He planted another kiss on my lips, then let me go—not before tossing me a bone-melting grin.
He regrouped with the army of suits, and then my eyes connected with Tansy, right before she turned and followed her son into Crowne Hall.
The route felt like an ancient one I hadn’t traveled in years. I ran my fingers along the intricate fleur-de-lis molding until it stopped—the servants’ quarters.
“Uncle?” I called out.
His room was empty.
“You’re not supposed to be down here, Ms. Hale.”
I jumped—Ms. Barn’s baritone voice still able to startle me.
“It’s Story, Ms. Barn. Where is Uncle?” When I turned to face her, her eyes were downcast. I knew the other servants weren’t looking me in the eye, but Ms. Barn?
“Woodson Hale is in the hospital.”
“Back in the hospital?” I looked at his empty room, like it would give me answers. “How long?”
“He wasn’t feeling well this morning and fainted. He was rushed over. That’s all I know.”
“And no one thought to fucking tell me?” Anger rushed out of me, untamed. I rarely yelled, much less at superiors. But what the fuck? Seriously?
“It’s proper protocol to alert a Crowne before the mistress. If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Hale, I have much to attend to.”
“I’m not—”
I broke off, finding the doorway empty.
Hospital. Have to get to the hospital.
Those were the only words in my mind when I left Crowne Hall, and they propelled me to the only hospital within miles of Crowne Point, the one Uncle had been seen at previously. They kept me from collapsing, and they carried my feet through the doors, up to the information desk, until I was face-to-face with a cheerful looking woman.
“I’m looking for Uncle, um”—I shook my head, trying to speak clearly—“I’m looking for my uncle, Woodson Hale. I think he was brought in?”
She smiled and said something I didn’t catch, returning to her computer. It felt slow and languorous. I realized only a minute had passed, but it was too much time.
Finally she told me where to find him, and I dashed off in that direction.
He was asleep in the hospital bed when I found him, so I took a seat opposite it. His round face was sunken, his bright hazelnut skin sallow, his lips chapped. When we had first faced cancer, he’d had to go in for treatment, but they let him come home afterward. He never collapsed. He never had to stay.
I was told a doctor would be in to talk with me shortly, but it was maybe thirty minutes after I arrived when a tall, older man in a white coat came in.
“He needs ChapStick,” I said.
The doctor blinked, then said, “Are you his next of kin?”
“Yes,” I said, still watching Uncle in bed.
“Good. We’ve been needing to talk to someone. Your…” He trailed off, waiting for me to supply my connection to Uncle.
“Uncle.”
“Your uncle hasn’t given us anyone to contact. We’ve done all we can do here. Now he’ll need round-the-clock care. We can suggest some good hospices, or if you have the means, in-home providers.”
Rushing. Like the waves outside Grayson’s window. Or the blood in my ears when he touches me.
“Miss?”
“What are you saying?”
“Your uncle is dying.”
I read somewhere that doctors have to say it that way, have to be horribly blunt, so we accept it. So it feels real.
I still didn’t believe it.
“But he said he had two years, maybe more.”
The doctor made a face. “He has a few months, maybe, if he decides to continue treatment, but I don’t think he will. If you want to be there with him—”
“I do.” I said. “I do.”
“Don’t make any travel arrangements.”
GRAY
* * *
At the end of my hellish day, I waited for Story. Grayson fucking Crowne doesn’t wait, but I waited for Story, pacing back and forth like an idiot.
Some bullshit party was happening to distract everyone about Abigail. I looked at myself in the mirror, in my stupid fucking tux.
Where the fuck was she?
I wasn’t going to wait through another party to find out what happened to her, and I could think of only one place to find her. Halfway to the servant’s quarters, I collided with a body.
My mother.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Nowhere.”
I skirted around her, continuing.
“She’s most likely gone,” my mother said to my back. “Let her go.”
I paused.
“What did you do?” I didn’t turn around.
“Only told her what she needed to know, what you refused to tell her,” my mother said simply. “She’s a mistress, Grayson. You’re marrying Charlotte. Those are facts.”
In that moment, resolution steeled my spine.
Before I saw Story again, there was something I needed to do.
I turned from the quarters, pulling out my phone.
All day I’d cleaned up the mess Abigail had left behind, reassuring board members with my grandfather, keeping our stock from plummeting. All the while my grandfather’s voice had been in my ear, Thank fuck for the du Lacs.
My mother followed me to her favorite room, the sunroom, just as my grandfather answered the call.
“I’m out. Wedding is off.”
Forty-Six
GRAY
* * *
Silence followed my proclamation.
Then Grandpa exploded. “It hasn’t even been a day since your sister pulled this shit!”
“This joke was unfunny when Abigail tried it; it is even less funny from your lips,” Mother hissed.
“Do you know what happens if you refuse to marry Lottie?” My grandfather’s yell was so loud it crackled through the speakers.
