Forbidden Fate

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

“I have money. I can pay.” I was sure a wardrobe like that would cost at least in the hundreds of thousands, but I did have the money now.

  West gave me a look like I’d just slapped him in the face. He handed a black card to one of the girls, and she disappeared.

  Then it was silence.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat at being cared for. At West being the one to do it.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked quietly.

  “I’m trying to win you back, Angel.” He wrapped his arm around my waist, dragging me closer. His other hand came to my neck as he dipped his head, shadowing our faces.

  “How am I doing?” he whispered against my lips.

  Butterflies sprang in my stomach without consent.

  “Um—”

  He crashed his lips on mine, cutting me off.

  I was so surprised I didn’t push him away.

  His lips were warm and soft, and he gripped my neck with just the right amount of pressure. I realized this was the first time I’d ever kissed him, really kissed him, not for show, not for some stupid tradition.

  It was like I’d fallen into some twisted, dark Victorian novel. Kissing this rogue for the first time as my husband.

  My gut twisted, though. It hurt. Something sliced with each clever swipe of his tongue, because I felt like only Grayson’s lips should be there.

  And it felt like I was cheating on myself, on a promise I’d made the day he broke all of ours—

  West broke the kiss suddenly, searching my eyes, a wrinkle in his smooth, chestnut brow. Then the wrinkle vanished as if he’d answered some question as two black cars pulled up to the curb. I fixed on them, a question in my eyes.

  West pushed aside my curls. “I’ll meet you back at the house. Emergency at the office.”

  He opened the door for me, ushering me into the car. After I was seated, he kept the door open, lingering, humor in his eyes that made my gut flip. It was…brutal.

  “I don’t mind you thinking about him.”

  “W-what? I wasn’t thinking—”

  “I like a good chase,” he cut me off, slamming the door.

  West drove away in his car, my gut gnawing.

  That was wrong, but maybe it was the wrongness that gave power to the butterflies in my stomach

  My driver turned to look at me over one arm. “To New York, Mrs. du Lac?”

  I wrinkled my brow. “New York?” But the moment the question left my lips, I’d answered it. That was where the ob-gyn was.

  I’ll take care of it.

  And somehow, Grayson had.

  I sank back into the leather as the matte black partition rose between us. I lifted a hand to my lips.

  What was I doing? I don’t want to make these mistakes again. I don’t want to be the person who went back to the men who hurt her. The girl everyone is screaming at in the horror movie.

  I’d just kissed my husband for the first time, but was on my way to meet the father of my child.

  Thirty-Three

  STORY

  * * *

  Since the ob-gyn was in New York City, it was a bit of a drive to get there. I stared out the tinted window at the pretty lights donning the trees decorating the medians.

  This was supposed to be a friendship.

  I couldn’t help but think…friends didn’t drive in two separate cars to a private, sworn-to-secrecy ob-gyn.

  Friends.

  The car came to a stop, and I was ushered inside by Grayson’s security. I had sunglasses on and a hat, the collar of my coat pulled. I looked like the girls I saw in magazines. Magazines that photographed Abigail and put Gemma and Gray on the covers.

  Grayson and I couldn’t be seen together, not until we were in the room. My gut sank deeper.

  Friends.

  We were friends.

  I pushed away the icky feeling that I was a thing to be hidden. Something to hide in the dark, in the cracks, in the places people didn’t want to see.

  I was his friend.

  He was helping me.

  And then I would leave.

  I would come out of my hiding place for good.

  As the elevator dinged and I stepped into a luxurious room that looked more like a penthouse than a doctor’s office, I ignored the part of me that said…you’ve said that before. Over and over, I said I would leave while instead I became like glue.

  “I’m—” I started to speak to an auburn-haired young woman behind an oval desk taking up half the room.

  “We know who you are.” She gestured for me to take a seat.

  The place was eerily empty.

  On purpose, I’m sure.

  I pushed past it.

