“Of course,” Grayson gritted.
Lynette’s stare lingered on me a moment longer, then she left.
We let out a collective breath.
“Good job, Crowne,” West gritted. “It’s barely day one and she’s already suspicious.”
Grayson held my hand, helping me off the floor. West reached for my other to do the same, but Grayson blocked him.
West folded his arms, eyeing us. “We have to announce it’s my baby.”
Grayson laughed, bitter and biting. “Fuck off. And Call of Duty is shit.”
“She’s suspicious, she’s been suspicious, they all are. You know it.”
I wish his words came as a surprise, but all they did was fan the flames inside me. The doubt. The creeping certainty that everyone around me knew more than I did.
I covered my stomach with my hand, as if that would protect my little Meyer lemon.
“They are?”
Grayson looked away.
“You knew?”
“I suspected,” he gritted. “I saw what I thought was Lynette try to trip you. My grandfather…my mother…they’ve said a lot of cryptic, fucked-up shit. I didn’t know for certain. We still don’t know for certain.” Grayson’s glare slashed to West.
West rolled his eyes.
“For how long?”
“Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving.”
The room was spinning.
I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t realize they’d sat me down, until I was looking up into two sets of serious eyes.
“Everyone has known? Has…has fucking known since Thanksgiving? And you didn’t tell me?”
“We weren’t exactly on speaking terms, Story. Then it all spiraled out of control very quickly. Why do you think I wanted to get you the fuck out of here?”
I was so in over my head.
“Lynette tried to trip me?” I lifted my head, his words finally registering through the fog.
Thanksgiving came back in flashes. Grayson running up the steps and grabbing me, me pushing him away, angry that he’d had the audacity because I didn’t understand. I thought it was about him viewing me as his.
And I didn’t give him a chance to explain.
“Your grandfather?”
“Has never been so obvious but…” He and West shared a look. “I think he knows. It would be foolish at this point to assume otherwise.”
“So then does Lottie know? All this time has she fucking known?”
“She’s probably the only one who doesn’t know at this point,” West said under breath. A moment later, I heard him stumble—shoved.
I hugged my stomach harder.
Grayson got to his knees, pulling my hands into his. “Story—”
Grayson broke off as his phone went off. His jaw tensed, clearly wanting to ignore it, but we knew what would happen if he did.
He’d been caught outside the gates by Lynette.
“You have to go,” I said miserably. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Story, look at me.”
I did, as his phone continued to ring and ring. “Neruda.”
Tears burned the corners of my eyes. “Neruda,” I whispered.
Grayson’s jaw clenched, his eyes burned, but slowly he stood. He paused before West, and some kind of wordless communication passed between them. West rolled his eyes and exhale, then, without another word, followed Gray out of the room. The doors shut behind them.
Twenty-Seven
GRAY
When I got back to my wing, Lottie was on the ground, white as a sheet. I rushed to her, but she waved me off.
“I’m fine.” She struggled to stand and despite what she’d said, I helped her to my couch.
“You need to tell me these things.”
As I said it, I felt like sludge.
Have you helped Lottie?
No, I hadn’t.
“Why are you here?” Lottie asked.
“This is my wing.”
“You snuck out last night. I thought you would go be with Story.” No emotion. Nothing.
I dragged two hands through my hair. “I should be taking you to the doctor. I want…” I worked my jaw. “I want to help you through this.”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry I came into your wing. It…” She took a breath, struggling to talk as she got to her feet. “It won’t happen again. I was trying to find a charger.”
Sweat beaded her brow.
I could barely stand to look at her.
I hate her for what she did to me.
And I hate her for what she’s made me.
“You can come into my wing. I owe you this much at least.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” The wrinkle in her brow deepened.
“You weren’t at dinner,” I said.
The only reason it bothered me was because it had brought undue attention on me.
“I…” Lottie swallowed, tugging at the sleeves of her dress. “My dress ripped. I had to find a new one…and I couldn’t in time.”
“You should have fucking told me. I’m—” I broke off.
What? The father of her child? The one planning to leave her and her child forever.
We sat in sticky silence.
“Why are you still standing?” I snapped. “Are you trying to kill the baby?” I went to her, holding her elbow as I carried her to her side of the wing.
Her face collapsed; I could physically see every muscle cave in. “Lottie, I’m—”
But all she said was a soft, “Right. You’re right.”
I led Lottie to her bed, and said no other word as I moved to leave her.
When I was with Story, I felt hope. Hope that we could get out of this gilded cage. When I was with Lottie, I felt hopeless.
“Grayson, I need to talk to you. I have to tell you something. I…” She bit her manicured thumb.
“Okay,” I promised, turning away from her. “Later.”
I was at the door when her voice stopped me. “She was murdered, wasn’t she?”
A lone seagull that hadn’t flown away for winter cawed outside somewhere in the blustery white.