“Crowne Industries will be fine,” I said. “This isn’t like when Father died. We aren’t on the verge of collapse. Our stock is fine. We don’t need to keep fucking marrying people.”
Grandfather was a greedy fucking asshole, is the truth.
My mother scrambled up from her chaise, wrestling the phone from my hands.
“He’s joking,” she said with a smile.
“I’m not joking.”
Mom pounded the mute button, breathing fire through her nostrils. “You saw what happened with Abigail. He will cut you out. He will give all of your birthright to the bastards.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“You promised to me on your father’s deathbed you wouldn’t let anything happen to this family.”
“I was seven.”
“Do you know how much damn damage control we had to do after Abigail’s rushed engagement fell through?” My grandfather yelled through the speaker. “It’s sloppy. Fucking sloppy.”
Of course I knew.
Damage to his reputation. Damage in the public eye. Suddenly the Crowne was a little rusty.
It was a moment before my grandfather spoke. When he did his voice was calm, cold. “I don’t want to rush a marriage, but I will.”
“You’ll break Lottie’s heart,” my mother tried. “You’ll break my heart. And you will break her heart. You can’t have it, Grayson. You would ruin this family for your selfish desires.”
My mom placed her palm on my cheek, eyes warm in the way I knew meant her next words would be about her desires.
Her wants.
“You should have the marriage of the century, Grayson,” she said. “You’re a king.”
I pulled away and stabbed the button again to unmute the phone.
“I will happily continue my role in this family, but I’m not marrying her. Your greed will destroy our family faster than ending any fucking marriage.”
I ended the call and left the room, hearing my mother scrambling to smooth things with Grandfather.
Time to get my fuck
ing girl.
STORY
* * *
I must have walked in a daze back to Crowne Hall. I hadn’t wanted to leave him, but they didn’t have any clothes for him to come home in. I guess he’d soiled the ones he’d come to the hospital in.
He still hadn’t woken up when I left.
I read and reread my hospice options, each more expensive than the last. All the while my brain spitting out the same thing: Does. Not. Compute.
When Uncle died, who would I have left? No one. Officially, no one. It was such a selfish thing to think after someone gives you that news. What happens to me? Not, oh that must be horrifying, scary, terrible, for them. But What happens to me?
I went through Crowne Hall’s servants’ entrance, passing by rushing servants, until I found Uncle’s room. His clothing consisted of suits and slacks and the occasional turtleneck. I grabbed a bundle of the most comfortable clothes I could find, still dazed.
I ascended the stairs, taking all the winding lefts and rights, heading back for the exit.
It wasn’t like he can die here. He would like that, though. This was his home.
All he knows.
Like me.
“Story?”
I stopped short. Grayson stood before me, dressed to kill in a dark tux that fit every sinful muscle. I looked around me in a daze. The world glittered and gleamed—piano music rushed into my ears.
I was crashing a party. Oh shit. I’d taken a wrong turn.
“You weren’t there when I got back.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I realize, I don’t even have your number or anything. I guess…I guess I never needed it.”
I’d always been at his beck and call. I’d barely even used my phone the past few months.
Like a good little mistress.
“Wait—what’s going on? Are you leaving?” His voice lowered a dangerous octave.
I stared bemused at the lump of clothes in my arms.
“What’s this party about?”
“Some bullshit foundation we’re using to launder our reputation after Abigail. Story, what’s wrong?” He gripped my chin, dragging my gaze to his earnest blue ones.
“Was I invited?” I wondered aloud, and like that, he dropped me.
He scratched the back of his neck harder, and that was when I spotted Lottie.
“I wasn’t invited,” I said.
We were gaining an audience. It looked like everyone had come to this party. Lottie and her friends, Aundi and Pipa. Grayson’s friends Geoff and Alaric. People I didn’t know were watching. All wondering why Grayson Crowne was talking to the servant with a pile of clothes in her hands.
“They probably don’t invite mistresses to these things, right?” I stared into his blue eyes, numbness creeping into my veins, slowing my heart.
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll go,” I whispered.
I sprinted away from him, on the verge of tears, and really not wanting him to see.
“Story—” Grayson called to my back.
I’d just made it around the corner of the ballroom.
“Oh look.” Aundi stepped in my path. “It’s the social-climbing whore.”
“I was just leaving,” I said.
Aundi knocked the clothes out of my hand. I scrambled to pick them up as others grabbed them faster than I could.
“Please just give them back.”
“Isn’t this a little manly, even for you?” Pipa asked, tossing an item to Geoff, who tossed it to Alaric.
“Just give them back.”
They were playing keep-away, and I was the one in the middle. I had no reserves left to pretend it didn’t bother me. These were my uncle’s clothes, and I needed them.
I fell to my knees. “Just give them back.”
They all suddenly stopped laughing, stopped throwing my things. I knew before he’d spoken, knew before I felt him behind me. The icy chill of anger lifted the hair off the back of my neck.