  Did she know me?

  The Cinderella of Crowne Hall.

  Or…The Stepsister Slut.

  It ate at me. I didn’t know who they saw me as now. Who I saw me as.

  Only a few moments later, another woman dressed in pale lavender scrubs came out of a door. She saw me and smiled. “Mrs. du Lac.”

  Oh right, I was her now too.

  I stood up off the soft couch, grasping my purse and following her, but pausing at the receptionist.

  “Can I take one?” I pointed at a porcelain bowl of suckers. She nodded warmly and I took one, following the nurse into another well-decorated room. Still no sign of Grayson. I was beginning to wonder if he was really going to show.

  They directed me to get changed.

  I pulled on the nicest, softest hospital gown I’d ever worn, then sat on a pale lilac leather patient’s bed.

  When the door creaked open behind me, I assumed it was the nurse returning to get my vitals. Grayson shut the door behind him with a soft click.

  His brows caved. “Why do you look so surprised?”

  I thought maybe you weren’t coming back.

  I shrugged. “No reason.”

  He came to me and pushed aside my hair, eyes searching, a look in them I didn’t want to read.

  “What’s with the sucker?”

  They’re my need for you incarnate.

  Both satisfying yet leaving me with a deep, aching Grayson-shaped hole in my stomach.

  “Skipped brunch,” I rasped. “Remember?”

  He looked to the side, brow furrowing. “I should have brought you something.”

  That’s when I noticed his hand was bandaged. I gasped, grabbing it. “What happened to your hand?”

  It was a moment before he responded. He just stared at me, a look in his eyes that had me holding my breath.

  Finally he said, “I guess I held on when I should’ve let go.” Before I could think on that, he continued, “Did you get the clothes you needed?”

  I nodded.

  “A husband should take care of his wife.” He said it more to himself than me.

  I swallowed, throat suddenly thick. He kept staring at me with an intensity I couldn’t read, never taking his hand off my forehead, thumbing the skin in a way that made my heart stutter.

  “Did you ever start writing poetry, Snitch?” he asked quietly.

  I thought to my secret letters.

  I wanted to tell him. He was the only one I ever told anything.

  But the miles of distance between us were too wide to cross.

  “Um…no.”

  His mood turned dark. “Just be a fucking poet, Snitch.”

  “Oh, it’s that simple?” I snapped back.

  He leaned closer, glare sharp. “Yeah, it is.”

  I scoffed. “I could suck, you know? You could be encouraging suckage. You’ve never even read anything I’ve written.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said instantly, matter-of-factly.

  I looked away, folding my arms. “It’s kind of the only thing that matters, Grayson.”

  He went silent in the way I knew meant words were running through his mind. I couldn’t read them now, but I wanted so badly to know them.

  “I already know the world should listen to you,” he said. “How you say it is irrelevant
.”

  My eyes cut to his, breath froze in my chest as the door opened behind him. This time it was the doctor. Grayson stepped away, but he kept his hand above my head, gripping the examination chair as she put my legs in stirrups.

  “Oh, what’s this?” Her pointer finger glanced Grayson’s bite, and her head lifted above my legs, eyes finding mine.

  My cheeks flared. I heard Grayson’s fingers above mine curl in the leather.

  Do you like the idea of cheating on your husband?

  I coughed. “I…um….”

  This is fucking mine.

  I scratched my head, refusing to look at Grayson, having no way to find an answer.

  Let him touch you. He’ll see, Snitch. You’re mine. You will always be mine.

  “It’s probably a cat,” I managed.

  Her eyes grew. “Do you own cats? It doesn’t look like a cat bite but…this is deep. We should get you started on antibiotics and scanned for—”

  “We don’t own cats.” Grayson exhaled his annoyance.

  “Oh.” She stood up. “I’ll…go get the ultrasound now. Are you ready to hear the heartbeat?”

