Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point Book 4)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

My gaze shifted back to Story. She watched me with wide, walnut eyes from beneath pale pink cherry blossoms. Her eyes landed on the sucker stem in my lips, and she shifted, swallowing.

  I grinned.

  My mother patted me on the shoulder. “You know you really are becoming a lot like your father.”

  I paused. There it was, the manipulation I knew so well. I was starting to think my mother had hit her head or something.

  “Around the eyes, of course. You’ve always had your father’s eyes.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  My mother left me to join a conversation with some woman with a permanent frown. Story had looked away, lip tucked between her teeth.

  The breeze kicked up, and pearly pink petals swirled in the salty air. Snitch laughed, smiling as the petals brushed her cheeks and swirled around her curls. I realized it had been too fucking long since I’d seen her laugh. And damn, it was almost like fate designed that moment for her.

  “You ever wonder how you can switch between my sister’s villain and her hero so easily?” West asked, sidling up next to me, pushing a cherry blossom branch out of the way. “What made you so lucky?”

  He was goading me.

  Baiting.

  I eyed him. Worse than the West who constantly held Story at his side and shoved it in my face, was this one, the man who felt comfortable enough to let her wander the garden or leave her alone with me in the morning.

  He thinks he’s won.

  Every night, I lay in bed and picture ripping her out of West’s bed by her fucking hair. But I knew she would take scissors and cut the locks.

  There was a showdown waiting between West and me. The only reason I hadn’t broken his face yet, was for Snitch.

  He tilted his head, like he could read the words in my head.

  “Brother.” At Lottie’s voice, we both turned. She was close to having the baby—our baby—so like Story, all her dresses flowed like water.

  West’s brow furrowed. “You should be sitting.”

  She raised her hands. “What do you want me to say? Mom told me to come get you. Apparently she needs help inside.”

  He exhaled. “Fine.”

  She watched him walk away. “My mother doesn’t need him. She went to the restroom to drink something harder than wine. She’s been weird all day…mad about something in the papers.” Lottie slowly turned toward me. “Anyway, he’ll be gone for at least thirty minutes.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  She tilted her head. “Did you want to keep talking to him?”

  I still don’t know what to do with Lottie. I don’t think she was like her mother or father. As the months progressed, we hadn’t become friends, but neither had we become enemies. We existed in a space of nothingness.

  “You really should be sitting.” I wrapped an arm around Lottie, steering her from underneath the silky petals and vultures.

  Oh, they make such a perfect couple.

  Lottie said nothing as I moved her in the direction I chose. I placed Lottie on the chaise and she smiled wispily.

  “Thank you.”

  As I stared at Lottie, a plan started to form in my mind—a way to help Snitch.

  “Will you pretend to faint?” I asked.

  “When?”

  I rubbed my forehead. How long would it take to pull this off? “Thirty minutes?”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  Just like that, she didn’t even question it. Lottie stared at the lemony chiffon sun, a blank look in her eyes. I think this is the part where I was supposed to ask her if she was okay.

  To check in, be better, not be her fucking villain.

  Instead, I left her, to play the hero.

  About fifteen minutes later, I wove through my mother’s garden to where I’d last seen Story, petals falling like fragrant snowflakes. It was an off-path section of the garden, hidden from view beneath the blossoms.

  Story lifted her head, startled, but when she saw it was me, every muscle relaxed.

  Fuck, just that reaction to me twisted me up inside.

  I reached into my back pocket and handed her a wrinkled, official-looking envelope. “I managed to grab this before my mother saw it.”

  She stared at the silky envelope, eyes wide and drowning in emotion. In hope.

  “It’s from your uncle’s lawyer.”

  She nodded.

  I looked across the garden, to where Lottie was standing surrounded by reporters. “I have a plan to get you out of here. There’s a car waiting, in just a few more minutes there will be a distraction.”

  She kept nodding, staring at the envelope.

  “What’s wrong?” I demanded. “Why are you so quiet?”

  She paused, realizing the ugly, barbed truth. “I…down here, I’m getting used to not speaking until given permission.”

  I clenched my fist, trying to rein it in. “And you’re still going to sleep in his fucking bed tonight?”

  At that, she tore her gaze from the letter. “Somebody has to fight for this. Fight for us.”

  “I am!” I screamed, then lowered my voice as some people looked through the trees, searching for the source of the noise.

  I gripped her bicep, pulling her deeper into the blossoms. “If I wasn’t fighting for us, I would have used my coins already and shipped you the fuck out of this world, Story. I want happily ever after. I want you in my bed. I want you with me. But I’m not going to apologize for having a contingency plan.”

  She inhaled, and breathed out her nostrils. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just…I can’t.” Tears filled her eyes and she swiped them away. “I don’t even like imagining a world where we’re not together, much less living in one. I’d rather be—”

  I wrapped one arm around her shoulders and thrust her to my chest, muffling her words.

  “Don’t fucking say it.”

  We stayed like that for far too short. There was a time limit on this moment, after all. Like all our moments together.

  Slowly I pulled back, brushing aside stray tears from her cheeks.