“I seriously fucking hate people touching my shit,” Grayson growled.
One by one my stolen clothes landed in a pile at my knees. I still couldn’t look up, utterly humiliated. Couldn’t even take the clothes back. I just sat there, willing it all to end. Until Uncle’s sweater was lifted from the pile and passed to me by a strong, veiny hand.
“This is Woodsy’s, yeah?” Grayson asked quietly.
“Yes,” I mumbled, taking it.
“Why are you always defending her?” Pipa snapped.
“Seriously, what the fuck?” Alaric added.
“It’s like you’re legit into her or something.” Aundi laughed, and then everyone laughed at the ludicrous idea. Someone like Grayson Crowne being into me.
I held the clothes tighter to my body.
“I am,” Grayson said, and the laughter came to a crashing halt. “I am into her. She’s mine. If you hurt her, you hurt me. If you fuck with her, you fuck with me. This is the last goddamn warning I give.”
Awkward laughter trickled out, a few eyes wandering to Lottie, then back to us. Lottie gazed into her drink, a look on her face like she wished it could drown her.
“Geoff, you already got a warning. I don’t want to see your fucking face. Your dad, fired. You, out.”
I don’t know if Grayson snapped his fingers or simply gave a look, but two guards appeared and dragged Geoff out.
“Aundi and Pipa…”
At their names, their eyes went wide.
“Be really fucking grateful Lottie likes you. For whatever reason.”
Silence. Everyone stared at me with uncertainty, disdain, begrudging respect.
He wrapped his arm around my waist, lifting me off the floor, carting me out of the room.
GRAY
* * *
We were barely out of there when Story yanked herself away and shoved me in the chest.
“Uh, you’re welcome.”
“Thank you?” She looked away on a laugh, a breathy, indignant sound. “You want a thank you? What the hell are you doing?”
“Being romantic, doing the right thing.”
“You just confirmed all of their suspicions. Grayson Crowne is fucking his maid. His maid is his mistress.”
“I…shit…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I didn’t look at it that way.”
“Do you want to know what your mother really said to me before Italy? She told me I was your mistress. She said I was lucky. Now I had leverage. She all but welcomed me into the Crowne family!”
She threw up her hands and turned from me, facing the wall.
“Story.” I placed my hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. “Story, look at me.”
I turned her by the shoulder and found her eyes red, tears running. Fuck.
“What happened? Where were you today?”
All I wanted to do was tell her what happened between my mother and grandfather.
I’d told them.
The wedding was off.
But I’d never seen her this way. I’ve seen her cry, yeah, but she was unhinged. Hysterical. And it was freaking me the fuck out. I want someone to punch. Need someone to hurt.
She swiped at her tears, snot. “I’m beginning to think she’s right. This only ends one way.”
“Shut up.” I gripped her chin. “Tell me the truth. Where were you today?”
She wiped her eyes. “I’m going to see my uncle. You should go back to Lottie. After all she is your fiancée, right?”
She didn’t wait for me to respond, turning to leave.
Forty-Seven
GRAY
* * *
It was a goddamn sleepless night waiting for Story. I should’ve told her I broke off my engagement hours ago, but it didn’t seem like the right moment, with her on the verge of tears and all.
At around five in the morning, I said fuck it and got up to go get her.
I walked the winding steps to the servants’ quarters and knocked on the dark oak door that marked Woodsy’s room. He
was already sitting up in bed, and made a shh motion with his finger, pointing to a corner.
Story was asleep on the chair.
I came in, shutting the door lightly behind me.
I came for Abigail, but there was so much I needed to say to him.
“You promised I could die first,” I said quietly.
He shrugged with a smile. “Seven-year-olds are easy to trick.”
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I bit the skin at my thumb, hating this.
“Whatever you want. You can have it. The best doctors, anything.”
He shook his hand. “I’d like to spend my last hours here.”
“You can be buried in the family plot.”
He laughed, then coughed. “Don’t promise the moon.”
“But you’re family.”
“All I need to know is when I die, she’ll be taken care of.”
“She’ll have all the money—”
“Not with money.” He pinned me. “She’s disappearing, Grayson.”
We both looked at her, asleep in the corner, neck at an odd angle.
“You and I both know you can’t take someone like her as a wife.”
I ground my jaw. “Maybe I can.”
“Your father tried that.”
A yawn drew our attention, and we both turned to see Story stretching awake.
“You’re awake.” Story smiled at Woodsy, but the smile dropped when she saw me. She straightened in the chair and said, “I’ll go get you breakfast.”
I followed her out of the room. “This is where you slept last night?”
“Yeah,” she said without turning around.
Distance. Growing like a weed. I wanted to pull it out at the roots.
I grabbed her elbow, stopping her. “You sleep in my bed.”
She stared forward.
Only my grip on her biceps keeping her from walking away.
Stolen Soulmate Page 27