“Isn’t it always?”
She rubbed her jugular. “A Cinderella story, some are calling it—don’t give me that look, Grayson. I don’t know what else to call it, either, when you’ve stolen your sister’s girl and stowed her away in your wing.”
I looked out the window. “Don’t call it anything.”
It was an overcast day. The beach colored in muted shades of gray from the steel ocean to the smoky sky and ash sand.
She scoffed musically. “You’ve always been such a smart boy.”
Wait for it…
“So I’m certain I don’t need to worry. You’re smart, Grayson, so you must have seen something I couldn’t see in her. I know you wouldn’t…” She took a big breath. “Jeopardize something that’s decades in the making—”
“Mom,” I cut her off, looking back.
“Hmm?” She gave me a wide-eyed, innocent smile, which, if you knew Tansy Crowne, you know is nothing more than a smoke screen.
I knew what my mother wanted; she wants me to say I was letting Snitch go. I was sending her back.
But I still pictured all the places I’d give her bruises.
The arch of her ankle. The inside of her thigh. Her naked pussy, her naked lips—
I scraped at my nail with another. “I’m not done with her yet.”
For an instant, Mother’s perfect mask dropped. Then she smiled sweetly and said, “Well, I should go say good morning to your sister, then.”
I ground my jaw. “I’m not done yet. I’m not jeopardizing shit. Lottie doesn’t even know about the marriage.”
“Your grandfather has taken a particular interest in the bastards lately,” she continued softly. “They go on vacation with him like you used to.”
I snorted.
Vacation.
Funny word for child labor.
“Worried I’m falling out of favor?”
There are only five people who wear the Crowne last name, but when my dad died, suddenly things like bastards became relevant.
Without me, this whole thing crumbles. My mother, who needs me to keep her world spinning. My sisters, who have no idea the threats she hangs over their heads behind closed doors. My grandfather…well, he honestly would replace me with a fucking bastard.
Mom tsked like what I’d said was ridiculous, placing a palm on my cheek. “That’s impossible.” With her palm still on my cheek, she glanced at the door. “I’m just so happy you’ll have a real marriage. A happy one.”
Unlike hers, she meant.
But Lottie wasn’t just the girl I’d loved since I was a child; she was the only choice for Grayson Crowne, the heir. The only choice for my mother, my sisters, my grandfather.
I stepped back, pulling a sucker from my pocket—a nervous habit of mine I’d had since I was a kid shadowing Grandpa. The minute the hard candy hit my tongue, I paused.
Lemon. Why did the flavor have to be lemon?
“Charlotte du Lac is a lovely girl,” she said, eyes shrewd.
“Yeah,” I said. “She is.”
Thirteen
STORY
* * *
When I came out, Grayson Crowne was gone. I was alone in his bedroom. Alone…for the first time since the ordeal began. A chilly, salty breeze blew through sheer curtains, feathering goose bumps along my arms.
I’d waited a good hour before I left the bathroom. I put on my clothes immediately after Grayson left, but I didn’t want to risk a Tansy interaction. I only heard bits and pieces of the conversation. Muffled words like holidays and grandfather that, honestly, could mean anything. Their grandfather always comes for the holidays, and the pomp and circumstance rivaled any real royalty.
Every Crowne came for the holidays.
Every single one.
Great-aunts, first cousins twice removed, bastards. We servants have a term for it, when all the Crownes gather—a Corrosion of Crownes. I think Christmas at Crowne Hall might be a bigger deal than at Santa’s.
I chewed my lip, standing in the middle of the room. I wasn’t someone who snooped, but with Grayson the urge was strong. Still, I wouldn’t want anyone going through my stuff, no matter the circumstance. So I sat on the couch with a view of the ocean.
And fiddled.
Now that I’d been here for a few days, I noticed the little things that I hadn’t before, his Graysonisms. Like he had an entire drawer filled with lollipops. All his pens were green, not just the one he’d had me write my secrets with.