  “You’re being nice to me,” she said softly.

  The happiness in her eyes broke me.

  It fucking hurt. Every day. I didn’t know how to deal with it. With the terror and helplessness and fucking pain of her being in someone else’s bed. Worse…was knowing she was right. For now, this was the only option.

  I thumbed her bottom lip. “I’ve been too hard on my little wife.”

  She shook her head. “You haven’t been hard enough. I can’t imagine what this is doing to you.” A breeze fluttered more blossoms, and she smiled weakly. “I missed you calling me little wife. I hate fighting with you. When this is over, I don’t ever want to fight again.”

  “I don’t think that’s realistic, Snitch. You hog the bed and kick in your sleep.”

  Her lips parted. “No, I don’t—” she broke off. “Jokes?”

  I pressed my forehead to hers. “Jokes.”

  She exhaled long and slow against my lips. “I’ve been thinking really hard about what you said that morning in February.”

  “I was too rough—”

  “You wanted a secret,” she interrupted. “Do you remember the first time we came out here? All four of us. You told me not to smile like them.”

  Don’t ever smile when you’re sad. Promise?

  I’d snuck away to smoke a joint, because fuck. That day had pulverized my heart into dust.

  “Yeah,” I breathed. “I remember.”

  “I was the biggest liar that day, Grayson. To Lottie, the reporter, to myself, to you.” She licked her lips. “You want a secret? You were inches away from me, but I missed you like you’d burned a cigarette hole in my heart. I always miss you. I would do anything for you, Grayson. Go anywhere for you. Be anyone. I’m powerless to you.”

  “Powerless?” I groaned. Fuck, I don’t know why it fucked me so bad hearing her say those words. Maybe because I was powerless, too. Achingly, distractingly, devastatingly,
and tragically powerless to her.

  “I’ve been powerless to you. I only did this because I wanted to give you everything, the way you’ve given me everything.”

  I closed my eyes, reining it in. “You’re the reason I have anything.”

  “We can’t let Gemma marry West. Grayson…” she trailed off. “If leaving them destitute would have left you miserable, then what would leaving your sister with a monster do?”

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet? You come first. You always come first. I don’t care if this entire house is about to collapse and you need a fucking Twinkie. I’m getting you that fucking Twinkie, Snitch.”

  She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Haven’t you figured it out, Grayson? I don’t care if you need my entire bloody and beating heart just to walk a little farther. I’ll give it, so you can be happy.”

  We stared at each other as the petals fell around us.

  “I promised Woodsy you wouldn’t disappear, Snitch. On his deathbed, I promised him. You’re already disappearing.”

  “Do you think I would do this if I felt he was a danger to me, or to the baby?”

  I pushed a curl out of her face, dragging my knuckles along her cheek so she knew my next words weren’t intended to be hurtful.

  “I don’t think you see him clearly at all, Story. He’s the villain in your story but you want to write him as the hero. That’s what makes him so dangerous.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she pulled back slightly, mouth opening to speak when a scream broke off whatever she was about to say.

  “Oh my God! Lottie!”

  “Where is the on-call doctor?”

  As planned, across the garden, Lottie had fallen, and everyone ran to see if she was okay. No one would pay attention to Snitch.

  It was like ripping off skin, but I stepped away from her.

  “There’s a black car waiting for you. Do not get into a Crowne car or a du Lac car. I’ve hired this one specifically for you.”

  Story’s eyes burned with our unfinished conversation. “But, Grayson—”

  “Go,” I said, turning to Lottie. “They won’t stay distracted forever.”

  Forty-Two

  STORY

  I met my uncle’s lawyer at a small office on Main Street. He had a bunch of papers stacked high on his small desk and looked out of sorts. So much had happened since my uncle’s death, I’d completely forgotten about his estate.

  Maybe he’d have answers.

  “Sorry for the delay,” he said, shuffling through the stack of papers. “Here we go…” He pulled a paper from the stack. “As I said, an estate of this size takes time to get in order. I’m not used to handling something of this magnitude. Luckily it was very cut and dry. Mr. Hale really only had one stipulation: you get all of the money.”

  My brow creased. “All? How much did he have? A couple thousand?”

  “Sixty million dollars.”

  “Million?” I fell back into my chair. “What? How…”

  “He did have one rather odd stipulation…” he trailed off, brow furrowing. “Even now, I don’t understand it, but he said you would.”

  I nodded slowly, not really listening.

  Sixty. Million.

  How did Woodsen Hale, the Crownes’ longest working servant, secretly have millions of dollars?

  No sooner did the question present itself, than I answered it. There was only one person who loved my uncle as much as I did. The one thorny boy who pretended nothing mattered, while giving everything he had.

  Tears peppered my lids.

  “Miss Hale?” My uncle’s attorney stared at me. “Did you hear me?”

  I cleared my throat, coming back to the present. “No, sorry.”

  “As I was saying, he stipulated you must go to Scotland before the funds are to be released.”

  I opened and closed my mouth. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  I rubbed my forehead. Why? Then like a lightbulb went off in my head, I saw a possibility. Could it be the coin?

