* * *
I folded and refolded the square Grayson had given me, stuck sitting behind the flowery partition as they said their vows. I was the girl behind the girl, literally.
“Do you, Charlotte du Lac, take Grayson Crowne to be your husband?” the minister asked.
I lifted my head, staring at the flowers that separated us, imagining her staring up at him from beneath her pretty veil, her even prettier dress.
“I do.” Her soft, even voice drifted through.
“And do you, Grayson Crowne, take Charlotte du Lac to be your wife?”
A moment passed like a year as I waited for Grayson to answer.
“I do,” he said.
“Ow,” I gasped, all the breath leaving me like the time I’d had the wind knocked out of me.
I fell against the wall. I knew it was coming, so I didn’t think it would hurt as much, but it still felt like I’d been shot in the chest.
I gripped the square harder.
This was the only ending.
I knew when they kissed by the cheers.
When the music started up, I could imagine when they walked down the aisle, out the door, and presumably into a new life.
I sat in the dark for a while, thumbing the locket. I trailed the clasp with my thumb, sticking my nail into the groove. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was inside Grayson Crowne’s heart. I was afraid if I did, I couldn’t hate him.
And I needed to hate him.
I waited until I was certain there was no one in the room to walk out from behind the partition. Walked in a daze through the halls, until the snap of fingers stopped me. I blinked and looked into the eyes of Ms. Barn.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where the hell have you been?”
“Around…”
Ms. Barn glared. “Mrs. Grayson Crowne will need her second, third, and fourth dress. You’ll have to prepare her for the reception. Mrs. Tansy was not pleased with the size of the ceremony, so the reception is going to more than make up for it…”
Mrs. Grayson Crowne.
I blinked, stunned. I felt like I’d been shocked. Mrs. Grayson Crowne. The name thumped against my heart like someone stepping on a bruise.
“Story?” She peered at me.
“Right,” I barely got out. “Of course. Wait, you’re calling me Story again.”
“You’re no longer a part of the du Lac household. Welcome home.” Ms. Barn smiled at me, but her expression carried something else.
Something darker.
I couldn’t figure it out, but moments later, when I returned to the servants’ quarters to change before refreshing Lottie’s dresses, I got my answer.
It was my home.
Cramped, mildewy home.
And all my belongings were scattered on the floor, my clothes ripped and ruined.
“You really should’ve left, Story.”
“Ellie?” I spun, finding her in the doorway. “Do you know what happened?”
She looked at me with almost pity. “Did you think because you fucked Grayson Crowne you wouldn’t get the same treatment? Or maybe because your uncle has worked here longer than Jesus, we’d go soft on you?”
“I thought…” I looked back at my ruined belongings. “I’ve been back for over a month.”
“You were a guest, working for Ms. du Lac. But now? Welcome home, Story.”
Home.
I swished the word around in my mouth like stale soda when I got back to Grayson’s wing and hung Mrs. Grayson Crowne’s dresses up, each one more beautiful than the last. When I’d hung the last, I reached for the jewelry to accompany them.
It was time to forget about Grayson Crowne. I had bigger things to worry about. Like my uncle, or the fact that I had an entire palace of servants out for revenge.
But a bruise was already forming around my ring finger in the shape of his teeth.
The sound of the door creaking open behind me jarred me from my thoughts, and I turned, expecting and dreading to find Lottie—no, Mrs. Grayson Crowne. I all but dropped the diamond necklace I held when I saw who stood in the doorway.
“West?” I looked around, expecting Grayson’s guards to storm in any minute. “How did you get in here?”
He shrugged with a smile. “I said I would be there, Angel.”
Fifty-Nine
GRAY
* * *
When Lottie and I were finally away from prying eyes, I lifted her veil. Mascara ran black down her soft cocoa cheeks.
I exhaled. “You can’t bribe fate.”
She swiped at her cheeks but only smeared the black. “It’s nothing. I’m just really happy. Did you get my letter?”