  I nodded, sinking into my shoulders, wishing the world would swallow me whole. When she’d left the room, I smacked Grayson as hard as I could.

  His eyes darkened. “You’re really pushing the whole ‘carrying my baby’ thing.”

  “Why did you say that?”

  “I pay her millions to keep her mouth shut. You’d rather have her think a cat bit you than I did?”

  “Yes.” I sank against the leather, folding my arms tighter.

  His jaw twerked, neck strained so hard I saw the muscle jump. He stared ahead. Was he pissed? I was the one with a reason to be upset. Now the doctor not only knew I was knocked up by someone other than my husband, but we liked it weird.

  The next ten minutes passed in stony silence until the doctor and the technician came back. They squirted slimy, cold gel across my stomach. I kept thinking this was never going to work. It wasn’t even thirty minutes into this and Grayson and I were arguing.

  And then it happened.

  It was faint, but it was there, the heartbeat.

  “Whoa,” I breathed.

  I turned to see if Grayson was watching, but my gaze collided with his.

  That moment was what fairy tales were made for. Maybe a happily ever after with Grayson would never be possible, but for a second, everything faded away save for the soft, aching look in his eyes. The warmth in his smile.

  Grayson Crowne was happy.

  And so was I.

  We finished up, and then it was time to talk to the doctor, ask her any questions I had. I did have questions, but none I wanted Grayson Crowne privy to, especially if we were trying to keep this thing friendly.

  I eyed him. “Can you leave?”

  He furrowed his brow. “I’m here for everything, Snitch.”

  I worked my hands in my lap. “I have questions I don’t want you to hear.”

  “Everything, Snitch.”

  I glared. Somehow his jaw got sharper, and he had that look, that Grayson look, and I knew arguing with him was going to take hours. We would be late for the beginning of the holidays.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “I’m feeling a little bit…more—”

  “Hungry?” Grayson prompted. “Nauseated? Are your ankles swollen?” He turned to the doctor, hand held in my direction. “Fix that.” He sounded pissed at her, and the doctor frowned.

  “No,” I glared at him. “Horny,” I whispered quietly, wishing I could melt into the leather patient chair.

  It was so quiet the silence buzzed. Grayson looked like I’d just thrown a pie at his face. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and rubbed a finger through the wrinkle between them.

  Then she spoke. “That’s perfectly normal, as is sex—”

  “She doesn’t need to know any of that.” He cut her off, turning to me, tone frigid. “You’re not having sex.”

  I blinked. “I might be.”

  Our glares clashed in a stalemate.

  Did he think I was just pining after him? That I’d lit a candle and closed up shop in my vagina because Grayson Crowne ruined me? I mean, yes, but he didn’t get to know that.

  The air was frostier than outside, and I lost myself in his blue glare, forgetting we had an audience until she cleared her throat.

  “Well, you should know, if you were worried about hurting the baby. I know some people are, and sex is perfectly safe during pregnancy.”

  I turned to her. “Thank you.”

  I felt his tension. I felt it all the way to the car, until he snatched the door away from the driver, opening it for me.

  “Get in,” he growled.

  I bristled, hating him for barking orders at me, but also liking that he cared enough to open the door. I slid in, and he kept his hand on the door, bending over so he caged me in my seat.

  “Slide over,” he said.

  “We’re taking separate cars…”

  He bent farther, until his breath warmed mine. “We were taking separate cars.”

  Thirty-Four

  GRAY

  * * *

  I worked my bottom lip between my thumb and forefinger over and over until it bruised. It was stifling in the car, even though we sat on opposite sides.

  Friends.

  We’re fucking friends.

  Friends talk about this shit.

  Friends do not think about what the other friend was doing, where her hand was, if her legs were spread or back arched—

  Fuck.

  “Has that problem of yours resolved?”

  Snitch lifted her eyes to mine. “My problem?” she questioned. Then, realizing what I was talking about, she scoffed. “Not yet.”