  My uncle’s lawyer shrugged. “It isn’t the oddest request I’ve seen—”

  “Did he say where in Scotland?” I cut him off, leaning across the table. Eager.

  “Mmm…” He checked the papers. “No.”

  “I’ve already gone to Scotland this year,” I said.

  “Oh, well!” He clapped his hands together, like that settled it.

  I sunk deeper into the chair. “My uncle really didn’t tell me where?”

  “He left you a letter.” He reached into his pile of papers, and pulled out a wax-sealed envelope. “If there are instructions in there, I don’t know. It wasn’t for me to read.”

  I was a little afraid to read it in front of him. I didn’t want to cry in front of a stranger. But my thumb glanced the waxy seal, opening the envelope to reveal an ivory letter.

  My dear Storybook,

  By now you’ve left Crowne Hall. I hope you’ve found what I left you, I hope your wish came true, whatever you chose.

  If you’re ever lost, find Josephine.

  If you can’t find her, then remember, I always loved your poetry, Story.

  Missing me one place…

  I lifted my head. “This is it?”

  “I thought the sixty million would have sufficed,” he said dryly.

  After he explained all I had to do was prove I’d been to Scotland—a ticket, a photo, something—I left, using the little time I had to myself to wander.

  It felt like everyone was watching me as I walked down Main Street. I shook off the feeling, tugging my pea coat around my body.

  I missed this.

  Just being free to walk wherever, whenever. I needed the space to walk, to clear my head. My little Meyer lemon was nowhere near the size of a lemon anymore, growing inside of me and ready to pop soon. All of this was for her, for Grayson, and for the family I never had. So she could grow up out of the shadows, with a father who loved her and a mother she could be proud of.

  But my uncle was the only person in my family whose opinion I cared about. What did it mean that he died with a vision of my future that was so different than reality?

  I hadn’t left Crowne Hall…

  My wish hadn’t come true.

  Josephine was dead.

  Josephine said I should have found it and my uncle said I should have found her. Everything seemed to point to Scotland… I felt like I’d made it to the end of a mystery book, but the middle had been ripped out. There was a vital piece of information I was missing.

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to work the problem out, when something caught my eye across the street.

  It was a quaint magazine stand, the wood painted white and blue to match the nautical theme of Main Street. Standing in front were two women, staring at me and talking behind their hands. When they saw I’d looked back, they froze like deer in headlights, slamming the magazine in their hands back on the stand, and rushing down the street.

  But they looked back.

  Morbid curiosity had me walking across the street to the stand. One story dominated almost every magazine. I stared at them until the bright, yellow words blurred. Until the car Grayson had secured for me stopped

  “Miss?” the driver said. “You were supposed to call when you finished. We’re late.”

  I kept staring, even as he shepherded me inside the car.

  It wasn’t my face, all blown up and glossy, that made my blood curdle.

  It was the headline.

  Forty-Three

  GRAY

  It was an hour past the time Story was supposed to return. The sun was drooping in the sky, a hazy orange glow across the party. Another scandal had broken. I wasn’t sure what—didn’t generally give a shit—but it was obvious by the excited whispers and looks.

  Chum had fallen to the sharks.

  And West hadn’t stopped glaring at me.

  “Where did you tuck away my mistress?”

  I dragged my hand across my jaw. I wanted to give Story
space to heal…but he was getting too fucking comfortable.

  Story stumbled into the garden. She grasped the trunk of a cherry blossom tree, looking left and right with wide eyes.

  Something was off.

  Wrong.

  West and I saw her at the same time, both making a beeline to get to her first.

  “What’s wrong, little nun?”

  “Where did you spend the afternoon, Angel?”

  “You said you wouldn’t do this!” she yelled, shoving West with two hands.

  Interested parties looked over, ready to devour any gossip crumbs. In that instant, I took her arm to pull her out of the garden and away from prying eyes, from people who would punish her for being human.

  West followed.

  The minute we were inside a small garden shed, she ripped out of my hold.

  “You promised,” she whispered, eyes locked on West’s leather shoes.

  I grabbed West’s collar. “The fuck did you do?” There was an edge slicing my words, slicing me. I was unraveling simply because Snitch was coming undone and I didn’t know why.

  West gripped my forearm, fighting with my grip. “I didn’t do shit.”

  “It’s front-page news!” Story yelled.

  “What is she talking about?” I slammed him against the wall.

  “I don’t know!”

  Story held up her phone between us, showing a headline.

  The Modern Cinderella? Don’t Drop Your Shoe, Just Cry Rape.

  Her rape, online, everywhere.

  This was it. This is how West dies.

  I pressed my forearm into his neck until he sputtered to breathe.

  “You…” She grasped her chest like she couldn’t breathe. “This is my fault. I’m a fucking idiot.” Story reached blindly for the doorknob. “I have to get out of here.”

  Red cleared from my eyes, and I turned back to Story. “You can’t go out there. I don’t know how this didn’t spread in the morning, but everyone out there knows now.”

  She couldn’t leave, not when I didn’t know how to fix this.

  Not when I’d never seen her like this.