I wiped her cheeks. “I did.”
“Is that why you were late to the wedding?” I nodded. “Did it work…” She looked up at me through her runny eyes. “Is she finally out of your system?”
That’s what I’d been trying to do for fucking months. This last month, I wanted to forever ruin that part of her that thought she could love me.
And I fucking failed.
Each taste, moment, second with Snitch just burrowed her deeper. I couldn’t lie to Lottie, but I couldn’t reassure her either.
Lottie fell to the bed, messing up the perfectly arranged roses, my silence speaking volumes.
“They think we’re fucking in here.” Lottie swiped at the roses. “I fucking hate roses. Especially white ones.”
A small smile broke. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard Lottie du Lac use the f-word.”
“There’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”
I nodded. Yeah.
“I just really wanted my husband to love me. To think of me on our wedding night. And only me.”
I touched my neck. Her scratches still burned. The way Story had come just hours before was fucking tattooed inside me forever.
How I came inside her.
A sick, twisted part of me wished for something I knew would only bring destruction to all of us.
“Are you going to be sleeping with her in this house?” Lottie asked. “People will talk.”
“I know you don’t know me very well, Lottie, but I wouldn’t do that to you. Or her.”
Her shoulders sagged; then her eyes shone again. “But…I’d understand if you need to say goodbye. If…if…tonight wasn’t enough.” More tears fell down her cheek, and she looked like saying the words had almost made her sick.
Music drifted in beneath the cracks in the door, floating around us. Downstairs, the real party was just getting started, my mother’s revenge for forcing such a small wedding.
“I already said my goodbye. From this day on, I’m your husband.”
* * *
TO BE CONTINUED
Story and Gray’s fate continues in Forbidden Fate, available for preorder now at special preorder sale price by clicking the title!
But keep reading! So you have something during the wait, I’ve included a special sneak preview of Heartless Hero, Abigail and Theo’s story, and where you first see Story and Gray.
Heartless Hero Preview
ABOUT HEARTLESS HERO
A brand new second chance bully romance from Mary Catherine Gebhard. Find out why Bestselling Author C.L. Matthews said "This is, and will be, my favorite bully book of all time” and author S.M. Soto called it “The best bully romance of 2019!"
There are rules to being Abigail Crowne’s bodyguard, rules to watching the infamous billion-dollar heiress, otherwise known as the Reject Princess.
Never forget your place, always put the Crowne name above all else, and never, ever hurt the Reject.
Especially don’t torment the Reject.
Even if she is a spoiled brat.
So when an opportunity presents itself to punish her, you definitely shouldn’t take it.
Then again, Abigail loves to be tortured, and I’ve waited patiently for revenge.
I’ll keep her safe... with cruel protection.
Love is off limi
ts with Abigail Crowne, but no one said anything about hate.
ABIGAIL
* * *
My head pounded as I dragged my feet through the gate. Carrying my strappy Jimmy Choos, I walked alone past towering wrought iron, along cobblestone and perfectly trimmed emerald-green hedges, past crystal-blue fountains and dower-faced guards. They didn’t look at me, but I felt their stares all the same.
I’d lost my bodyguard. Again.
I’d been caught by the press. Again.
“You’re in so much shit.”
My older sister, Gemma, leaned against pretty white embellished walls, a cup of tea in her hands. When she saw me, she came forward, like she’d been waiting. I wouldn’t doubt it.
“I think I heard Mom say the words ‘complete disappointment.’” A smile curved her red lips just as a laugh echoed through the great halls.
Grayson, my brother.
“No, it was ‘utterly hopeless,’” he added. “The word ‘nunnery’ was also tossed around.” Gemma joined in his laughter, and I fought the urge to throw my strappy heels at their heads.
