Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  I felt like a doe about to be caught in the jaws of a mountain lion. For a brief moment, I showed him my neck. Ice-cold water drenched my spine, and I locked eyes with him. No one in the world would accuse Abigail Crowne of being a virgin.

  But Theo had never been just anyone.

  I quickly shook out of it, re-dropping my walls, but I took too long to respond. “No.”

  He laughed.

  Hiking his knee up just a little bit, pressing on that deep, aching spot inside me.

  “You are.”

  There was wonder in his voice, but it was drowned by the cruelty. It reminded me of a photo I’d seen of tourists on a beach taking selfies with a dead baby dolphin.

  Vicious delight.

  I’d done everything but—so technically I wasn’t. Right?

  “This changes things.” He pressed his knee hard, and a traitorous gasp fell from my lips. I hated myself for grabbing onto him, wrinkling his shirt.

  His touch threaded into my hair, pulling my head, exposing my neck. “How much would you give me to make your first time magical, Reject?”

  “I’m not having sex with you.” Why did my voice shake?

  Another laugh.

  Trying to see his eyes, to calculate his next move, caused a painful strain in my neck. It was so much easier to give in. Give in to his fingers digging into my hair, massaging one minute, and bruising the next.

  I tried to focus on my breathing, but the more I did, the more my lungs shrunk. All I knew were his soft lips on my ear. His breath too hot, burning up my neck. His knee causing a curling ache inside me I’d never known.

  An ache threatening to consume me.

  His lips were so close to my flesh. Something deep and traitorous inside me screamed kiss me. Bite me. Mark me.

  “I won’t do it,” I said, voice breathy and treacherous.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” he said. “You’ll give me so much.”

  My eyes flew open at his dangerous words.

  His lips fell on my neck.

  “Theo?”

  At the voice, Theo dropped me like fire and stepped back. My hand came to my neck, where his lips had left a venomous tattoo, threading into my blood, turning my view hazy as a sunset. I couldn’t string together a thought.

  I needed to get my shit together, because a few feet from us was a man in a dark-gray, three-piece suit despite the summer weather. He was almost as famous for the look as he was for his ruthless business practices.

  Mr. Beryl Crowne, aka the third richest man in the world, aka my grandpa. Theo’s boss, the only person to ever show me affection outside of Theo, and Theo’s meal ticket.

  Beryl Crowne had been accused of many things—and indicted for none. He was a man who cared as much about his reputation as he did the price of his company’s stock. Anyone to ever publicly accuse him of something nefarious either rescinded it within the next few hours or ended up… curiously missing.

  “Oh, did I forget to mention Grandpa’s home?” I said to Theo, manufacturing a frown. “I saw his motorcade right before I went to the bathroom. Must have slipped my mind.”

  Grandpa loved Theo like the hardworking son he lost too early, and like the diligent grandson he never had in Gray. He’d been grooming Theo for a position in Crowne Industries since I picked him up off the street. The distinction was clear, though. Theo wasn’t blood. He wasn’t a Crowne. Don’t date my granddaughters, don’t even look at them, and don’t get any ideas about biting the hand that feeds you.

  Theo stood there, dumbfounded.

  I adjusted my top, acting like whatever happened between Theo and me was nothing.

  It was nothing.

  I ran to my grandpa.

  “Papa!” I jumped into his arms.

  “Princess…” He caught me in a hug, tone skeptical. “What did I just see?” He looked over my shoulders at Theo.

  “You’ll have to ask Theo, Papa. You know I would never do anything to disappoint you.”

  Papa had been called a megalomaniac, a narcissist, a sociopath, but he was the only one who ever gave me the benefit of the doubt.

  Pantiless photo? Topless on a yacht? Three-way lip-lock? All the result of unscrupulous reporters.

  If only my grandfather had been around more. The only time I saw him was for a few days in the summer, and occasionally—if lucky—on holidays.

  Grandfather and I separated, and after agreeing to meet up for our swan-feeding tradition, I walked back toward Theo, who still wore a shocked look.

  “That was my plan,” I whispered, walking by Theo.

  Me: 1

  Theo: 0

  5

  ABIGAIL

  I watched my grandpa and Theo talk, trying to read their lips as I held a baby swan. My grandfather was frowning; Theo was frowning harder.

  Abigail! Abigail! Give us a smile.

  A few feet to the left of me, reporters snapped pictures, their bright flashes stinging my eyes. I ignored them. It was all I could ever do. I squinted harder, past the flashing, trying harder to see my grandpa and—

  Rules.

  Ha! I jumped, unable to control my happiness. I’d caught that word. Grandfather had mentioned the rules. No looking me in the eyes and definitely no touching. Theo was getting his ass handed to him. Maybe he’d even get sent back to LA.