I wondered what I would learn if I managed to stay the full two months.
My stomach growled for the umpteenth time that morning as another strong breeze blew, knocking pens and a notebook from the lollipop desk near the open window. I got off the couch to pick them up. The notebook had butterflied open, and I paused on the page. Before I could read anything, the notebook slammed shut.
I sucked in a breath, looking up into the eyes of Grayson.
“The fuck are you doing?” he growled.
“I—”
“I leave you alone for two minutes and you start snooping?”
“No—” I tried again, only to be cut off.
“Looking for something good to sell to some trash magazine?”
“I wasn’t snooping!” I finally snapped. “It fell.”
He blinked, the anger in his face disappearing into shock, settling into suspicion.
“Sure,” he scoffed, getting to his feet.
“Do you write everything in green?” I asked, standing to my own.
He paused, then tossed the notebook and pens into the desk amid the loose lollipops.
“You’re fucking nosy.”
“I’m basically captive,” I muttered. “What else do I have to do?”
A small smile broke his lips, but he quickly rolled his mouth, squashing it.
“Pablo Neruda used the color green because he said it was the color of hope,” I mused.
He paused. “And?”
“Do you like Pablo Neruda?”
Another long moment.
“I don’t know who the fuck that is.” A cold look iced his face. Blank. I was starting to wonder if that bored contempt was a mask. Beginning to wonder what else this lonely boy was hiding from the world.
“Liar,” I said.
His eyes popped just as I slammed a hand over my mouth. I was also beginning to wonder if I had a fucking death wish. His hands engulfed mine in a death grip, prying them away from my face.
“Do you really have a death wish, Snitch?” he echoed my thoughts.
“I don’t know why I keep breaking the rules,” I admitted. “I never once looked another Crowne in the eye, never once raised my eyes, never once spoke out of turn…until you.”
“Lucky me,” he gritted. “First you impersonate the love of my life, then you, I don’t know? Did you think I’d finally fuck you if you stood there desperate and naked?”
My eyes grew. “That wasn’t what I was doing—I would never—”
He laughed. “In case you haven’t figured it out, Snitch, I’ve had enough pathetic girls for a lifetime.”
My cheeks flamed. “Yeah, and you haven’t fucked any of them.”
His eyes flashed, the grip on my wrists becoming a vise.
Oh my God.
I was going insane.
I tried to backtrack. “I just…you have girls lining up around the block to be in your bed. And you’re not bad at it…I mean…from what I can tell.”
Grayson couldn’t be afraid; he couldn’t be ashamed, could he? There’s no way he knows shame like I do. It doesn’t burn him…does it? Does he throw fuel on the fire even when water is readily available?
“Are you ashamed?” I hedged, apparently suicidal.
“Yes,” he said. “And now you’re the only one who knows, the only one I can trust.” His voice was pleading, but his eyes gleamed sharp and mocking. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Snitch? That you’re special?”
He pulled my arms above my head, backed me up with
the force of his grip on my wrists, until I slammed into the wall beside the open ocean window.
Grayson pressed his body into mine, molding us together, then dragged his hands down my body. I kept my arms in the air. I couldn’t move. His touch was tender, almost loving, as if memorizing my curves through the fabric.
“Until recently, no one was worthy enough to have my cock inside them.”
He left no section of me unexplored. My hips, my ribs, even the curve of my elbow. I couldn’t breathe when his lips came to the underside of my jaw.
“You’re not worthy, Snitch,” he said. “You’re expendable.”
I swallowed air at his cruel, crude words. Heat and shame rushed through my body, inescapable partners.
He stepped back, unaffected. “We have a party to attend. Didn’t you say you’d learn everything about the girl I actually fucking want?”
Fourteen
STORY
* * *
Things I’ve learned about Charlotte du Lac in my tenure with Grayson Crowne: she likes orchids, butterflies, and the novel Emma. She hates spiders, the color red, and mean girls. Ironic, considering who her friends are.