Both my siblings were tall and shared my mother and father’s iconic blond hair. It looked like spun rose gold. I, on the other hand, was barely five foot five, and had my great-grandmother’s hair, so brown it was almost black—just so it was obvious I was the black sheep.
“Where is she?”
“Take a wild guess,” Gemma said.
I swallowed my grimace, walking in the direction as my siblings followed after me, eager to watch what was about to unfold.
My mother, Tansy, loved her tea and cupcakes almost as much as she loved doling out my punishments. Most days she could be found in the sunroom, overlooking three miles of gardens, blue skies, and Atlantic Ocean.
Outside the sunroom, I knocked lightly with a sigh. “Mom—”
I stopped short, locked on the figure at the end of our pearly hallway. It had been years since I’d seen him, but I’d recognize his piercing green eyes anywhere.
Theo Hound.
“Abigail?” my mother’s lilting voice called.
I blinked, and he was gone. I must have seen wrong. That person was on the opposite side of the country, in California guarding my grandfather.
“Hello, Mother,” I said, coming into the room. I took my usual place before her feet, the midafternoon sun warm against my back. My siblings went to stand by my mother, both resting their hands on the curling back of her sateen chaise, as if really wanting to rub in how apart from them I was.
Mother placed the book she’d been reading on a table adorned with tea and cookies to her left, starting in on her usual censure. She wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed. She both expected this and expected better.
“What is it?” I asked, holding back a sigh. “Am I under house arrest? Are you taking away my allowance? Or maybe denying me dinner?” Those were her usual go-tos. None of them explained the growing smiles on my siblings’ faces.
“We’ve assigned you a new guard. This is not like the others you’ve ditched. This man is not there to protect you, this man is to watch your every movement and keep our reputation safe.”
My gut dropped. The Crowne Guard was filled with sycophants who had their noses far up my siblings’ and mom’s assholes. I didn’t have one friend on it. I did have one enemy, but surely they wouldn’t choose him. My mother had always hated Theo, and she’d practically rejoiced when he left. She would never choose him to guard me twenty-four seven.
“So what?” I asked. “He’s going to follow me around?”
Mother nodded. “Twenty-four seven.”
“A male guard?” I nearly gasped. “But surely not at night.”
“Twenty-four seven,” she repeated. “We’ve redone your en suite into a room.”
“That’s not proper,” I stammered. “Rumors will spread. People will think things.” People already thought them. I’d been branded a slut since Rosey, our boarding school, years ago.
Screw the fact I was still almost a virgin, right?
Mom tossed magazine after magazine at my feet. The one where they’d caught me getting out of a limo with my legs—and no panties. The one where I was topless on the yacht, making out with an Oscar winner. The one where I was lip-locked with Hollywood’s it girl and guy.
I said almost.
“Rumors?” She arched a brow, then continued unperturbed. “This will be the least scandalous thing you’ve done. Believe me when I say he was not my first choice,” my mother said, almost bitterly. “Despite my objections, your grandfather is resolute.”
Now I was even more confused. Who had been chosen to watch me? What man could have my mother so bitter, yet be in such good graces with my grandfather?
“Grayson is on the cover of more tabloids than me,” I tried desperately. I don’t know why I even bothered. The bar was always placed on the floor for Gray.
My gaze kept drifting back to the door, beyond my sibling peanut gallery. Had I seen him? I didn’t know anyone else who somehow both stood out of, and blended into, the shadows.
“Abigail!” my mother snapped, and I quickly looked at her. Only I could make my mother snap. I took perverse satisfaction in that; it was the only attention she afforded me, after all. “Did you hear a word I said?”
“Doubt it,” Grayson said. “She’s still standing.”
I glared at my brother in the doorway. My siblings and I were so close in age. Gray was just a year older than me at twenty-two, and Gemma the eldest at almost twenty-three, yet we couldn’t be further apart. Both he and my sister watched me, twisted smiles on their faces. Watching our mom torture me was one of their favorite forms of amusement.
