“It isn’t just because I need to stay,” she said softly. “I broke something priceless. I stole something that didn’t belong to me. Let me help get it back. I don’t expect you to believe me, but…I can’t live with myself if it ends this way.”
The earnestness in her eyes, the way her brows drooped in what looked like shame, once again had me believing her. Shame.
When was the last time I’d seen someone ashamed?
I loosened my grip, eyes sharp. “I guess I’ve done crazier things.”
“I’ll fix it. I promise.”
She exhaled, and I yanked her closer. “Oh, but one thing, Snitch. What happens if you fail?”
She swallowed. “I’ll leave. I’ll leave Crowne Point.”
“Nah…that’s not good enough anymore.”
“I’ll leave New York?”
“I’m starting to like my original plan of shipping you the fuck out of the country and never seeing you again.”
Never think about that goddamn kiss. Wonder about what she tasted like elsewhere.
Yeah. Great fucking plan.
“If I fail…” She drew her lower lip between her teeth, then sighed, resigned. “I’ll be insurance. I’ll give you my virginity.”
The suggestion stopped me in my tracks.
I raked my gaze over her, picturing it. Her curly hair out of the bun she kept it in. How far down her back did it go? What did she look like under all those clothes? I’d cover her in bruises. Have her begging me for more, like she’d done in the antique room.
Shit.
I dropped her wrist and stepped back.
Bad idea.
Terrible.
But…I dragged a thumb across my lip, thinking. My virginity had always been a fucking anchor, another piece of me everyone wants to steal and sell. But with her? No one would get that piece.
Because I’d own her.
I exhaled. “I guess someone like you has nothing else to offer.” Her eyes flashed, but before she could say anything, I cut her off. “Sure, whatever, Snitch. I’ll take the cherry no one else wants.”
Five
STORY
* * *
I woke to the sound of muffled voices. I rubbed my head, not quite registering where I was at first. It was like a bad dream. Above me, a three-tiered chandelier glittered in the hazy yellow morning light. Its tapered crystals both modern and gothic.
Then it hit me.
The kiss.
Our deal.
I was insurance to a plan I wasn’t sure I could pull off. Maids talked, yeah, but I’d never tried to use gossip as leverage before. If I failed…
What would sex with Grayson Crowne be like?
The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done, would wreck you.
I rolled my head, meeting the messy black sheets of Grayson’s empty bed. When I’d gone to sleep, Grayson had put me next to his bed like a goddamn dog—no, worse. Dogs had beds. He’d made it clear I didn’t deserve that. He wanted it ingrained in me that my being in his room wasn’t a privilege—it was a punishment.
At least the carpet was plush.
“Who’s that next to your bed?” a steady, deep voice drifted inside. I sat up. I knew that voice—everyone knew that voice—and a blanket fell off me. I fingered the silken threads warily. I’d gone to sleep without any blanket. It was like everything else in Gray’s wing—silky black, decadent.
Had Grayson given me a blanket?
“Nobody,” Gray replied, and a booming laugh followed, pulling me back into reality.
Beryl Crowne, grandfather and patriarch to the Crowne family, was just outside the room. Just his name made me freeze up. Beryl rarely came home, but today…today was the Swan Swell.
Shit.
The Swan Swell was famous in Crowne Point. It happened every year, usually a week before their famous Fourth of July party. It was a time when the native swans flooded the sandy white beaches. It also happened to be Abigail Crowne’s favorite time of year. She would never forgive me once today passed and I wasn’t back in time to help her get ready. So what did that mean for me? What happened when Gray was finished with me?
Would I still have a job here?
Unlikely, I thought glumly.
I stood up, trying to see where the voices were coming from. Grayson’s wing was huge. Abigail’s entire wing could fit in his bedroom. I mean, just his bedroom was two floors. I guess that’s what you get for being the favorite heir.
