On one major news outlet, there was a picture of me, blown up in my maid’s uniform, sandwiched between West and Grayson. It was a bad picture, blurry, and I was frowning. In the corner, there was a picture of Lottie in her wedding dress.
I flipped through the slides, finding the story. There were even more pictures, current ones, taken at Crowne Hall. I blinked, stunned, when I saw ones taken of Grayson and me in the kitchen right before I went to the hospital.
The servants.
I used to wonder what it would be like to be them, the women dressed in white, to be seen. It turns out I am no less a ghost. I’m talked about. I’m on every search engine. But no one sees me. If anything…I’m more ghostly now.
Story Hale.
Everyone has a conclusion about me but no one knows me.
I found West’s eyes in dismay. “I thought the plan was to get out ahead of it?”
“These aren’t my publications. You’re my wife, Story. I wouldn’t let them print that.” He closed the website and went to a du Lac publication.
The Real Fairy Tale of the Cinderella of Crowne Hall
“In a few weeks, no one will remember this.”
“A few weeks,” I repeated.
He smiled at me, then stood up. “You have a date with the Crowne women today. That’s all anyone will talk about.”
It was starting to feel like quicksand. The harder I fought to get out of this world, the deeper I sank.
GRAY
* * *
My grandfather was standing by the window when I came in, and that should have been my first warning that something was off.
When he heard me, he didn’t turn around to speak.
“I’m surprised you even came in today. I guess I…misunderstood your level of affection for her.”
At the mention of Story, my muscles tightened, but I played it cool. I came to his side, putting my foot up against the window he had someone wash twice daily.
“Or maybe you haven’t heard?” He tilted his head, one peppered brow raised at his desk. The grandfather clock in his office timed the seconds of our chess match in a slow, burning tick-tock.
Eventually, after the minute hand ticked for a second time, I got off the window and went to see what the hell had him looking like a cat with a canary.
The STORY of How the Slutty Stepsister Stole Cinderella’s Spot.
What the hell had Snitch gotten herself into that she was already on the cover of some magazine, and how the fuck had I missed it? I got all the papers delivered before they released.
I pushed the magazine along Grandpa’s glossy desk, swallowing my rage.
This wasn’t a hit piece.
It was an assassination.
“Are you wondering how you missed it?” Grandpa asked coolly.
I dragged my thumb across the top of my bottom teeth, refusing to answer. By my grandfather’s slow smile, I could tell my mask had slipped a little.
Fuck.
“You couldn’t bargain your secrets this time, Grayson. It’s a new print. A du Lac and Crowne joint venture.”
Du Lac and Crowne joint propaganda.
“We had a deal.” I ran my finger across the ink before slowly lifting my eyes to his. “Are you trying to start a war?”
“You’re smarter than this, Grayson.” He exhaled. “Let me spell it out for you: she’s a liability. To us, to the du Lacs. It isn’t just a throne on the line; it’s a fucking kingdom. Neither of us plan to lose it over Helen of Troy.”
“You fucked up, Grandpa. I probably would have lived my entire life as your puppet if you’d left her alone.”
“We used to be kings, Grayson, but do you know what my father left me? A tourist trap and a whore to look after. Do you know what your father left you? Debt, another whore, and three bastards. I spent my life rebuilding our kingdom, spent years grooming you to be a king. Years wasted because of another fucking whore. We’re owed a dynasty. Our names should be written in stone.”
I headed for the door. Somewhere, Snitch was having tea with the du Lacs. After this kind of article, she would not be safe. My muscles ached with tension to go to her.
“You have no idea what I gave up for your spoiled asses,” he said. “So you could live pampered. Protected. You don’t think I’ve loved? You don’t know how quickly you can lose it all.”
“Yeah,” I gritted, turning around. “I do.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I know a bluff when I see it. You’ll never let that little piece of paper see the light. You’ve lived like royalty your entire life.”
I worked my jaw as rage rose hot up my spine. “Maybe.”
“We’re close, you know. I’ve enjoyed working with you, Grayson. We don’t have to be at odds. That girl will be what she was always meant to be: expendable. There is nothing you can do to stop it. Do you want to be the playboy virgin prince for the rest of your life, or do you want to join me? Do you want to rule?”
Thirty-Eight
STORY
* * *
At least thirty Crowne women sat at tables all around the elegant tearoom. Servants circled us like sharks. Whenever a scone was eaten, another one magically appeared, and there was never a dirty plate.
Outside, a mob had formed. I couldn’t see their signs, but the mob was big enough that the street had been blocked, and dividers had been put up to keep the crowd sectioned off.
“No vintage Chanel today,” Tansy remarked.
“Your outfit is lovely,” Mrs. du Lac said. “Is it new?”
Their comments drew me away from the window, and I fingered the hem of my brown jacket. Beneath it I’d worn the camel dress I’d picked out for me, some kind of flimsy armor against this day.
“Yes, Mrs.—” I cut myself off. It was still so hard to get used to looking everyone in the eyes and calling them by their names.
