His hand at my back fisted the fabric of my shirt, ripping it from my skirt.
“I don’t want you anymore, Grayson.”
He laughed, dark. “Liar.”
“See how much of a liar I am when I’m in West’s bed tonight.”
His eyes flashed to mine. Wild. Filled with something I knew I shouldn’t poke at. He dragged his free hand through his hair, and some of his perfect coif came undone. I liked it too much when the first strand fell across his blue eyes.
“I could fuck you against these stairs right now. I know you’d let me. You always let me.” His hand at my back slid beneath my shirt, flesh against flesh. “Come inside you.” He was possessed, tumbling into this fantasy. “You’re already pregnant.”
Another secret. A dirty, dark secret.
I whispered back, soft. “But when I have the baby, it will be his name on the birth certificate.”
Grayson froze, fingers digging into my flesh, eyes slowly locking with mine.
“Say that baby is his and see what fucking happens, Snitch.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m trying to warn you. I’ve been on a very thin leash since the moment you walked into my life. I’m trying to be good.” He slammed his other hand on the railing, caging me. “Trying to be decent. Trying to become the man you saw in me. But if you say that West is the father of my child…”
I knew I shouldn’t goad him.
“You’ll what?”
He exhaled a jagged sigh and stepped back.
“Maybe I’ll go back to my wife and fuck her. Come in her cunt. Get her fucked up with me the way you used to like.”
My stomach twisted at the image. “Go for it. I don’t give a shit what you do anymore, because you’re right about one thing. Somebody can come in me without worrying. But I think that’s a privilege reserved for my husband.”
He grasped my arm, yanking me to him. “I don’t share, Story.”
“I don’t share either.” I shoved him off. “You might not have been my first, Grayson, but you were my first everything else. My first kiss. My first blow job. My first orgasm. But you won’t be my last.”
He looked like he’d just been punched in the gut.
“So take a good fucking look, Grayson Crowne. Everything you do with Lottie, West gets to do to me.”
Twenty-Six
STORY
* * *
I turned sideways in the mirror, running my hands over my barely rounded belly. It was just a slight bump, barely noticeable, but it made my heart race all the same.
Thanksgiving with the Crownes.
It was hard to believe I’d already spent the month of November at Crowne Hall, but the calendar didn’t lie.
I practiced my fake smile again. It still felt stiff and awkward.
I exhaled, dropping my hands to my side.
I’d only ever experienced it as a servant. Thanksgiving was a prelude to the holidays. With extravagant, opulent traditions, beautiful gowns, and way too much food. Like many, the Crownes broke the turkey wishbone, but their tradition looks nothing like what you’d imagine. All guests break bones, dressed in their ballgowns, laughing beneath chandeliers as the paparazzi took
gilded pictures. Whoever breaks the biggest bone must do a lucky kiss with their date, to be displayed on all magazines across America.
Once, someone smuggled in a huge bone to try to cheat. They thought they could end up on the covers and become an overnight celebrity. It had happened before.
I decided my one goal this Thanksgiving was to avoid winning.
Avoid kissing my husband.
Avoid being spotlit even more.
The door opened behind me, and I spun, nervous it was West. Ever since we’d come close to kissing, it had been different between us.
“Miss Abigail?” I gasped.
Abigail Crowne stood in the doorway, dressed in the cutest knee-length black maternity dress with matching boots and hat, showing off her slight bump. I was so used to looking away that I averted my gaze.
She laughed. “You’re married to a fucking du Lac, and my last name is Hound. I think we can look each other in the eyes.”
I slowly lifted my gaze. Abigail always had a hollow look in her eyes, like all the Crownes, really. Now she had a smile on her face and not a sneer.
“You’re pregnant,” I said.
“What gave me away?”
She turned, showing her little bump.
In the few weeks that had passed, Grayson had kept his distance, and West had been…perfect. He only held my hand, not even a kiss on the cheek.
The only thing marring this was the internet.
Maybe we’d spun the story, but I was still gossip fodder, and there are always a few people you can never truly convince.
“Why are you here?”
“I guess you could say…I’m your girl for the day.”
I choked on my spit. “I’m sorry?”
She held up a hand. “Don’t expect me to get on my knees or bring you tea or anything. I’m just going to give you a desperately needed makeover.” She arched a brow at my chosen outfit for the day: a high-collared white lace blouse and black skirt.
“I might not live in this house anymore, but I will never kneel.”
A moment passed; then she turned on her heel.
When I didn’t follow, she threw her head over her shoulder. “You coming?”
“This is Tansy Crowne’s wing.” I whisper-hissed as Abigail led me into the sprawling, opulent part of Crowne Hall that demarcated Tansy’s personal wing. I hunched forward, hiding behind Abigail as if that would save me.
Abigail led us through two grand arches carved with intricate molding into a brightly lit room. She walked us up stairs that overlooked the ocean on one side, with scowling portraits at our shoulders. We went past a bed made neatly with pastel satin pillows and into a walk-in closet bigger than my room in the guest wing.
This was Tansy Crowne’s dress room.
Famous.
Photographed.
Insured for millions.
Ball gowns hung along the wall, spotlit and beneath pristine glass cases.
“She’s going to kill me,” I said. “This is how I die.”
“Let me tell you something about Tansy Crowne,” Abigail said, completely ignoring the fear in my voice. “She has more dresses than Jesus had wine and only keeps track of a few. As long as you don’t disturb those…” She gestured to the ones beneath glass. “She’ll never know you’re wearing one of hers.”
“We were always taught that Mrs. Tansy has all of her dresses catalogued and the rooms are heavily watched.”
She laughed. “Of course you were.”
