All I had was this girl.
When it was horrifyingly clear no one was going to help me, I hung up the Crowne Hall house line. A part of me wondered if this was another punishment, and if making a scene would make Mom even more upset with me.
So I determined to handle it myself.
I struggled, flexing in ways no person should flex, and I knew Theo could hear me. My breath was too loud, coming out in short gasps. Theo remained stoic at the door, not so much as flinching. When I fell off my chair and knocked over my coral porcelain lamp after another attempt, his cool, even voice finally drifted inside the room.
“Need help?” His head was still forward, his shoulders loose.
“No,” I snapped.
Yes.
“Five minutes,” he replied.
I chewed my bottom lip, staring at his back. Theo was a sentry. He didn’t so much as straighten his spine at my presence.
I watched my clock tick down. Four minutes. Three… I was going to be late for Gemma’s party, and Tansy Crowne would have me drawn and quartered.
“I need your help,” I blurted.
A barely-there perk of his slightly crooked ear was the only response I got before he came to me.
Theo was behind me for a long time, his fingers just beneath the lace of my dress. It only took Story only five minutes tops, yet he leisurely worked the laces. My heart rose and rose with each skim of his finger, the pad of his pointer sliding along my spine, teasing to the base. It took everything in me not to grasp the doorframe for support.
“What’s taking so long?” I demanded.
Silence.
Then, “Done.”
But his touch stayed, as if memorizing each traitorous heartbeat beneath my flesh.
“Thanks,” I said. Thanks? I didn’t thank people, especially not bodyguards. Not getting them fired was thanks enough.
Theo froze, and his grip tightened on the laces, forcing the dress so taut against my skin I couldn’t breathe. I opened my mouth to suck in air, but nothing came. I think I squeaked out a word, but if he heard, he didn’t act like it.
Suddenly he let me go, and I stumbled forward.
“It’s part of the job, princess.”
We were late, rushing through nearly empty halls to the ballroom where the party was being held. We were almost there when I heard, “Oh shit, the mutt’s back!”
Geoff, one of my brother’s friends, laughed with his friend Drake. I didn’t see any drinks in their hands, but it smelled like weed.
“Does that mean we can’t make the princess cry anymore?” Drake mused, watching me with sparkling interest.
“Not if you don’t want to get bit,” Geoff sneered.
I snuck a clandestine glance at Theo, wondering if their words affected him as much as they did me. There’d been a time when he’d been the only one at my back, and of course our world had afforded him cruel nicknames for his kindness.
Dog. Mutt.
He was stone.
Fine, I would be too.
We kept walking, leaving them to their laughter.
We rushed straight down and sat at the table high above the party without doing the regular meet and greet, and I could tell Mother was already upset.
I quickly scurried to the table and found my seat, but froze when I saw the item in my chair: a long-stemmed gold rose. I brushed the rose to the floor and took my seat. Roses were perfectly normal, especially at such an opulent party.
It wasn’t possible he could be here. It wasn’t. Crowne Hall was more fortified than the white house.
Still, my heart hammered.
Theo was a hot shadow at my back, his presence a boiling pressure. I was seated above everyone else, and I folded and unfolded my linen in my lap.
Crowne Hall was known for its extravagant parties, and tonight was no different. All the elite of Crowne Point were here to celebrate my sister’s twenty-third birthday.
I was seated at the very edge of the long, elegantly decorated table, and Gemma was at the center, wearing the Crowne family tiara. Mom didn’t even let me look at the thing. I folded my arms, trying not to feel envy, but it boiled venomous beneath my skin.
Grandpa wasn’t here.
I missed him.
The only one who showed me any sort of affection.
I shifted again in my dress. Something felt wrong.
I looked over my shoulder at Theo, standing sentry against the only wall that wasn’t a floor-to-ceiling window.
“Are you sure it’s on correctly?” I asked. I knew if I had another wardrobe mishap I’d be in deep, deep shit.
