Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point Book 4)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “Where is she?” my mother asked for the thousandth time.

  I worked my bottom lip between my thumb and forefinger, still uncertain if I should have left Lottie like that.

  It didn’t feel like it was my place to push her.

  A great pumpkin carriage sat in the center of the ballroom, diamonds and twinkling lights wrapped around the metal cage. It was for Lottie to sit in, for the women to fawn over her while the paparazzi took photos.

  Because this wasn’t a baby shower, it was an event—history, as both my mother and hers had said.

  But the woman of the hour, Lottie, was missing. So the carriage was noticeably empty.

  “Well, Grayson?”

  I stared at the empty carriage.

  Was it too late? Had I fucking ruined her?

  What did I tell them? That I’d left Lottie combusting on the floor of her wing—her separate wing—because we couldn’t even sleep in the same room together.

  That I’d gone to her only to make some kind of peace, so that my real wife and I could live happily ever after.

  My mother dragged a hand down her neck. “This is why you don’t wait until the last minute to have a shower.”

  “Well, we were waiting for Arthur.” Lynette looked around the room. “Who is supposed to be here.”

  “I’ll go see what’s up,” I said.

  “Thank God,” my mother said.

  It was a lie.

  I slipped through the crowd, heading toward my hiding spot.

  The theme was fairy tales—because of course it was. The ballroom had been decorated to look like an enchanted forest, and lights seemed to float in the ceiling on their own.

  Then I saw her—not Lottie, but Story.

  She looked like she belonged in the pumpkin. Diamonds adorned the straps of her airy, pale blue dress, dripping down the open back on her creamy, chestnut skin. All that was missing was a crown.

  West dragged her off the steps and through the baby shower. She could barely keep up behind him, tripping over her feet.

  He hadn’t changed from the day before, still in a wrinkled suit, the white shirt stained from sleeping on sand—he looked just as off as his sister.

  I was already off the wall, ready to rip West apart for dragging Story that way, when he spotted me, gaze zeroing through glittering champagne and white smiles.

  He was at my feet within seconds.

  My eyes shot to Story.

  Did you do it?

  She shook her head, brows caved, gesturing with her hand at West’s back pocket. His phone stuck out, haphazard like the rest of him.

  West shoved Story forward and I caught her as she stumbled. “Fall, Angel.”

  Fifty

  STORY

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Grayson gripped my elbow, flashing furious eyes to West.

  West folded his arms. “Our girl has something to say, Crowne.”

  Gray’s grip tightened on me at our girl.

  “What was it you said, Angel?” West said, vicious and biting. “You choose me? It was always me? Say it again. Say it with your prince watching.”

  Do you trust me? I wanted to say to Grayson. Do you trust that every word I say, is for you not him?

  West would think I was fighting and falling for him. But he was not my god, and I would never bleed for him.

  “I love you,” I said, my eyes on Gray—only for the briefest moment. Long enough for me to see his icy blue eyes soften. Long enough for me to question if what I was doing was right.

  Then I shifted my gaze to West. “I’ve been lying to you. I still feel for you. You’re in my heart. I’ve been lying for years.”

  I fought back tears, and in a way, I think it worked in my favor, because West interpreted it for him. The suspicion in his warm brown gaze lessened. I wished I could steal a glance at Grayson, beg him to know these words were for him, even though I had to look at West.

  In my peripheral, I saw Grayson take a step toward West—I hoped to get his phone.

  “It’s you,” I continued, voice hoarse. “From that first day in Crowne Hall when I secretly watched you, to every day after, it’s always been you—”

  “That’s sweet.” West adjusted the disheveled sleeve of his shirt, then reached behind him for his phone. “But you’re full of shit, Angel—”

  Grayson’s bitter laugh cut him off. “I’m not surprised. I’ve been thinking this since the night you fucked him. You don’t love me.”

  My gaze slammed to Gray.

  I had no words, no reply.