I was a Charlotte du Lac encyclopedia, and my head buzzed with what I’d learned. It was easier, better I focus on Charlotte, than what had just happened with Grayson.
“She really likes orchids,” I whispered to Gray. “And truffles…”
“I already knew that,” he said. “You’re supposed to tell me shit I don’t know.”
Downstairs his mother held another party, this one outside on the terrace. By the looks of the world-class cellist and the informally dressed guests, it was a casual brunch fundraiser.
“What about you, Snitch?” Gray asked, whisking a glass of champagne off a server. He wasn’t looking at me, eyes zeroed across the golden stone, where Lottie du Lac was.
Like everyone here, she was dressed down, in a simple skirt and collared sweatshirt, but she looked elegant. Her dark-brown hair was piled in silky curls atop her head. The right side was pressed down with elegant braids, gold circles intertwined in them.
“I don’t know…” I touched my wild, curly hair insecurely. “I’ve never received flowers. I don’t like getting things that die, and I don’t like sweets.” Unless I’m tasting them from your lips. “I like peanuts and boring stuff like that—oh! Lottie likes surprises.”
“No shit,” he said. “I’m starting to wonder what your fucking purpose is.”
A server wove amid the small crowd, carrying chocolate truffles shaped like cellos. Lottie reached for one, but he didn’t see her, walking away to the other side of the terrace.
Gray pulled a server aside, whispering something I couldn’t hear, eyes still locked on Lottie. A few seconds later, Lottie was surrounded by servers with truffles of all kinds.
She threw her head back on a laugh.
Gray couldn’t stop watching her, and I couldn’t stop watching Gray.
Grayson wore a black leather jacket, white T-shirt, dark jeans, and white sneakers. But like everyone else at this party, it somehow looked both casual and unaffordable. Maybe it was the way the leather shone, or the silky way his T-shirt clung to his pecs and abs.
“Did you know her favorite music is metal?”
He gave me a suspicious look. “No it isn’t.”
“Ha!” I pointed excitedly. “Finally something else Grayson Crowne doesn’t know about Lottie du Lac.”
I smiled a full-toothed smile, because I was so pleased with myself. Some emotion clouded his eyes. My smile dropped, suddenly nervous.
Insecure.
Grayson hasn’t stopped chewing on suckers, whatever he and his mom talked about clearly bothering him, but his face hadn’t changed, a total mask. I was starting to see through that, though.
“Did you know that love has the same side effects as cocaine?” I said. “It’s addictive. And butterflies in your stomach are real; they’re caused by adrenaline.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t remember subscribing to Useless Facts Daily.”
My stomach rumbled. I’d barely eaten since I’d been with Grayson. I’d only managed to snack here and there on scraps I’d found at parties. It wasn’t sustainable. I knew that. I’d have to find a way to eat.
Grayson gazed at me with a strange look in his eyes, but it vanished. “Go find me something useful. I’m starting to rethink this deal we made.”
He walked off, weaving through Grecian columns. I left the opulent terrace to look for information—and something to eat. The only thing being served were pastries, though. I don’t want a fucking pastry. I want a plate of spaghetti.
Still, I snuck some truffles off the table anyway.
Across the way I spotted closely cropped silver curls and a light-gray suit. It was so hard to find time to talk to Uncle. I’d been swept away in Gray. I went to follow him, but a shoulder slammed into my back and I stumbled forward, barely catching myself on the thick ridges of the Grecian column.
“Oh, excuse me!”
Soft hands steadied me, pulling me back up, and I found the dark-brown eyes of Lottie du Lac. I quickly looked at the stony ground.
She lifted her hands. “You don’t have to look down. I’m not a Crowne.”
“We don’t look anyone in the eyes, Ms. du Lac.”
A moment passed; then she said, “You’re Grayson’s…?”
“Maid,” I supplied.
Silence. As if she was weighing my answer. Determining its authenticity.
I waited, curious of its weight too.