“Josephine,” Lottie pressed. “She was murdered? I heard what happened. What’s going on, Grayson? Why do I feel like I’m the only one not in on the joke?”
I rubbed my forehead, turning back around to face Lottie. Whatever happened between us, she at least deserved to know the truth about this.
“We can talk to my mom,” Lottie said. “She’ll help us. I know she will.”
But then she went and said shit like that.
“Your mother?” I took a step to her. “What has your mother helped you with, Lottie?”
She flinched, hand covering her stomach. “They’re doing it for us. For our protection. This baby will unite our two families.” She spoke robotically.
There was a time when I thought Lottie was the purest soul on the planet, and now I didn’t know what the fuck she was.
“Your mother is one-fourth of the reason we’re here. If you think she doesn’t know Josephine was murdered, you’re not naive, you’re fucking stupid.”
Her lips parted.
“Shit, Lottie. I’m sorry—”
She put up a hand, her throat bobbing with tears, before spinning into her sheets and covering her face in the comforter.
I watched her a moment, then shut the door behind me.
STORY
My eggshell dress felt wrong, the morning late December light too sweet. Josephine wasn’t even twenty-four hours dead and paparazzi and glitterati had once again descended on Crowne Hall. It was almost as if everyone was celebrating the fact.
Everyone would soon forget Story Hale…
I determined to remember Josephine.
We hadn’t really discussed what this truce meant for all of us. For now, I guess it meant I am a voyeur. I watched West talk to men I don’t know. I watched Grayson, first taking photos with Lottie, and now with his mother. She
said something to him that made him frown and I wanted to know what.
I tried not to spiral into fear, surrounded by monsters who knew my secrets.
“Grayson hasn’t said anything to me about…you know…” I startled at Lottie’s voice. She sidled up next to me, her palm resting on her rounded stomach. “I know you don’t owe me anything. So, thank you.”
I wanted to ask how she was doing, but I couldn’t. So I stood next to her in silence, as a party for her and Grayson’s upcoming child carried on around us.
“Women in my station don’t kill ourselves. We have tragic accidents or weak hearts. My grandmother had a weak heart…my aunt had a tragic accident…” She sighed.
I knew I shouldn’t say anything. Lottie was one of the last people I should keep risking my neck around, but she looked and sounded broken. She’d completely given up the pretense of fake smiling.
“Do you know the size of your baby?” I asked.
While I like to think of my baby as a little lemon, it’s probably the size of an avocado. Which means Lottie’s is probably the same, too.
She arched a brow. “You’re not supposed to talk unless I give you permission.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head, looking so small and childlike with her big, brown eyes.
“It’s probably the size of an avocado,” I said.
She tapped her fingers on her stomach, pensive. “My mother hates avocados.”
Her eyes traveled across the room, where Lynette was in an avid conversation. Lynette, who had apparently tried to trip me. Tried to kill my little lemon.
They all knew my secrets.
All of them.
I glanced at Lottie.
She’s probably the only one who doesn’t know at this point.
West was across the hall, talking to someone whose combover looked blown over.
“He didn’t used to be this way…my brother.” Lottie was watching me, followed my gaze to West. “He used to be my nice, protective older brother. One time, some boys were picking on me at a party and he tracked them all down and made them apologize.” She sighed wistfully. “Something happened when he was a teenager. We were visiting Crowne Hall and he was so happy, and then he came back and he was different. Changed. Like my father.”
She shook her head. “Maybe we’re all part of a compass, destined to be together and at odds.”
Maybe.
I think there was something between all four of us. Wrong and twisted, our pain had grown together where love should have been.
“Lottie!” Aundi called her friend, and with a small smile, Lottie left me.
With Lottie gone, the room shrunk. On one side, Lynette laughed with reporters. I spun to another side and found Arthur, the man who hadn’t stopped looking at me like I was his property since I’d arrived back at Crowne Hall.
I spun again and again and again.
The room was a blur of vicious motive.
The only person I hadn’t seen was Beryl, and that just made me more nervous, like I’d wander off alone and stumble into him.
Hello, Story.
They all know my secrets.
I couldn’t breathe.
An arm intertwined with mine just as I felt like I was going to faint.
“Walk,” West commanded.
“I can’t breathe.”
Ignoring me, West led me out of the ballroom and into the sunroom. Grayson was waiting like a knight. Stoic and stalwart, concern etched in his brow. When I saw him, I unhinged from West.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was hard, accusatory—of West.
“What am I supposed to do with this fear?” I demand. “They’re all around me and I can’t do anything. I can’t accuse anyone. I can’t—” I broke off on a breath, falling to the chaise.
Tansy’s chaise.
No one ever sat on Tansy’s chaise and another rack of fear hits me.
“What do I do with this living, breathing fear inside of me?”
Grayson was the picture of calm. He lowered himself to one knee easily in front of me, so we were eye to eye, and pulled my hands into his.