  “What are you smiling about, Abigail?” a reporter yelled. I glanced in their direction.

  “It’s a beautiful evening,” I murmured.

  It was the time of night when the sky looked like a painting as day faded. The stars were diamonds caught in a swirling purple-orange-pink watercolor above us. Tourists were flocking to the beach to watch the swans. Adult swans were way too mean to hold or even go near, but there was a little embankment where you could feed the baby ones.

  If you were a Crowne, you could even hold them.

  My eyes traveled down the soft, white-sand beach dotted with swans, a diaphanous memory of sixteen-year-old Theo, glittering beneath the pier.

  I’ve never told Theo why I stopped for him. Not the truth. I made it seem like it was a rich girl’s whimsy, and I think that was the only lie he ever bought.

  He’d been sitting on the sand, smoking underneath the pier. I drove by him three times before I made the driver stop. I’d just been called back from my boarding school, Institute Le Rosey in Switzerland, mentally steeling myself for the years ahead. I didn’t have many friends at Rosey, but I had zero in Crowne Point. I hadn’t liked the plan to return home, but I wouldn’t do anything to disappoint my grandpa.

  You’re not supposed to be alone. Forget what the world tells us about soul mates and family. It’s something you feel, the very essence of loneliness.

  Theo had it.

  He radiated it.

  He was the only person I’d ever seen like me.

  All at once, Grandfather walked away from Theo, and I was torn from the memory. I took a step, lips caught on a word. Grandpa was supposed to come hold the swans with me, but if Theo was glowering, whatever happened with my grandfather wasn’t good.

  Grandpa probably had to walk it off. His precious protégé had disappointed him. Still, I watched my grandfather disappear into Main Street, gut clenching.

  I plastered on a smile as Theo came to a stop next to me. “Rough chat?”

  He said nothing, though he shifted and held his arms behind his back. I ignored how it made his biceps pop beneath his hoodie.

  “I’ll understand if our little relationship is coming to an end. Nice try, though.”

  I stroked the feathery head of my swan. Theo stared straight ahead. His brown hair fell unruly over his gemstone eyes. His nose looked like it had seen some fistfights. There’d been a time when this wounded, broody boy smiled for me…

  I shook that intrusive thought away.

  “Did you know swans mate for life, Abigail?”

  The hairs on my neck rose. He was calling me Abigail, not Reject, but it wasn’t sweet. The calm way he spoke reminded me
of the moment in a horror movie before the monster jumped out of the dark.

  “Yes…”

  “When they lose their mate, they grieve like us. They mourn. They’re never the same.” He wasn’t looking at me, but down the beach like a good bodyguard, scanning for threats.

  He was the biggest threat.

  “Some swans change so much, they never find a flock again. They wander lost and alone. Forever.”

  I didn’t realize I was holding onto my swan too tightly until it bit me. I let go with a gasp, and it jumped away with fluttery wings, running down the beach. Blood wept down my wrist, but I was stuck on Theo.

  His eyes locked with mine, and another one of his bone-curling grins broke his cheeks. It was chilling juxtaposed against his pink lips and almost angelic features.

  He was oleander, as beautiful as he was betraying.

  Still with that smile, he asked, “When I’m finished with you, will you be lost forever, Abigail?”

  It wasn’t a rhetorical question, and it froze me.

  Suddenly his hand shot out so fast I flinched and closed my eyes, expecting to be hit. When nothing happened, I opened one eye and saw what he’d grabbed: a camera. A reporter was on the ground, about to take an upskirt picture of me. Theo had grabbed the camera before the reporter could take a picture, his entire hand encapsulating the lens. The reporter tried to pull it back, but Theo yanked it away and threw it to the ground.

  It shattered on impact, glass shards flying. Theo shoved me behind him before the shards could sting.

  The reporter yelled something about suing him, and all Theo said was, “Bill me.”

  I couldn’t keep the awe out of my eyes. No one ever did things like that for me. One of the reasons I’m in the tabloids so much was because I don’t have any protection from paparazzi. My siblings have entire armies dedicated to getting them from point A to point B. I only have me.

  After Theo left, I haven’t had one guard stay longer than a month. I have a reputation for scaring them away. It started as an accident, then it spiraled.

  I just wanted one to stay.

  Like Theo, it was all so easy for them to leave. They were supposed to guard me, life or death, and one threat and they went running. Some even went to Gemma after me, but I suspect those guards would’ve used any excuse to get off my detail for hers.

  Theo narrowed his eyes, and I quickly cleared my throat, rolling my eyes. “Now everyone is going to say I break cameras.”