A plate of fluffy minicakes in pastel of greens and pinks and blues, dotted with candy pearls, were stacked in the middle of the table in tiers. And I wanted to vomit. I was starting to get “morning” sickness just about any time of the day.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Tansy asked.
For a moment, I thought I’d stumbled into an alternate universe where someone gave a shit about me.
But they were talking to Lottie, who stared at the cakes with a green look on her face.
She swallowed and lifted her warm eyes. “Fine, I was just wondering if I smelled lemon.”
“Lemon?” Mrs. du Lac practically tore the paint off with her voice. “There better not be any lemon in these.”
The cakes were swept off the table as quickly as they came, to be replaced with something chocolate. Chocolate I could do. Chocolate smelled divine.
The trill of tinkling porcelain and soft laughter became our melody. It didn’t matter I was drinking tea with them. I was surrounded by women who wouldn’t hesitate to ask me to warm theirs. Mrs. du Lac, Tansy, Gemma, Lottie, and Lottie’s friends, Aundi and Pipa.
Though Josephine St. Germaine sat next to Tansy, Tansy made no motions to include her in the conversation. Josephine may as well have been eating at a separate table. I realized, I hadn’t seen her children yet. Her triplets should have joined her for the holidays by now.
My eyes connected with her jewel-toned ones. I think I was the first one all day to acknowledge her presence. She smiled softly and I smiled back.
“Story.” Tansy’s voice cut me out of the moment. “You remind me a lot of your uncle.” I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be an insult—you never could with Tansy. “Not so fond to put him in the family plot, but then promises must be kept.”
I choked on my tea and it burned my throat.
Maybe Tansy meant it as a jab, to hurt me, remind me her son had thrown me away. But it had done the opposite. I grasped the table, vertigo assaulting me.
That was why he’d promised never to talk to me?
For my uncle. For me.
The conversation continued around me as our tea wa
s refilled, our macaroons and chocolates replaced, and I heard nothing. Not until Aundi.
“I don’t care what that article said,” she whispered, her laugh low enough that Tansy couldn’t hear. “He will always be Playboy Gray.”
“Right?” Pipa whispered. “Anyone who knows him knows that was a fucking joke. He’s Grayson Crowne. The only thing he cares about is his cock.”
“He feels the most,” I blurted. “Grayson Crowne feels the most out of everyone.” I realized too late I’d spoken too loud when the room fell to a hush.
Shit.
The only one who didn’t glare was Gemma.
“So, Story,” Aundi said, voice saccharine. “I wonder, now that you have such a romantic history with West, if you’ll remember the cute bet he and I had? Do you remember anything about that?”
They watched me with twinkling eyes.
I clenched my tea to keep from shaking.
“Pipa and I were just wondering if it had anything to do with your marriage.”
“Actually,” I said, voice raspier than I’d hoped. “I don’t really think about you at all, Aundi.”
Her smile dropped, the vicious glare she’d been hiding now front and center. My heart hammered, and I was two seconds away from dropping my tea to the floor. I set it down, stood, and made some excuse about needing the bathroom.
I’d already gone three times, but whatever.
I wandered around the tea house for a good thirty minutes, needing air.
For a few moments, I just stood in front of the window. I pressed fingers to the cool glass, staring outside, picturing flakes falling along the private beach. It would snow soon…I could feel it.
I could make out some of the signs from the window. It looked like they said Cinderella, and my gut dropped.
I quickly turned to go back to the table.
I live in one of the most beautiful lies in the world. Crowne Point is so small, you can walk from one side to the other, and yet it has the most wealth per capita of any city in the world, and the biggest wealth disparities.
Oh, and everyone here who is wealthy got that wealth from the Crownes.
You get used to growing up in the sphere of royalty they cultivated, because that’s how they wanted it. You forget it’s not normal, the twenty-first-century noblesse oblige. They plant fairy tales in your head while you shine their shoes—
“He told the world he was a virgin.” Lottie’s voice stopped me short. “I know he did. For her. What if he’d gotten wind of today’s story? What secrets would he have told then?”
Grayson spilled his own secret? For me? Why?
I placed my hand against a lavender wall, knowing I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but unable to stop.
“But everyone thinks he lost it with you, sweet pea. You have a rich husband,” Mrs. du Lac responded. “You have the rich husband, Charlotte. Cheating is a part of it. Your children will become like him. They will take. They will be owed.”
Cheating.
I stumbled back. Hearing it from her lips made it real. I’d done so much to not be the person my mother raised me to be. Instead I’d become someone who cheated on two people instead of just one.
Quicksand.
Sinking deeper and deeper.
I had to get out of here. What the fuck was I doing? I pushed to the front of the restaurant, until I was outside in the wet cold, salty bitter wind blowing against my cheeks.
“It’s her!”
I lifted my head at the shout. Outside the tearoom, people shook homemade signs, faces twisted in vicious sneers. Now that I was closer, I could read their signs.
Team Lottie
Stepsister Slut
On the other side, the signs read differently.
We love you, Cinderella!
Sides? People were picking sides?
“It’s definitely her! Stepsister Slut!” They jeered at me.