“You have me watching your back. Always. Every second. You’re not alone. And.” He swallowed, muscle in his jaw feathering. “When I’m not there, West is watching too.”
Grayson gritted those final words like they burned coming out.
“But how do I smile at Lynette?” I plead. “How do I hold my drink without shaking when your grandfather is around?”
Grayson pushed the hair out of my eyes, his own softening.
“Stop looking at their shadows,” West said.
I looked outside of Grayson, to West. He stood above us, arms folded. For a rare moment, there was no mocking glint in his warm brown eyes. He was serious, concerned.
It was a little off-putting.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“My mother is just a person. She has fears and hopes, and she acts according to them. My father…” West exhaled, working his jaw to the side. “Is disgustingly simple.” West bent on the soles of his feet, meeting my eyes. “They aren’t all powerful dragons; they are weak and scared because you are a threat.”
Surprisingly, West’s advice helped. It was like these four, all-powerful beings suddenly shrunk down to normal size.
And I could breathe.
“You won’t have to worry about your drink shaking for some time,” Grayson said after a moment. “My grandfather is gone.”
“Gone?”
“In Switzerland. He always leaves after the Holidays…” Grayson trailed off.
I knew that.
Everyone knew that.
Beryl Crowne was only in Crowne Point for the Holidays, the Swan Swell, and major events such as weddings and funerals. Any other time you saw him here…Pray.
Yet.
It didn’t seem right. Too easy.
I remembered the conversation I saw Gray have with his mother, the worried look in his eyes.
“So is this good news?” I asked.
Grayson smiled tightly. “Yeah. Good news.”
Twenty-Eight
STORY
Is a secret the same thing as a lie? With Grayson and West working together, I don’t have to hide the phone Grayson gave me, and I can text Grayson freely.
And I do.
But I still haven’t told him about my letters. Why don’t I tell him about the letters? What is wrong with me? It was on the tip of my tongue, to tell him yesterday, but I just stopped. I imagined him reading what I wrote and I got scared.
Stupid, and foolish, and scared.
The sound of porcelain shattering drew me from my thoughts. At first I thought I’d imagined it, then another crash sounded, followed by a plaintive, “Please, sir.”
I bolted up. It sounded like it was just outside my room. I pulled open my double doors, again met with the wall of guards.
“Please!”
Through the sliver of their muscled bodies, I saw Arthur du Lac on top of a Crowne servant. I looked at the guards, their stone faces staring at me.
They weren’t going to do anything?
But then of course not, the kinds of guards hired to keep girls locked inside towers weren’t exactly chivalrous knights.
I worked my jaw, pretending as if I was going to shut the doors…then bolted. I lifted my heavy, velvet train and rushed through the little sliver, aiming for Arthur. The guards yelled. They tugged on the fur hem. I heard a rip, the plush fur barely slipping through one of their meaty hands.
Their heavy footfalls slammed at my back. I only had seconds.
I shoved Arthur and he fell, hitting his head on the white marble fireplace. I got too much satisfaction from that.
Then Dumb and Dumber snatched me.
The moments that followed were like stiff ice cracking along a frozen lake. The servant frozen where Arthur had left her, Arthur on the ground, and me, imprisoned between two oafs.
“Go!” I yelled
at her.
She quickly scrambled up and ran, pausing once in the doorway to stare at me with wide eyes, before disappearing out of the room.
It was useless, but I wrestled in my hold as Mr. du Lac got to his feet, coming to me. A trickle of blood fell from his dark hairline. There was no room in my chest for fear, it was filled with too much vicious hate.
How many women had Arthur du Lac assaulted?
Arthur reached for me—
“Dad?”
He stopped at his son’s voice.
Behind him, West had come into the room. He looked between me and his father, gaze traveling to the hold the guards had on me, the blood trickling from his father’s forehead. I waited for West to dole out some kind of sick punishment.
West’s eyes lingered on me, before landing on his father. “Mom needs you downstairs.”
“Of course,” he replied, still staring at me.
Arthur eyed me up and down, the same look in his eyes as the night he’d assaulted me in Asheville, but there was something else in there now too.
Darker.
Like he’d won.
Then, with a pat on his son’s shoulder, he left.
West gave the two brutes behind me a look, and they dropped me. I fell forward as one of them said behind me, “She bolted, sir.”
I could feel their annoyance.
West was unamused. “Is the small woman too much for both of you to handle? Do you need a third, or maybe a forth? Why not ten?”
“You’ll need at least two, but I want you to have ten.”
“Ten,” I gasped. “I’m not some princess.”
“That was my low number.”
I swallowed a gasp at the sudden, sharp pain any memory of Grayson seemed to elicit. I held my stomach, riding the wave. When I came out of it, the guards were gone, and West was watching me intently.
I blinked, feeling caught. “What?”
“What did I say about being alone with my parents?”
“Believe me,” I gritted. “It wasn’t really a choice.”
His eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
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