  This was an act—right?

  Grayson stepped to me, blocking my view of West. He dragged a hand down the side of my face, his voice soft, his words cutting, as he whispered the fear I’d worried was truth. “Or maybe you loved me once, but there’s something terribly wrong with you, Story. Because if you loved me, then why did you ever go back to him?”

  I opened and closed my mouth, blood rushing through my ears and drowning out the soft laughter and music.

  He stepped back and looked at me with such disgust I could taste it. “Is the baby even mine? I guess we’ll find out when you give birth.”

  “I…” My mouth was dry.

  My brain screamed to keep the act up, but his words cut through me like a machete.

  He’s right.

  There’s something terribly wrong with you, Story.

  Grayson turned to leave but West grabbed his arm before he could go. “You expect me to believe you’re done with her? After everything, you’re just going to let her go?”

  “Should I let her marry you again? Or should I let her fuck you in front of me first?”

  West’s grip loosened, suspicion in his eyes giving way to something else… Hope.

  “Maybe I should let her leave me for you?” Grayson asked, sounding bored and put out. “Be your mistress instead of running away with me?”

  Claws scraped at my chest.

  I know I’d made mistakes—we both had, but Grayson had been the epicenter of every good choice and bad decision—not West. I married West because of Grayson. I fucked West because of Grayson. I was his mistress and I slept in his bed for us.

  Yet as the cruel words fell from his soft pink lips, and my sins were laid bare without a soft blanket of context, I suddenly didn’t know what to believe.

  For us, I whispered in my head. I did it all for us.

  Didn’t I?

  Grayson dragged his pink tongue across his top lip. “Or maybe she could choose you and sleep in your bed for months? Would that do it?”

  West dropped Grayson. He looked at the marble, a wrinkle forming in his chestnut brow. I could see it—see him rewriting our history, painting everything I’d ever done with a brush of love. That was good, that was what we’d wanted. Yet it tasted bitter on my tongue and burned my heart. Because as West rewrote our history, it forced Grayson to erase ours.

  Grayson looked me directly in the eyes. “Because if she loved me, she never would have sought you out.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Grayson walked away, but not before adding with a laugh, “Good luck, West.”

  I made sure when West looked up at me, I was watching him. Even though every shard of my broken soul wanted to look at Grayson.

  Trust.

  I had to trust Grayson. Hopefully he’d gotten West’s phone. Every word he’d said had to have been for a reason. When I saw him again, he’d explain.

  He’d have to explain.

  “You really love me?” West asked, hoped.

  I swallowed knives. “My heart has been in a cage, waiting for you. For years. Do you believe me now?”

  He stared at me for a good few seconds. I felt naked, like he was reading secret ink in my soul. Then his eyes cracked and I saw inside of him. All of him.

  I had to look away.

  Across the ballroom, Grayson stood with his mother and Lynette next to a gorgeous recreation of the pumpkin carriage. I didn’t believe what Grayson said, even
if his eyes were cold and he gave nothing away.

  So I opened my lips to mouth our word.

  Neru—

  West pulled me into a violent and bruising kiss. I opened my mouth on a gasp and he slammed his tongue into mine.

  “My songbird,” West groaned against my lips. “My beautiful songbird, you came back to me.”

  Seconds dragged on through the mud as West devoured my mouth. I wanted to rip him off my lips—I was about to, this plan be dammed, when—

  “Charlotte du Lac,” Lynette gasped. “What are you wearing?”

  West broke our kiss, both our eyes snapping to the staircase, and I thanked whatever god was listening for the distraction.

  Charlotte had appeared at the top of the two-story flight of stairs, in silky white pajamas. Her hair was a mess, her eyes red.

  Did she sleep after I left her?

  “I’m afraid…” Lottie started, stumbling down a step. “I’m afraid I’ll never say what I really mean.”