She went to one wall, typing in a code in an electric lock. Out of the wall sprang a closet, and Abigail disappeared behind the silk and satin and glitter.
“This one.”
Abigail popped her head from behind the pull-out closet. She held the dress up to my body, then shook her head, tossing it to the ground. Liquid gold fell to the floor in a heap as Abigail disappeared back behind the pull-out closet.
“No, this one.” Abigail held another beautiful gown up to my body.
She came to me, holding it up and staring at me with wide red-brown eyes. “Well?”
“What?”
“Get dressed.”
Abigail must have been a few inches shorter than me, but I felt miles smaller than her. I took it cautiously.
“Are you back?” I wondered aloud as I shimmied into the green material.
Had the Crownes allowed Abigail back—and why did that give me hope?
But then Abigail laughed. “Hell no. A special holiday dispensation has been made. Every other day of the year, I don’t exist to these people. My mother doesn’t even know I’m pregnant. Oh!” she said suddenly, and I froze, worried I’d ripped the fabric or something. “You have the Nutcracker Masquerade and Christmas Eve and Christmas too. Do you have something for that?”
I shook my head.
“So you probably don’t have anything at all for the holidays?”
Another shake of my head. She exhaled, blowing a strand of curly brown hair, and headed to another wall, typing in another code. The wall popped out like the last one.
“So, um…” I focused at the satin buttons on my side. “You’re still excommunicated?”
“Of course. I broke off my engagement and eloped with my bodyguard.”
I dropped my hands, giving up on the beautiful green dress to say what was really on my mind, “I don’t understand. Why do you have to lose everything just because you loved someone you weren’t supposed to?”
“Because forcing us to love who they choose is how they stay on top. My grandfather always told me you’re either for this family, or you’re against it…” She pulled out another dress then her eyes popped on me. “You look like you need to sit down.” She came to me, sitting me on a sateen chaise, before returning to the closet.
“I think it’s time for a few insider tips that no one will tell you, not even Gray, because he has no fucking clue what it’s like to be a girl in this world.” She rifled through more dresses, choosing her favorites. “Tansy Crowne’s compliments are not compliments.”
“I knew that one.” I smiled wanly.
“It doesn’t matter what century it is, you are not equal. You’re expected to know that. Watch out for snakes because they do not look like snakes, and they will prey on you.”
“I knew that one too…” I whispered, and Abigail appeared from behind the wall of dresses with a soft look. She went on about what color lip to wear to what kind of breakfast and lunch, what shoes to wear, what not to wear to what party. How to cross my legs, how to smile for paparazzi, how to angle my chin for photos, what not to say, until the advice started to blur into one.
“A Finsta? A what?” I suddenly felt overheated.
“A Finsta is just a secret Instagram account. Everyone in our world has one, and the rules are you do not share out of our social circle. Can’t have a prince of Dubai’s cocaine and cunnilingus habit made public or the First Daughter’s tits all over social media.”
Abigail thumbed through more dresses, speaking casually. Meanwhile, I struggled to stand.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I said. “They talk about me online. They think they know me. And some of them…they do.”
Abigail laughed. “Hoo boy, I think I understand why my brother called me.”
Her brother.
“Your brother?” My heart pounded, fingers shaking as I buttoned up the side of my dress. “Your brother is the reason you’re here?”
“Oops, was I not supposed to say that?” She rolled her eyes, clearly not upset about spilling the beans.
“Listen,” she continued, not giving me a minute to think about what she’d just said. “The first secret they learn is the most violating.”
Abigail Crowne was the most infamous Crowne. She’d been the center of scandal after scandal, even more so than her brother. If you searched her name, her naked body was the second thing to pop up.
At least Grayson’s body had somewhat hidden mine, so no one had seen me naked, but her? Everyone had seen her.
“I’ve hidden my whole life,” I said. “I don’t know what to do now that everyone sees me.”
She sat beside me. “Just remember to wear your CROWNE.”
“My what?”
She laughed. “It’s a stupid acronym our mother had the nanny teach us as children. Cross your legs, Remember to smile, Own the room, Wear your best, Never apologize, and Eat your vegetables.” She paused, knuckle to chin. “The last one really only applies if you’re five.”
She smiled. “But really, I’ll impart a lesson that took me my whole life to learn: be honest with yourself. Then whatever they say can’t hurt you. We’re all so busy trying to be what everyone wants us to be, or what we think we should be, so we shit ourselves worrying they’re going to discover the truth, who we actually are.”
She spun me around, a smile on her face.
It was the most skin I’d shown in years. My shoulders. My breasts. My knees. My hair.
“No one is going to recognize you.”
I touched the soft green chiffon. “Should I be on the lookout for any pumpkins?”
Twenty-Seven
GRAY
* * *
“You keep staring at the door.”
“Just wondering when Abigail is getting here.”
Lottie kissed me on the cheek, and I jerked away like I was burned.
Everything you do with Lottie, West gets to do to me.
Hurt marred her face.
“I…think I’m getting sick.”
Lottie stared at me with another question in her eyes I knew she wouldn’t ask. Then she gripped my hand, affecting her own smile. Empty.
“Maple-glazed turkey?” A servant wearing a feathered headdress atop his regular black-and-white uniform asked. Feathers imported from the finest birds of Africa, my mother would boast.
One time, a magazine did what my mother would call a hit piece on us.
“The Crownes aren’t just harmlessly oblivious, they’re a symbol of a larger problem, of those who stubbornly continue the ignorant, tasteless, and traumatizing traditions…”
How dare they try to take away our traditions? she’d said. We’d been doing this as far back as the eighteen hundreds. Where would it stop? Next they’d come for the very stars on the American flag.
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