Theo gave me a deadpan stare.
I looked back out at the hall, at the rows of perfectly dressed partygoers seated beneath the domed ceiling and massive imported Italian crystal chandelier. No fiancé tonight, it seemed—just us Crownes above everyone else. Which meant I’d been spared.
Barely.
Before long the trill of crystal sounded, and eyes turned to me. It was my turn to do a speech for Gemma. I swallowed my urge to vomit and stood. My old high school classmates were in the crowd, having returned from their lives for the summer. From college or internships, things my family frowned upon, but I dreamed about.
I’m only twenty-one, and as the summer looms to its end, I fear it will be another year I won’t be afforded the same privilege.
Technically I have three younger half-siblings, the triplets my father had with his official mistress before he died. They’re still in boarding school in Switzerland. Some days I envied them. We’d been plucked from boarding school and told to amass influence at public school. Gray and Gemma ruled Crowne Point High. Back then, I thought it was the worst time of my life.
It was nothing to now.
I tapped my crystal glass with a smile.
I gave some bullshit speech about love and family, even looking to Gemma with a smile—she crinkled her nose at me. When I finished, I set down my drink. I was afforded the duty claps owed me. However, when I turned around, giving my back to the room, everyone went silent.
My gut dropped.
A billion thoughts went through my head.
Did I have panties stuck to my dress? Was it see-through? Did Theo forget to lace the back properly?
We hadn’t been seen by anyone on our way down. What an awful way to learn my new dress was see-through. I was frozen, waiting for the pin to drop.
“Oh my God,” someone whispered.
“What is wrong with you, Abby?” Gemma hissed, suddenly at my side, her perfect nearly nude manicure digging into my elbow.
“Currently? I have a bitch-barnacle stuck to my arm.” I yanked Gemma off me.
Gemma scoffed. “This is low, even for you.”
Fear crawled up my throat, but I couldn’t let Gemma win. Still acting like everything was fine, I caught my reflection in one of the many gilded floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the room. They opened out to the Atlantic Ocean, sapphire in the night, like looking into a black mirror.
My dress had been vandalized. Smeared along the pretty sheer skirt in red lipstick were the words: Gemma is a SLUT.
I gasped, grappling with the material to try and get a better look.
What. The. Fuck.
“You’re a fucking psycho,” Gemma hissed, still smiling.
“Pot meet overly priced plastic kettle,” I spat, dropping my dress.
“You’re envious, you’re hateful. You’ve always been that way,” Gemma said. “There’s a reason you don’t have friends, Abby. A reason we vacation without you. A reason Mom constantly wonders if you were switched at the hospital.”
I looked over the crowd, seeing my old classmates. Suit-clad arms were folded. Beautiful, professionally made-up eyes glittered under the low light, watching me. A hushed murmur began to rise like a slow wave.
I knew what they were thinking, and it gutted me like a harpoon. It was the same thought keeping me from being invited to parties, spurring me to show up uninvited and armoring m
e to act like I enjoyed ruining their fun.
God, Abby, take a fucking hint.
I just hoped someone would say they were happy to see me.
Once.
“Take a fucking hint.”
I launched at Gemma. I tangled my fingers in her silky blown-out curls, and I knew it wasn’t going to end well. People think I’m malicious and vindictive and did things because I like causing drama. But have you ever been so hurt and torn open you’d do anything to make the throbbing pain stop?
You can’t think about the after, only the now?
Why do I have to get married before Gemma? And why so rushed?
Why does everything in my life have to revolve around Crowne Industries?
I yanked at my sister’s hair, and she gripped my wrists, pulling me the other way.
“You’re such a disgrace to our name,” Gemma said, our foreheads touching.
“You’re a kiss-ass.”
“Yeah, well you’re a kiss-ass wannabe.” Gemma was strong. She held me there, forcing me to listen. “And that’s fucking pathetic.”
Another spear to my heart.