  Whispers rose like the crush of soft waves outside. It only took two flashes from the photographers’ cameras for Lynnette to all but threaten their lives and the entire demolition of their family’s lineage.

  And then the phones came out, the clandestine shots even the wrath of Lynnette couldn’t stop.

  Lottie stumbled down another two steps. “I’m afraid I’ll always love the wrong person.”

  Another three steps, whispers rising into a swell. “I’m afraid the truth will stay locked inside me.”

  Her eyes locked on Grayson. “GRAYSON IS NOT THE FATHER!”

  She screamed it.

  Then fell back onto the stairs, gripping the banister with one hand.

  Fifty-One

  GRAY

  Silence.

  Utter.

  Silence.

  Until my sister’s muffled laugh broke it like shattered china.

  “I tried so hard,” Lottie said, voice ragged and breathy. “I tried so hard to be your wife. So many times you still went after her… I just needed to feel wanted.”

  Sorrow and disgust swamped me. “Are you saying I did this? I pushed you to this?”

  She looked left and right. “No—”

  “Do you have any idea what you did? What you’ve caused? If you had just told the truth from the beginning—”

  I dragged my hands through my hair.

  We wouldn’t be here.

  I could have left with her.

  None of this would be happening.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I screamed.

  She was nine months pregnant and I’d spent those nine months thinking she was pregnant with my baby.

  Nine months all but ignoring her.

  Being a horrible father.

  A disgusting human being.

  And hating myself for it.

  “You’re disgusting.” I turned away. “I can’t even look at you. I have no idea who you are, but you are not the girl I fell in love with—”

  “Did you ever love me, Grayson?” Lottie screamed and any remaining whispers fell dead. She’d gotten to her feet, stumbling down the steps.

  “Lottie, sweet pea…”

  “Grayson, dear…”

  I saw, in the corner of my eye my mother already starting damage control. The press herded out, the ballroom beginning to clear, as the perfect shower my mom spent months planning shattered to the ground.

  This marriage they spent even longer propping up, like the dead corpse it was, finally fucking rotted to the core.

  “I loved you,” I growled, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her, or myself.

  “How could you?” she demanded. “How could you love me? I don’t even know who the fuck I am, so how could you?” Her voice rose even higher, echoing off the domed ceiling.

  I ran up to her, as she looked about to faint.

  “Get off me.” She shoved me, but her moves were lethargic. I took a step back.

  “That’s enough, Lottie,” Lynette trilled. “You clearly need sleep.”

  “Stop it,” Lottie said. “He’s not the father. No matter how many lies you shove down my throat.”

  Mrs. du Lac’s nostrils flared. “Then who is?”

  “Jack! The love of your life, Jack!” She screamed it at her mother and swayed. Suddenly, Snitch was there, holding Lottie. “You fucking know it already, and I know you know it. I told you Grayson couldn’t be the father, I told you what happened, and you told me to say I shoved it up my—”

  Mrs. du Lac held up her hand, letting out a stuttering laugh. “Okay, that’s enough. Grayson, Lottie clearly has had too much sun.” Both Lottie and I looked at the overcast sky. “She needs rest. Tomorrow we can forget all about this.”

  “Stop doing that. Stop steamrolling over what I say. Stop shoving all the ugliness under the carpet. If it wasn’t for Story, I probably would have lived a lie—”

  “You knew?” My glare slashed to Story.

  Story looked like she’d been hit with a pie. “I didn’t—”

  “She had no idea, Grayson. She just…gave me strength.”

  Nine months washed over me. Nine months of hating myself, of barely being able to look at her because I hated myself so much. Of wondering if I was going to be my father, if I was going to have to choose between being that man, or keeping Snitch safe.

  “I wish you were fucking dead.”

  Lottie threw up her hands with a bitter laugh. “Get in line.”

  My eyes landed on West, and I pushed through any remaining family to get to him.

  “You.” I shoved him against the wall. “You fucking snake.”

  He threw his arms out. “For the first time, this was all my sister.”