“You’re the one who brought me lemon cakes—”
“I didn’t know you were allergic, I swear,” I interrupted. Shit. Who was I to interrupt her? I waited, muscles tensed, for her to reply.
She exhaled. “No one does…except my girl, and my best friends. It’s an imperfection.”
Once again silence engulfed us. I couldn’t leave, though. Training told me to stay. A servant never left unless they’re dismissed, or the other person leaves first. So I stayed, and stared at the floor.
“So…” Lottie eventually said. “I know how maids talk.”
I wasn’t sure where this was going, so I stayed quiet. Lottie continued.
“It’s been so long since I really talked with him. My knowledge of him is a decade old. He’s probably not still excited over the first iPhone.”
I lifted my head, finally meeting her eyes. “Probably not.”
She smiled a little, her right cheek quirking. “Do you know we’ve been going on dates for over a year? Our parents, or some proxy, is always there. It’s like we’re still in the Victorian era. We had scheduled one night alone but…” She looked away and sniffed. “Something got in the way.”
Me.
I got in the way.
This was weird. I was talking to Lottie as if I only cleaned Grayson’s bed, but I slept next to it. Only before this party, he’d touched me…really touched me.
But it was just to humiliate me.
This morning, though, when he’d seen me naked, for a moment his stony blue gaze was possessive and filled with fire.
But no…it was just to humiliate.
All this was nothing. It all meant nothing.
“You ever notice how often he has suckers in his mouth?” I said, swallowing. “He has a sweet tooth.”
Her eyes bugged. “He does?”
I thought she was upset that I knew so much, so I said, “It’s my job. I’m practically a Crowne encyclopedia.”
It wasn’t a total lie.
“When we were kids, I used to give him my suckers. He always had to work when everyone else was playing. I didn’t think that was fair.”
I couldn’t look away from Lottie, as the realization swamped me. The suckers Grayson chewed at daily, the drawer he kept. She had no idea the extent of his love for her, did she?
Her eyes lifted over my shoulder at the moment Grayson’s voice echoed over it. “Lottie, I’ve been looking for you.”
/> “I was talking to your maid,” she said.
“My maid?” He echoed my lie with the same suspicious lilt Lottie had had. We hadn’t exactly gone over my cover story. “I hope she wasn’t bothering you.”
“Not at all.”
I was literally stuck between them, but again, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t step aside.
“I’d like to show you something,” Grayson said.
I watched them walk away, a tug in my gut. Grayson is meant for someone like Charlotte, someone with money, someone happy and light. Not someone darkened by the past, by baggage.
My stomach rumbled again, and I turned to finally go get a real meal when I was stopped by Ellie. She held a plate of food, and gestured for me to take it.
I stifled a laugh. “Ellie, have you lost your mind? I can’t eat up here.”
“This isn’t from me.” She looked around, looking more freaked out than me.
“What—”
“Just eat it.” She shoved the plate hard at me and I took the white and gold leaf porcelain just so it didn’t drop to the floor.
“You should leave,” she continued. “Don’t hang out around the servant areas for a while. Stop asking us questions. Everyone is starting to think you broke the code.”
The code, the us-versus-them mentality that made us more of a family than the actual family we serve. Protect each other at all costs, and never, ever abandon ship. Maids who came here looking to work for Grayson never lasted long. How could they? We worked for tyrants. You need a strong family to withstand torture.
I took a minute to pull myself out of the Grayson Crowne bubble that had consumed me and looked around. Several were watching me, eyes hard.
“I didn’t,” I said vehemently. “I—” What could I say to her?
Gray Crowne is a virgin who mistook me for someone else?
Yeah, that would go over well.
“I have no choice,” I finally said.
“I believe you. Most everyone believes you. But…some people are starting to listen to the rumors.”
I picked at the food. My first real meal…and it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t even servant food. It was the kind of stuff we made for the Crownes and their friends, meat with names I couldn’t pronounce and green beans you said in French.
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