I peered over the iron balcony, down to the bottom floor. The double doors were open, and through them I could see Beryl Crowne in his iconic three-piece suit, glimpse flashes of his silvering hair.
“So long as the du Lac girl doesn’t see…” Beryl Crowne rubbed a hand through his moussed hair. “Your sister is a shitshow. We already have one marriage on the rocks; we don’t need yours.”
Marry? He was going to marry Charlotte? And Abigail was getting married? There was only one wedding I knew of, Gemma’s. She’d been engaged for as long as I’d been at Crowne Hall.
Beryl continued. “You know how they get about the mistresses. Delicate matters to be worked out with the prenup.”
He talked about mistresses like it was a fucking car or a house.
Beryl Crowne looked my way, and I ducked down. It was one thing for Beryl Crowne to see me when I was asleep, another to make eye contact. To the outside world, Beryl Crowne was famous for trying to cure diseases.
In here, we knew better. Beryl was the boogieman that went bump in the night, the reason people disappeared.
I slowly tiptoed down the spiral staircase, staying crouched.
“Right, yeah,” Grayson said.
I could see only one of his shoulders, but I still knew his face by his tone. He was famous for it. A deadly disinterest in his blue eyes and chiseled lips that made millions of girls do insane things in hopes of sparking some kind of attention.
“But I have to say, if you want to fuck a maid, fuck a maid, Grayson. A mistress is not an excuse to lower the bar; even your father knew that.”
“I won’t have a fucking mistress,” Grayson snapped.
I tripped, making a clang on the metal staircase, and grasped the railing.
Had they been talking about me?
I waited, sweat beading my neck, hoping they hadn’t heard.
They started talking again, lowly, and I only caught end of summer. I quickly ran down the rest of the way, hiding under the table Grayson had sat atop the night before.
If you want to fuck a maid…
I framed my face in my hands, staring at the floor, trying to work out how so many things could’ve gone so horribly wrong in less than twenty-four hours.
I’ve only ever wanted one thing: live my life unnoticed. I was content to live here as a servant like my uncle, maybe even eventually become the headmistress. I wasn’t brazen enough to dream. I had them…everyone has dreams. I just wasn’t naïve enough to expect mine to come true.
I used to want to be a poet. I would share myself with the world like the women before me who were forced to hide under pseudonyms because their gender or race precluded them from being seen.
Now I don’t believe in fairy tales or happily ever afters.
Not anymore.
I hadn’t realized Beryl said goodbye until the door closed. I lifted my head out of my hands, finding the room empty. No sign of Grayson.
“You’re overhearing all kinds of secrets.”
I jumped, hitting my head on the underside of the table. Rubbing my head, I came out, and my mouth went dry; my brain short-circuited. Grayson wore no shirt, black sweatpants hung indecently low on his sharp hip bones, and his sneakers were untied, like he’d thrown everything on in a hurry. Morning light illumined everything that shadows had subdued the night before. Hell, everyone with access to the internet had seen Grayson Crowne shirtless, but this was the difference between seeing a marble sculpture in picture and in person.
Grayson Crowne was divine.
&nbs
p; And he was looking at me like I was a bug stuck on his windshield.
“Come here, Snitch,” he said.
I fiddled with the material of my dress, what I’d overheard weighing on me. He was supposed to marry Charlotte, and I’d messed it up.
I’d messed everything up.
“I had no idea,” I said. “Does anyone else know about you and Miss Charlotte? You’re marrying her…”
I really had broken the one thing more valuable than anything in the world.
“I promise I’ll fix it,” was all I said.
The silence was thorny. I pulled at the black threads of my skirt, stretching until light peeked through.
“Do you think I’m going to talk to you, open up, because you weaseled your way into a secret that wasn’t meant for you?” Grayson asked. “That we somehow share something?”
“No, I just—”
Suddenly my chin was between his fingers. “First day of training. When I say come, you come.” Grayson dropped my chin. “Kneel.”