  “You expect me to fucking believe that?”

  “I swear on Team Eskimo Bros.”

  I pushed my arm deeper into his neck. “Your entire family is fucked.”

  My eyes locked with Story, still helping Lottie stand, and I pushed off West.

  Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

  We were free.

  My mother grabbed my arm. “Grayson, wait. We should talk about this.”

  I put up a hand. “I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

  “Be present when we decide how we deal with this. How we…” my mother said through a clenched teeth smile. “How we get them out of our house.”

  She sat up straighter, smiling at Lynette. “We’ll figure this out, don’t worry. Grayson will come talk it out, won’t you?”

  Lynette smiled tightly. “That’s lovely to hear.”

  My mother’s clench tightened. For once, though, I agreed with her. If I left with Story now, who was to say they wouldn’t just sweep this all under the rug?

  Eyes still locked with Story’s, I said, “We settle this now.”

  STORY

  Do you trust me?

  I watched Grayson leave, knowing he had to go, but feeling like I was swallowing thorns. The last thing he heard me say was I love you to West.

  He watched me kiss West.

  Then he said he knew it…knew I could never have loved him.

  Now it had been hours since I’d seen him. Crowne Hall was eerily silent. As if even the very shadows knew not to speak for fear of being strangled. Everyone had followed Grayson, including West, which was some kind of relief.

  I couldn’t go back to “my” wing.

  I couldn’t go to Grayson’s.

  So I sat in the portrait hall, looking at the dead, stoic countenances of Crowne family members preserved in oil. Beside me, double doors beckoned to open to the beach, barely muffling the crash of waves.

  “Are you wondering what he’s doing?” Lynette du Lac leaned on the wall, her eyes a little glassy, her always elegant hair and dress undone.

  “My husband made a lot of promises to a lot of different girls. They sound so sweet at first. The sweetest things usually sour the fastest, don’t they?” She pushed off the wall, wobbling a little. “You’ll never tear them apar
t. They’re meant to be. Their story was written before they were even born. And you? You will be like all my husband’s mistresses. Dead or forgotten.”

  I stood up, taking a couple steps away from her.

  “He even gave them rings,” she continued. “He should have made them in bulk…saved some money.”

  “You don’t scare me, Lynette.” Yet, I kept taking steps backward, and when her eyes landed on my rounded stomach, I picked up the pace until my back hit the doors.

  She tilted her head. “I’m not trying to frighten you. I’m trying to make you understand. Your child is irrelevant.”

  I spun from her, slamming open the doors.

  “Don’t believe me?” Her laugh bounced off the doors. “Where is he, Story? He’s with her. He’ll always be with her.”

  She was lying.

  She was lying.

  Do you trust me?

  It went both ways. I had to trust him. He wouldn’t stay with her after this. No one would expect him to…right? Yet tears still burned my lids at her words.

  I swiped at them, swiped at the snot at my nose, until the iron waves blurred.

  The air was brackish and bitter, the waves wild and high. The sun had set, but tumorous clouds blocked the stars and the air smelled of rain.

  My back ached; it was harder to sit now that I was so pregnant. I couldn’t just fall to the sand. So I walked down the beach, until I found the trees Grayson had dragged me to the night he’d gambled me, and leaned against a trunk.

  I was so afraid.

  I needed Grayson.

  I know if I messaged him, he’d come running. Right now, he needed to deal with the fallout of Lottie. So I did what I hoped was the right thing—the unselfish thing—and I sent my fears secretly.

  Dear Atlas,

  I think I’m forgetting how to hope—really hope.

  The blind, certain hope that’s like sun in my scared heart.

  But dead flowers remember how to bloom every spring.

  Do you think hope is like that?

  Atlas, I’m scared.

  I need you—

  “Story.” West grabbed me, spinning me into his gaze. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “W—” I broke off, looking around at the empty beach. “Why aren’t you with Grayson?”