Stolen Soulmate

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “Anything else, Mr. Grayson?”

  I wanted to teach her a lesson for that obvious disobedience. Put her on her knees. Fuck her. Bite her.

  Really, I wanted to pull her into a hug and comfort her.

  Fuck, she’d be the death of me.

  “Be in my room by five,” I said, voice strangled.

  “Of course, Mr. Grayson.”

  My grip tightened, and then I let her go.

  STORY

  * * *

  Grayson paused when he came to his room, finding me on my knees and my eyes down.

  “There’s a dress hanging up for you in my closet.”

  I stood. “Sure, Mr. Grayson.”

  “Call me that again, see what happens,” he growled at my back.

  I swallowed but ignored the goose bumps on my skin.

  Grayson hadn’t chosen me—over and over again he hadn’t chosen me.

  I nearly lost my breath when I saw what was hanging in his closet.

  Once again it was like Gray knew me down to my marrow. The dress was me. It went all the way up to my neck and down to my wrists, but the sleeves and neck were a sheer material embroidered with hundreds of little blue dots. I was covered, and uncovered, at the same time. It was a gorgeous cornflower blue that looked great with my dark skin, and the skirt flounced along with the neckline. I felt like I belonged in a fairy tale, as a nutcracker princess.

  When Gray saw me, he swallowed a noise in his throat, and my belly twisted into knots. He stood off the couch and came to me, dressed to kill in a perfectly tailored black suit that somehow looked both disheveled and intentional.

  “I’m regretting this dress,” he said, twisting my lip between his fingers. Though he dragged my lip between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes hadn’t strayed from my body. Soaking me up. Swallowing me whole.

  “Why?” I croaked.

  Slowly his eyes found mine, burning. “I was getting used to keeping you all to myself.”

  Ice water doused my veins. I’d gotten lost in him again, lost in what his touch promised but his actions never kept. I took a step back, eyes finding the floor.

  “Anything else, Mr. Grayson?”

  “The fuck did I say about calling me that?”

  “Why, what are you going to do, Mr. Grayson?” I met his eyes, goading him, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

  Sadness, sorrow, from my uncle.

  Anger, from being strung along.

  “Mr. Grayson,” I said, tears fire in my eyes. “Mr. Grayson—”

  His eyes flamed, and I thought he was going to punish me, but he pulled me into a hug, so tight I couldn’t breathe. Suffocated in his suit, in the dreamy smell of him that felt too much like home.

  And I fell to pieces, getting snot all over his nice suit.

  He gripped the back of my head tight. “Fucking hell, Story.”

  “He’s dying.” I sobbed, over and over again.

  He gripped me tighter, and for a moment I let myself give in to his comfort.

  But he was still marrying her.

  This didn’t belong to me. I was stealing him. I was doing everything my mother taught me to do.

  I pushed him off, swiping my eyes and staring at the floor.

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  I changed the subject. “Why am I dressed like this?”

  “I thought you could use a distraction. And I needed a date.”

  “As your mistress,” I said glumly.

  “As my lover, as my girlfriend, as the girl I want by my side, as the girl I want everyone to know belongs to Grayson Crowne.”

  My heart jumped at his words, but still, “You promised to tell Lottie. I’m not going to do this anymore. I can’t.”

  Yet I’d still put on the dress.

  I’d still come to the room.

  Who of us was I lying to?

  “I’m not marrying Lottie,” he said.

  Even more hope, even more pounding in my chest. “You’ve said that before, Mr. Grayson.”

  “I spoke with my grandfather and my mother. I’ll tell Lottie tonight.”

  It ricocheted through me. He’d told them. Had he really told them? I slowly lifted my eyes, meeting his earnest ones.

  “And they just accepted it?”

  “I made them accept it.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t. It was too much like a happily ever after, too much like a dream come true.

  He gripped my hands. “I need a date tonight, Story.”

  “You’re really not marrying her?”

  “There will be a lot of paparazzi, tonight, Snitch. The whole world will see who I really want. Can you handle that?”

  Forty-Eight

  STORY

  * * *

  He wasn’t kidding when he said there would be paparazzi. Outside the town car, I couldn’t see beyond them. A sea of white-hot lights was barely muted by the black-tinted window. Beyond them, rows and rows of stone stairs led up to hulking columns, lit up at the base by lights, looking somehow more giant, haunting, and regal. Embossed in the stone were the words Du Lac Library for Rare Books and Scripts.

  A hand slid along my thigh, and Grayson’s lips found my ear, warm. “Second-guessing?”

  I swallowed and shook my head, just as the door opened.

  Grayson got out first, and the paparazzi swarmed him like piranhas. He paused, then turned around, giving me his hand.

  I sucked in a breath and took his hand. They were everywhere. Overwhelmingly so. A machine-gun fire of flashbulbs and questions. Grayson pulled me tight to his side, arm wrapped around my waist.

  Grayson!

  Who is she?

  Grayson, over here!

  Through it all, his grip on my waist remained secure, and I felt sheltered by him. He never looked more in his element than right here, with the flashing white light silhouetting his angular jaw. His trademark crooked, cocky smile as he easily navigated choppy waters. He spoke with the paparazzi like old friends.