Kneel?
I’d learned a few things living here. Crownes aren’t your average, everyday entitled rich person. Like their last name, they ruled. This town, the people inside it, the world. They demand perfection. They expect fealty.
Swallowing my indignation, I dropped to my knees.
Grayson spoke after a moment, voice low. “That’s a good look on you, Snitch.”
I rolled my lips, indignity burning its way up like heartburn.
“You think you know me so well, Snitch? It’s been less than a fucking day. You don’t know shit.”
“I know you pretty well,” I mused. “Your favorite food is steak. You have a mild allergy to strawberries. You’re a Crowne, and my job is to serve you.”
“Congrats, you know what every chick with a magazine subscription knows.”
Sometimes I watch him when no one else is looking, so I know his favorite food really isn’t steak. I don’t know why he lies, but he does.
But I’m not going to tell him that.
“What is it you like about me, Snitch?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. “Do you think I’m broken, a bad boy you can fix?”
I wasn’t sure how much I should say. How pathetic I should be. To admit that I knew what he was and still couldn’t stop the fluttering in my heart.
“You know what I hate more than a snitch? Girls so pathetic they dream up scenarios where guys like me would give them a second look.”
“I never wanted you to look back,” I said quietly.
Silence weighed heavy as stone. I thought for sure Grayson was going to punish me for talking back, but he just disappeared out of my line of sight to the other side of the room, leaving me kneeling.
My knees were starting to ache and bruise against his hard floor, and I wished he’d at least let me kneel on a fucking rug. There were enough of them around, plush and soft.
I knew he returned when a packet of papers came flying at my face.
“What is this?” I asked, flipping through the pages, scanning.
Story Hale, hereby referred to as Party…
“A contract?” I lifted my head.
He gave me his trademark bored gaze. “Did you think I was just going to take your word?”
“This is weird,” I blurted.
“It’s standard.”
“Maybe for people like you…” I flipped through the pages. It even outlined what would happen if I failed and didn’t go through with my end of the bargain—damages. I sucked in a breath at the monetary amount. That was a lot of zeroes. I counted nine. It was nothing to Grayson, but to me? There was even a clause about how the damages could revert to my next of kin.
The contract stipulated two months. Two months.
It all at once seemed like purgatory and not enough time. The clock was ticking. Two months? Why such an arbitrary timeline? I had to somehow fix what I’d broken in two months, and I had no idea where to start.
“For these two months you’ll be my pet. Follow me around. Sleep on my floor.” He paused long enough to shoot me a wicked smile. “Sit on my lap.”
I averted my gaze, staring at my clothed knees, wrinkly from having slept in them. I’d brought pajamas but hadn’t been given time, or a place, to change. Is this how my two months would be? My bladder ached with needing to pee.
Would I have to ask him to do that too?
I swallowed. “I won’t do any of that.”
“Not yet. I’ll have to train you, like any good pet.”
“And if I don’t?” I tested, tugging the thick fabric at my knees.
“I’m sure there’s someone who would worry about you, or…someone who you might worry about.” He let his words linger, and my eyes widened at the threat.
Uncle.
Grayson didn’t know about my relation to Woodson Hale, and I’d like to keep it that way, but Uncle cleaned Grayson’s room every day, usually in the mornings. It was already midmorning. What time did he clean today? I had to get out of this room before Uncle came to clean. I looked around, landing on a clock.
The time read ten fifty in the morning.
“No,” I said quickly. “I don’t have anyone. It’s just me.”
He arched a brow, and I wondered if I’d spoken too quickly. “Then I guess it’s you I’ll have to torture.”
I threw the papers beside me.
“This is a weird rich-people thing. We should seal it with a secret.”
It fell from my lips before I could take it back. It wasn’t like Grayson would even realize what I’d given him, the piece of myself he now held.
It was his turn to frown, or a Grayson frown—a slight pout. “What?”