  “Yet?” I gritted, working my lip harder.

  She looked away, folding her arms.

  In my world, where morals and dignity were rarer than diamonds, I only ever wanted to be loyal. To not be the man my father was. It should have been so fucking easy. Tell yourself not to do something—don’t be that guy.

  But I want her.

  That want stretches my loyalty like fine lace.

  “You gonna have West help you out?” I asked.

  She jerked her head to mine. “What’s it to you, Grayson Crowne?”

  I dragged my thumb across my lower lip. There was no answer I could give her that wouldn’t betray the truth.

  The car jostled, hit some fucking pothole.

  I didn’t realize I was on the floor, hands on her thighs, until it was too late.

  Her eyes grew.

  “It’s fine. It was barely a speed bump.” Her words were that sweet, quiet raspy breath that I lived for. I could still remember falling asleep to it. Now I just stayed awake, listening to the silence, wondering—hoping—she didn’t do the same.

  Fuck.

  This was such a bad idea.

  “Grayson.”

  “Did West get you something for the Nutcracker Masquerade?” I asked, sliding my hands beneath her dress.

  Her breath hitched.

  With her clothes on…I could pretend. Pretend what I was doing was still okay, that I wasn’t a cheating bastard. That I hadn’t become everything I’d strived against.

  “Little nun?” I pressed, finding the bruise on her thigh, pressing into it with my thumb.

  “N-no.”

  I slid my thumb to the crease in her groin, rubbing the sensitive flesh just before the trim of her panties. Her lips parted silently. I see it in her eyes, the need, the bottomless desire that ensnared me in that antique room.

  I want the word to fall from her lips.

  More.

  I’m falling into her mossy eyes, forgetting everything, every promise I’ve ever made to anyone but her.

  “What do you want, little nun?”

  Her lips opened and I waited for the word, about to fall over a cliff, when the car jolted to a stop.

  My grip on her thighs tightened. “Don’
t worry about your dress, Snitch.”

  The door opened to the bright winter day, and I pulled away.

  Thirty-Five

  STORY

  * * *

  Back at Crowne Hall, it was white and cold. I stared at the pearly sky, wondering if the snow would finally fall, when Grayson took my arm, wrapping it around his.

  “Oh my god, I can walk up stairs,” I said.

  He made a noise in his throat but said nothing. He helped me up the steps, his hand warm on my arm, his presence strong and safe.

  I wanted to scream.

  Stop being so fucking perfect. It’s impossible to hate him like this.

  To let him go.

  I have to go back to Westley. The man I kissed before you.

  We stopped just outside the towering wooden doors that marked the Hall’s entrance, but neither of us made a motion to open or knock to be let in.

  Grayson looked down at me from his ridged nose with the same look he’d had in the car. It’s dangerous. I was so close to begging for more. It made me forget all the reasons I have to leave.

  “Do you think it will snow tonight?” I asked. “My uncle and I used to watch the first snowfall. We’d watch the snowflakes and talk about the weird things poets did. Like my favorite poets would spend weeks, months, sometimes years, away from their lovers, and I used to read their love notes and letters…but that was something I couldn’t do with Woodsy, because it was way too dirty.”

  The longer Grayson and I stayed outside the massive wooden doors, the more time seemed to push us to go inside. I could feel fate on our heels again, a runaway boulder.

  “You want love letters, Snitch?”

  His voice drew me back to him with fervor, it sounded like my heart, shredded and torn. But also hopeful, as though he could feel the boulder, as though he knew that this was our only time before we had to go back.

  “I want so much more than love letters,” I whispered. “We should probably go inside.” I turned but he grabbed my bicep.

  “No. Wait…just wait.”

  “We’re already so late, Grayson. They’re all waiting for us. Your family, my…” My husband.

  Fury and something else, something too much like heartbreak, splintered his blue eyes. “My grandfather owns every one of those people. Every one of them is a vote against…”