  When I imagined the life of Grayson Crowne, this was what I’d always conjured up. Glamorous parties every night, schmoozing the paparazzi. Not the lonely prince I knew to be true…but this. Even now, I saw through his smile, saw the weight on his shoulders.

  Then all eyes were on me, and I realized someone had asked me a question.

  He leaned down, lips whispering against my ear. “What’s your name, Snitch?”

  “I, um, Story.”

  Flash. Flash. Flash.

  I blinked a trillion times in what must have produced the worst photograph in the history of magazines, because ow! Are they taking a picture or trying to blind me?

  “She’s my date,” Grayson supplied easily.

  Date.

  I’m his date.

  Everyone went crazy taking more photos.

  How did you tie him down?

  How did you meet?

  My throat closed. The flashes were bright and hot. Grayson slipped his hand from my waist, sliding it between my fingers. He said something to them I didn’t catch, spellbound by our joined hands in public. My heart pounded as we ascended the red carpeted steps, floating higher. The paparazzi flanked us on either side. What world had I fallen into? I was a movie star. I was in a fairy tale.

  Inside the library, the lights were dimmed, and a glow and faint sound of big band music filtered out from someplace unseen. Yet he stopped, gripping my shoulders.

  “Breathe,” he said.

  I sucked in a breath and exhaled, suddenly realizing I hadn’t been breathing. At my big breath, Grayson smiled softly.

  “This is a lot,” I admitted.

  He shrugged. “This is my life.”

  He thumbed my lip, a dark, possessive look consuming his features. He pulled me forward, crashing his lips against mine.

  Lips still pressed to mine, he said, “I’ll never get enough of your lips, Story Hale.”

  Then he gripped my hand in his, and we entered.

  Multiple stories of lea
ther-bound books flanked by towering Grecian columns. It was beautiful, ancient, intimidating.

  I spotted Tansy Crowne and instinctively tensed. A little way away from her, Lottie du Lac smiled with her friends, the same ones who had so very recently tormented me. Grayson’s friends, if he still called them that, leaned against a column, looking bored. Everyone in this room was dressed in the finest silks and satins, but all I saw were sharks.

  I might be dolled, Grayson might have told the paparazzi I was his date, but I did not belong here.

  Tansy gestured for Grayson to come with a crook of her finger.

  “If I don’t go now, it will be a thousand times worse for us later.” He looked at me, worry creasing lines in his smooth forehead.

  “Go,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

  GRAY

  * * *

  On my way to my mother I was stopped by Lottie’s yell.

  “You brought her here? How could you do that?”

  Tears glimmered in her eyes. Around us, partygoers turned to watch, eager for gossip.

  “Shit, Lottie, this isn’t how I wanted to do this.” I caught her elbow, dragging her someplace more private. “I was going to talk to you later.”

  I caught Snitch’s eye before we disappeared, concern and question writ across her usually smooth face.

  Lottie’s shoulders dropped. “You’re taking her as a mistress.”

  “No, fuck no. I can’t go through with it”

  “You’re canceling it?” Lottie’s face crumpled. “Tonight?” Lottie was the perfect high society woman. She didn’t show emotion. She didn’t lose face. She didn’t start scenes.

  So seeing her cry in public was a shock and made me feel like fucking shit.

  “That’s good. That’s…good.” She sniffed, covering her mouth and wiping away a stray tear. Back to the picture of perfection.

  Still, she looked so broken and beat down. I’d loved Lottie and I’d never intended to fall out of love with her.

  “Lottie…”

  I didn’t know what words to say to make this better.

  To fix it.

  “I said get it out of your system…I just didn’t think you’d call it off. I’m a little shocked. I shouldn’t want to be married to someone who doesn’t want me, right? I even tried so hard to convince my father,” she said. “I told my brother and my father I didn’t want to marry you anymore, but…you know. It doesn’t matter. You’re canceling it. I’m sorry. I didn’t have the guts.” Her shining eyes met mine. “I’m sorry I realized it too late. It was always you for me, too, Grayson.” She smiled weakly. “I hope you’re happy with her.”

  “Lottie, shit.” I messed up my hair. “You’re perfect. You’ll find someone so much better than me.”

  She looked into her champagne. “When will you tell them?”

  My mother’s gaze had shifted from me to Snitch. She set down her glass of champagne, and I could see the wheels turning.

  “No, I canceled it,” I said. “It’s done.”

  Her brow collapsed, and her head shot up. “But tonight—”

  “Can we finish this later?”

  “Of course, Grayson.”

  STORY

  * * *

  Grayson has been gone for ten minutes, and the last time I saw him he was with Lottie.

  I keep telling myself he chose me.

  He chose me.

  I have nothing to worry about.

  But that doesn’t calm my nerves.

  At least my dress is the best camouflage. People would never expect Story Hale to be here, dressed the way I am. So far I’ve blended in beautifully next to a row of books.

  I eavesdropped on the conversations like back when I was a servant, and, still, the things the rich and famous say are quite…dull.

  There is no truth to their words.