“It’s something I used to do with…never mind.” My knees were starting to fall asleep, so I shifted, putting the weight on one. “You tell me a secret, I tell you a secret, and we seal our deal.”
“You want more of my fucking secrets?” he growled.
I waved my hands frantically. “No, I guess I already know yours. Technically you do know one of mine…” His jaw clenched, muscle twerking, so I added, “But I’ll tell you another. Um…I once changed Ms. Abigail’s no-fat creamer with fatty creamer when she was being particularly awful. It was better than stabbing her in her sleep.”
Silence passed, and I shifted again, trying to put less weight on my knees.
“Is this high school?” he finally asked. “Do you think I give a shit about teenage girl gossip?”
I worked my mouth to the side, thinking. I knew my deepest, darkest secret, but if I told him, it would ruin everything, ruin the lie I’d built my survival on.
I wish I’d waited. I wish…he’d let me wait. I wish he’d called me back afterward. I wish I hadn’t been so weak to wish for him to call me back.
So I searched in my heart for the only other color of ink staining it.
“I have a good one,” I said after a minute.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” I smiled, ignoring his sarcasm. “When my mom died, I wasn’t sad, I was relieved. I’ve never told anyone that because, well…” I picked at my cuticle. “I loved her,” I added. “I just wasn’t sad when she died.”
Grayson folded his arms, giving me nothing. I quickly looked away. God, what was wrong with me? Do. Not. Look. A. Crowne. In. The. Eye.
Did I need to tattoo it?
I shifted with insecurity.
He walked by me, heading to a desk. A second later, a green pen and notebook flew at me, faster than the papers had.
“Write them down,” he said.
I hesitated.
I didn’t want to have to stare at the words, like looking yourself in the mirror after you’ve done something horrible.
He pushed the contract to me with his shoe. “If you’d like to reconsider.”
I quickly scribbled the words inside the notebook. Eyes on the floor, I handed the notebook up to him, but he pushed it back to me.
“Hold it up, by your face.”
I hesitated again, then held it up. Green ink bled through the back of the page.
“Smile,” he said.
“Smile?” I allowed myself to look up, to see he had his phone out.
I did as he said, and he snapped a photo of me.
Fear at Grayson having photographic evidence of one of my deepest secrets nearly eclipsed everything, so I almost didn’t hear the door crreak behind us as my next biggest nightmare approached.
“Mr. Grayson,” a firm, weathered voice called out. One I knew very well. The voice that had told me bedtime stories and taught me poetry.
“Over here, Woodsy,” he said, but his eyes were still on me.
Woodsy, as in, Woodson Hale, my uncle.
Oh my God, oh my God.
Shit, shit, where do I hide? Where do I go? How do I get out of this?
“I have to go,” I blurted. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Grayson tucked his phone in his back pocket. “Do you not realize what you just did?”
My heart lurched into my throat. I could hear my uncle advancing through the bedroom, his soft footfalls like a mouse leaving footprints in dust.
“You have proof of one of my darkest secrets…”
He shook his head, that wicked smile on his pink lips. “You’re mine until I say you’re not. You stand when I tell you to stand. You kneel for as long as I say kneel. I get to play with you for months.”
I lifted my eyes to Grayson’s deep, cutting blue eyes, heart throbbing at the promise in them.
The threat.
He quirked his head. “All my pets died. Will you survive?”
“Mr. Grayson—” My uncle stopped abruptly.
No, no.
My uncle, the man who’d taken me in when I had no one, who’d practically raised me, who’d worked as a servant his whole life and said the key to surviving it was keeping your dignity, had just found me on my knees before Grayson Crowne.
Six
STORY
* * *
My uncle came to an abrupt stop, eyes landing on me, crouched and shamed before Grayson Crowne’s feet. Sewage filled my veins, and this time I looked at my knees, because I couldn’t bear to see my uncle’s face.
Stolen Soulmate Page 4