“Grayson isn’t going to marry the son of a man whose company your grandfather has been courting for over three years.”
Everything came to a crashing halt.
I wish I’d heard her wrong, but I knew I hadn’t. I’d known this day was coming for as long as I could remember. You don’t get to be me and not have this day. My sister’s day had come in boarding school. My brother’s would come soon as well. I darted my eyes between my siblings and back to my mother, a sinking feeling growing.
“You’re marrying me off?” I took a step back. “When? To who? Have I even met him?”
My mom waved her hand as if what I’d said was trivial. “Before the end of the summer.”
“This summer?” At my distressed face, behind our mother’s back, Gemma pushed out her bottom lip, pretending to pout for me.
“Fuck off, Gemma,” I said.
Gemma clutched her heart. “Mother, do you see how she speaks to me?” Behind our mother’s back she mouthed fuck you and gave me the bird.
“Enough,” my mother said without heat. “This shouldn’t be news to you, Abigail. Your grandfather has been working on this trade for years.”
“Yes, but—” I started, only to be cut off.
“We can’t afford your little…dalliances…ruining it.”
Gemma laughed. “That’s a nice way to look at them.”
“But—”
“We’re done talking about this, Abigail,” Mom said. “Why don’t you try following your sister’s example for once? She handles her engagement with grace.”
“And if I say no?” I tested.
My mother sipped her tea, my question not worth a response. Since Father’s death years ago, Crowne Industries had been untenable. Never mind what happened to our family—our father had been the glue holding an already dysfunctional unit together—the company was always the most important.
On the surface, we were billionaires who had it all. Beneath that veneer, we were barely sustained by my ruthless grandfather Beryl Crowne and my narcissistic mother, Tansy. We stayed afloat, because we did what they said.
Whatever they said—anything so we didn’t lose the crown, or Crowne, I should say.
I knew what would happen if I disobeyed. I’d end up like my uncle, the cautionary tale in our family for what
happened when you disobeyed: penniless and excommunicated.
Over mother’s back, Gray blew me a kiss.
I ground my teeth. “I won’t disappoint you, Mother.”
Mom didn’t even bother hiding her incredulous laugh. Without another word, she went back to her book. Our conversation was over.
Maybe if I was someone else, I would’ve told Mom to screw off. It didn’t go over my head that she hadn’t even bothered to tell me whom I was marrying.
I wish I didn’t want my mother’s approval, but it was the one thing I wanted most in the world, and there were days I would do anything to get it. On those days, I tended to disappoint her most.
I watched her a moment longer, playing the conversation I wished would happen in my head.
I’m sorry, Mom.
That’s okay, because I love you, Abigail. No matter what you do, I will always love you.
After I’d stood there too long, Mother waved a hand for me to go.
I stopped just before the huge portrait of my father, Charles Crowne. He’d had a hard, square jaw and arresting reddish-brown eyes, and in certain lights, they looked purple. His eyes were the only thing I received from him, the only hint I might be a Crowne. He’d been gone for so long this was how I remembered him, in paintings and pictures.
“God, that was so much more satisfying than I imagined,” Gemma said to my back. “I think I came.”
“Oh, eat a dick, Gemma.”
“I would, Abby, but you’ve already gotten to them all. You’re the Pac-Man of dicks.”
It doesn’t count if it happens in Crowne Hall.
I spun around and raised my hand to throw one of my heels at Gemma’s head, but my hand froze midair, captive in someone’s grasp. When I looked over my shoulder, my knees buckled, and I nearly fell.
Theo.
Theo held me up by my wrist, unperturbed by the sudden weakness in my legs. I had questions…a lot of questions. Almost five years had passed since I’d last seen him in person. I’d seen pictures of him, but only in tabloids, and always in the back behind my grandfather, out of focused or cropped. Grandpa rarely visited our town of Crowne Point—and even more rarely so our home, Crowne Hall—which meant I never saw Theo.
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