  Honesty. Bloody, raw, jagged truth.

  I shivered at the memory.

  “Story?” West du Lac’s voice made me freeze. I stared straight ahead, hoping he would think he was mistaken.

  “Story, I know that’s you.”

  Shit.

  West grabbed my arm, turning me to face him. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are…” I stopped. Du Lac was on the freaking building.

  “I’m Grayson’s date.”

  “His date?” West laughed, but more to himself than to me. It was bitter, caustic, cutting. My high from before eviscerated by his cutting laugh. “So it’s because of you.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean ‘because of me’?’”

  But he didn’t respond to my question.

  “What is it, Story?” he asked. “Why are you with him? I didn’t pay high enough?”

  I imagined pouring champagne on his head or throwing cake in his face. Instead, as years’ worth of feelings I’d repressed came bubbling to the surface, I spoke the truth.

  The bloody, raw, jagged truth.

  “If you recall, West”—I bit his name off—“you didn’t call me back.”

  He looked away, but only for the briefest second. “I apologized. I want another chance.”

  “I thought you were the one, West,” I said. “I cried about you. I cried about you, and you didn’t even care to text me back. You didn’t even care enough to ask if I wanted to lose my virginity in the first place. I told you I wanted to wait. I said I wanted to slow down, but you didn’t care enough to listen. And now you don’t care to listen when I’m telling you I don’t want to give you a second chance.”

  He reeled. “What are you implying, Story? You didn’t say no.”

  “Just because I didn’t say no doesn’t mean I said yes,” I whispered.

  He glared. “I’m West du Lac. I can have anyone I want. What are you implying?” His voice raised, and a few people looked over. I chewed my lip.

  I hadn’t wanted to get into this.

  I never wanted to talk about it again.

  But he kept coming around, poking me, prodding at the wound that wouldn’t heal.

  “This always happens,” West scoffed. “You don’t call the chick back and suddenly it’s rape. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I…” I stared into his eyes. Yes. YES. “No…”

  My mom used the word rape as a weapon, and I never wanted to be her. Besides, if he did…do that…then that meant I wanted my rapist to call me back. I cried when he didn’t. And he still broke my heart. So what does that say about me?

  “Are you looking for money?” he asked. “Is that it? You heard my dad’s company is doing well and wanted in on it? Heard I was about to take over?”

  “No…” My shoulders sank further and I felt like sludge.

  “You’re willing to fuck Gray while he’s about to marry my sister—so how much is he paying you?”

  My eyes flashed. “They’re not getting married.”

  “They sped up the wedding because of you, Angel.”

  Sped up the wedding? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “What do you think this is?”

  My heart beat faster and faster. “A benefit for books. I don’t know.”

  “Oh.” His eyes popped, and I saw actual pity behind them, concern. “Angel…”

  For the first time since we’d arrived, I allowed myself to look beyond the Gray bubble. We were at a du Lac building, Lottie was here and dressed beautifully…but she always looked beautiful, right? It wasn’t strange her family was here, because it was a du Lac building.

  So what? So what if there was enough press for a royal engagement?

  There were diamonds on all the cakes, glittering and cascading like waterfalls. Atop them rings sat…one could even say they’d been designed to emulate engagement rings…but I’d been to enough Crowne parties to know they always go all out. The Fourth of July party had four-karat gold in the sand.

  When West took a step to me, thumbing my jaw, I was too shell-shocked to stop him.

  “Angel, those are my parents. You see his
parents. You see the engagement rings.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  Fear ripped through me.

  The cake. The parents.

  “Give me one more fucking chance, Angel. It was a mistake I made years ago. I messed up. I shouldn’t have taken your virginity that way. I shouldn’t have ghosted you. You’re a dream I can’t stop reliving.”

  He thumbed my jaw, and this time I swatted his hand away.

  “Well, you were my worst fucking nightmare.”

  “Goddamn, West,” Gray said, appearing at the best or worst time—I couldn’t decide. His hand found my lower back. “Stop bothering my date. I’d hate to have to knock you out at your own party.”

  “My party?” West laughed.

  I spun away from Gray, away from them both, needing air. To get out of the room filled with books and diamonds and lies, somewhere dark, somewhere I couldn’t be seen, somewhere I could disappear.

  “Yeah, your party, dickhead—Story, wait!” He caught up to me just as I was about to leave the library and grabbed my shoulders. “Where are you going?”

  I don’t know how much Gray had overheard. Maybe he’d learned I was lying about my virginity. I should probably be worried about that, worried the small lie that had grown into a massive monster was about to devastate us.

  But in this moment it didn’t matter.

  “Where am I right now?” I demanded. “What is this?”

  “Some benefit.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t bring me to your engagement party. Please tell me you didn’t. Please.”

  Forty-Nine

  GRAY

  * * *

  “Of course not.” The smile on my face lingered, even as dread wove its way into my gut. I was still high on the night, when I believed I could have it all without consequences, but the tears in her eyes told me the truth.

  My mother had been way too fucking nice about me bringing Story.

  She’d said she looked lovely.

  “I called off the wedding,” I said, more to myself, like it would make it true.