I redirected my grip from Gemma’s hair to her nice dress, tearing at the lace, and she was trying to do the same when I was pulled off, back into the arms of Theo. Gemma tore my dress as I went, and I only managed to slightly wrinkle hers.
Theo’s heat wrapped around me, arms like corded iron. Gemma’s perfect blonde curls were mussed and tangled, and the Crowne tiara was now askew. That filled me with bitter-sweet joy.
“Stop.” His low, commanding voice vibrated against my ear. I relaxed, my hurt melting into his chest.
For a stupid, blinding minute I felt safe. Theo had been the only one I’d ever felt safe with.
Then he dropped me. I watched as if viewing a car crash as he went and helped my sister off the floor, even going so far as to fix her tiara. Pain tore my heart down the middle.
“Well, happy birthday to Gemma,” I said. “The real whore of Crowne Industries.”
“Cover yourself,” my mother hissed. I looked down, finding my breasts exposed where Gemma had ripped. I quickly slammed my arms over my chest, but it was useless—everyone had seen.
My eyes snapped from her to the crowd watching with delight, then back to her. I ground my jaw so tears wouldn’t spring. I know what they’re thinking. I’m pulling an Abby, making a mess of things, acting like a fool. I can’t wait to see what the hashtag would be tonight.
“It is such a relief your father isn’t here to see this.” There were few times I’d heard my mother’s voice shake, an anger reserved only for me—her greatest disappointment.
“Get her out of here,” my mother said to Theo.
Theo nodded, coming back to me, beginning to usher me away.
“But Mom—”
“Abigail,” my mother hissed, cutting me off. Her smile remained, glancing at the people who watched us. “Are you so fatally jealous you have to ruin everything?”
“Mom, I didn’t do it,” I said weakly.
Her eyes narrowed. “The words just crawled up your dress?”
I opened my mouth and closed it. I didn’t know how they’d gotten there.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I said weakly.
She shook her head. “It’s never your fault, Abigail.” My mother walked away, joining the crowd to presumably do damage control.
“At least playboy Gray understands his role. You…” Gemma sighed, righting her tiara. “You are so deeply, deeply unworthy of this family.”
I mashed my lips together, trying to control the heat crawling up my cheeks. I could feel them all watching me, the whispers, the laughter, the rumors that would spread.
So I laughed.
Because I didn’t want to cry. “I wish I wasn’t part of this family.”
I ripped myself out of Theo’s hold, running out of the great hall and into the gardens, falling on the lush green lawns overlooking the ocean. I pulled at the ends of my curls, looking at the dark waters.
We weren’t ever like other families, but then Dad died, and everything became about preserving his name, our name.
My mom has always been Tansy Crowne, but there was a time when my sister and brother weren’t only Gemma and Gray Crowne. And me… who was I before I became the girl pitted against them?
The girl destined to lose.
The real truth about me? The lives I destroyed were casualties. I wasn’t wicked.
I was unworthy. Unlovable. Rejected.
I heard a crunch and jumped, but when I saw who it was, I relaxed.
“Theo.” His name came out on a breath. The glow of Crowne Hall created a halo around his lean figure, making him look dark and ominous. He’d been there for me, held me, even if it was just part of the job, and I couldn’t shake the reminders of the past. Hope bloomed in my chest that, despite earlier today and five years of distance, we could go back to before.
He slid out of his jacket, draping it over my body.
“Thank you,” I said. Sincerely. Once again, Theo had been the only one there for me.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Disgust?
I tugged at my chestnut curl, trying to get my heart rate under control.
Wary, I pulled the lapels tight around me, watching him through my lashes as he walked around me until he was blocking the ocean. He bent down, suit stretching across his knees, his face still half-engulfed in shadows. His sharp cheekbones even hollower, more gaunt in the darkness.
“Poor Abigail,” he said. “Always second best.” He wiped the tear off my face with his knuckle and a smile that made me shiver.