I stumbled back, tripping on my heels as a tomato flew through the air, hitting me in the face. I wiped the sticky wetness out of my eyes, surprised at the throbbing that followed.
Glass.
They’d shoved glass inside the tomato.
Then the crowd broke through, rushing toward me.
Thirty-Nine
STORY
* * *
My ankle hurt, but I could probably walk on it. The problem was the sea of rabid fans between me and the street. They’d divided and conquered the narrow shop into factions, with one small strip of no man’s land between them. I’d managed to hide from them, but then my phone rang at the worst possible time.
“Where are you?” Grayson’s gruff voice demanded. “Ping me your location.”
“I can’t talk,” I whispered.
“Where are you?” His deep growl stopped any rebuttal I had.
“I’m…” I looked around. “By the tearoom, but hidden between the bookstore and the garbage.”
“Stay there and ping me your location.”
He hung up, and I prayed no one had heard.
I should have hired guards.
I should have asked West to hire guards.
I never imagined I would be someone worth attacking.
But it was a fucking bloodbath. I’d already witnessed four fights break out between different factions, and a few others between those who were supposed to be on the same side.
There were at least two hundred girls. Some of them were clearly Team Lottie, some were on my side, and most simply hated anyone who had the balls to claim Grayson Crowne.
Then there was a shout.
“It’s Grayson Crowne!”
I looked up and saw him, walking like the untouchable god he was, down the narrow strip dividing the factions, toward me.
The crowd grew wilder, thirstier.
“Team Lottie!” they called.
“Grayson!” hundreds called.
He looked like a movie star in his dark suit, his tie undone. A rock star. A god.
When they finally saw whom he was coming toward, the warmth vanished. He didn’t care, eyes locked on me. Even as the crowd turned violent and they surged toward him.
He got to me, bending down, just as the crowd surged. Plainclothes bodyguards appeared, creating a shield around us.
“Are you okay?” Grayson asked, unperturbed by the girls screaming inches away, only blocked by a wall of muscled bodyguards.
She’s a liar.
A cheater.
Team Lottie!
“Grayson, everyone can see—” He cut me off, lifted my chin, ignoring the calls of the crowd. So soft and gentle, examining the cut beneath my eye where the glass had hit.
Though his bodyguards bulwarked us, we were literally dividing the mob on either side. Girls screamed and pushed. Their hands and signs were like rolling tidal waves threatening to break through.
“Are you, Snitch?” His voice was so soft. “Okay?”
Our eyes locked and the madness faded away, the cries of Team Lottie disappeared. He licked his thumb, cleaning away the blood on my lip and beneath my nose.
My heart pounded.
This wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. Gray Crowne was not someone my heart could pound for.
His thumb lingered. Pulling at it, pulling down my lip to expose my bottom teeth. That ache. That tingle, that ripping at my heart. That uniquely Gray feeling. The one that shouldn’t but did.
“Answer me, Snitch.”
Why. Why do you care?
“Yes.” Voice soft. “My ankle hurts, but other than that I’m fine.”
His eyes narrowed, and his thumb kept rubbing.
“Please just let me go. Everyone is watching. Did you see the papers? They’re going to write even more stories—”
“I can’t.”
Pain, anger, anguish, as if he physically couldn’t. It was enough to seize my words, my breath, as I stared into his eyes.
At that moment, someone chucked a wooden sign over the fortress of bodyguards. As it was about to hit my head, Grayson’s other h
and shot out, fingers still grasping my chin, and caught it.
His sweet eyes turned feral.
He tossed the sign to the ground so hard the wooden handle snapped. Then he stood up, turned around, and bent down.
“Get on my back.”
“Everyone can see—”
“Get on my fucking back, Snitch.” It was a growl, a command.
Reluctantly, I climbed on as everyone took pictures.
Forty
STORY
* * *
“How is your ankle?” he asked after moments of silence.
“Fine. You can let me down now. At this rate, you’ll carry me all the way home.”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“No…”
“Then shut up.”
Grayson rubbed his thumb in circles on my thigh as he walked us home. It was such an absent touch, I’m not sure he realized he was doing it.
“Grayson.”
“Hmm.”
“Why did you promise your mother you wouldn’t speak to me?” He tensed but kept walking in silence.
“I want to hate you,” I whispered. “I’m trying really hard. Why are you making it so hard?”
After another ten minutes, I put my head on his shoulder—to avoid strain, I told myself. Not because I missed him, because Grayson’s shoulder was warm and smelled of home. The sun was setting and the air seemed pregnant with snow, but still it wouldn’t fall.
“I’m not even your wife,” I wondered aloud. “I’m married to someone else. Why do they care so much?”
“You might not be my wife, Snitch, but you’ll always be mine. They see that.”
My breath hitched, and for the rest of the way back, I didn’t say a word.
We arrived at Crowne Hall, and Grayson took us through the gates, but he didn’t go inside, and he didn’t let me down. We went around the Hall, to the beach.
“Grayson,” I said quietly, softly, not wanting to break this spell. “You carried me all the way to your beach, Grayson.”
“I guess I did,” he said. Still, he didn’t put me down.
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