“Theo, what are you—”
He cut me off, my words disappearing into my throat as he spoke. “Never good enough. Not loved by her mommy. Hated by her siblings. Reviled by her peers.” His hand didn’t leave me, knuckles resting on my jaw, lighter than air. “Poor little Abigail only wants to be loved, but no one could ever love her.”
“Stop.” I tried to tear my face from him, but his light grasp turned furious. He held my chin, hard and bruising, forcing me to look into his eyes. The warm Crowne Hall lights reflected in them, dancing like devil’s flames.
“So easy. So predictable. Still lashing out without thought, starting fires that consume her.”
My heart pounded louder than the ocean as a realization curled in my gut. There was only one person who had access to my dress. I just didn’t understand why he would do it.
“You did this?”
“I fucked up your dress. The rest was all you.”
“Why?” I whispered.
He released my chin, and this time I was frozen in place, his presence holding me captive. He trailed his knuckles against my jaw, up and down in a tender fashion that utterly belied the wolfish, vicious way he watched me.
A ghostly breeze blew salt air between us.
He wasn’t going to answer.
“Why are you here?” I tried instead.
His knuckle grazed my chin as a smile curled his lips. “Truth or promise?”
I had a thought as he perverted the sweet game we used to play as teenagers.
The thing between us was darkening, twisting, and I should run. Run before I darken and twist with it. I was the Wicked Bitch of the East Coast, but I wasn’t the words they called me. Not really. I liked to pretend I was as callous as my brother Grayson, as cunning as my sister Gemma.
In reality, I was soft. As they said, there was a reason I’d never fit in. I was a marshmallow. Easy to step on. Easier to squish.
So I answered. “Truth.”
Theo smiled, easy and slow. “I’m going to break your heart, and you’re going to thank me for it.”
3
THEO
She blinked, eyes wide, then laughed. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Maybe,” I answered, dropping her chin, standing up. The grass was made unsteady by the sand beneath, and the ocean roared angry behind us.
I
liked her at my feet. Liked having Abigail Crowne where she belonged.
Thanks.
Abigail thanked me. Abigail Crowne didn’t show soft sides, and if she did, it was only because she was about to put the dagger in your back. Thank-yous. Promises. Confessions. They should all be treated like enemy fire.
In all the truth or promises Abigail Crowne and I had played, she’d only ever made me one promise, and she broke it before the sun could rise.
Now, Abigail watched me, keeping a taut smile on her face, the moonlight liquid pearl on her skin. It was as if she thought I wouldn’t see through it, like I wouldn’t remember what a real Abigail Crowne smile looked like.
I speared my pocket, finding the friendship bracelet I couldn’t throw away. “You have a nickname, you know, around Crowne Hall.”
Her smile dropped.
“Oh.” I smiled, licking my top two teeth. “You already know it.”
“Fuck off.” She stood and took off the jacket I’d given her, throwing it at my face, trying to push past me, but I easily grasped her by the elbow.
It wasn’t like before. She had no fight.
I’d thought about this moment for five years, what I would do when I finally saw her again, how I would make her suffer like she’d made me.
I’d expected her to fight back.
“The girl who opens her legs for anyone,” I said quietly, working the blocky beads so hard they bit into my skin. “The girl who begs for insults, because they come easier than adoration. The girl who’d ask to get slapped if it meant someone would touch her.”
“Please…” Abigail bit her lower lip and looked at the grass. “Stop.”
“The Reject Princess.” I licked the words with a humorless smirk.
Her eyes flashed back to mine, haughty and filled with fire. For a minute she looked just like she had the night she’d started this.
I was sixteen when they’d found me.
When she’d found me.
I don’t know much about my life before the Crownes. I’d lived on the streets of our small town, when one night a shiny, black car stopped. Abigail Crowne got out of the car. I remember it had been an unusually cold July, and the streets popped with fireworks every night.
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 185