  Theo grabbed my hand.

  On instinct, I tried to pull it out of his grip. He was too strong. Veins throbbed along the back of his hand, disappearing into his wrist, beneath his hoodie, and no doubt up his forearm. I pulled on his hand with my other one, trying to break free as he dragged me from the beach toward Main Street.

  No use. If he registered my struggling, he didn’t show it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, giving up—for the moment.

  In response, he threw his head over his shoulder. A horde of shark reporters had gathered around the fallen one like chum, the flash of their cameras bright and pointed at us. I quickly turned away. I definitely didn’t press myself against Theo’s back.

  I didn’t notice his muscles, or how it felt to be protected for once.

  His hand wasn’t warm, strong. I didn’t feel safe. I wasn’t thankful.

  Theo was bad.

  Yet as he dragged me farther from the beach, I looked once more over my shoulder at the broken camera, the reporter who would have made a story of me, made me a fool, the Crowne Slut… again.

  If not for Theo.

  I shoved an ice cream cone at Theo. He eyed it like I’d given him a ticking bomb.

  “Hurry, before it melts,” I said, wiggling it beneath his nose. “It’s your favorite, licorice.” I wrinkled my nose. Gross. “I should’ve known you were a psycho back then. Consider it a thanks for, you know, before…”

  My words faded into the air, disappearing into the twinkling lights above us. Thanking Theo Hound was not easy for me to do. Another excruciating second passed, Theo’s bright eyes shadowed beneath his thick brows.

  Then he took it.

  A weight lifted off my chest when he did so.

  “Sharks are clear,” he said, eyes lifting over my shoulder, back to the beach. “Don’t want you to miss your tradition.”

  I looked over my shoulder, finding my grandfather facing the beach, surrounded by a legion of guards and swans.

  I narrowed my eyes back on Theo. “I thought you wanted to take everything from me?” Wouldn’t he want to keep me from my most valued tradition?

  “Maybe it’s a thank-you.” He lifted the ice cream with a soft smile.

  I chewed my lip, unsure what to do with a Theo who took ice cream and seemed to care.

  “Probably shouldn’t bring this to the sand, though, unless we want to re-create the swan riot.”

  The memory blasted through me. One year we’d been forced to run down the beach, chased down by a horde of angry swans gunning for our ice cream. Theo had held my hand, dragging me down the sand as the tide nipped at our feet.

  I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, trying to banish the feel of his hand.

  “That was your fault,” I said on instinct.

  Neither of us wanted to take the blame.

  “Your ice cream,” he said.

  “Your idea.”

  I laughed as we walked to the beach but quickly swallowed it. Not hours ago, Theo had made it clear how much he hated me.

  To my shock, he laughed too. Theo’s laugh was an unassuming soft sound, so quiet you could miss it easily, but once you heard it, it never left you.

  Like him.

  I’d missed it so much.

  I eyed him warily, but he only licked the purple ice cream.

  Still, a small part of me hoped.

  “Papa,” I called when we got to the sand. “I’m ready!”

  His wall of guards parted, and Papa turned around. My gut dropped. Grandpa had the frown reserved for mergers that fell through, the dark, stormy eyes used when he learned someone had dared say something bad about Beryl Crowne. Now that frown was directed at me.

  I tugged on my gauzy pink summer dress. “Papa?”

  “When I really get your thanks, you won’t be smiling, Reject.” Theo’s lips grazed my ear, his whisper harsh and bitter.

  I tore my gaze from Grandpa, just in time to see Theo turn the peace-treaty ice cream cone on its head. The purple-black globe of ice cream landed with a splat on the boardwalk. He then dropped the cone to the ground and smashed the waffle beneath his shoe into a hundred crispy pieces.

  My mouth fell open, but I barely had a second to be stunned or angry before my grandfather’s harsh shout brought me back.

  “Abigail!” he yelled.

  A few of the swans around him fluttered their feathery, white-and-tawny wings nervously.

  “Papa, you’re scaring the swans—”

  He raised a hand. When Beryl Crowne raised his hand, you shut up.

  “Theo had a very hard time telling me this.” Theo and Grandpa shared some kind of look I couldn’t decipher. The rock in my gut sank deeper. “I practically had to dig it out of him. When I did, I almost didn’t believe him.” Grandpa rubbed the wrinkle between his dark, red-brown eyes.

  Enough time passed for me to brave a response.

  “Dig what out of him?” I glanced at Theo. He had his bodyguard mask on now. A stoic, hard jaw. Eyes forward on potential threats. Legs spread and ready to move, arms behind his back but ready to attack.

  Then all at once, his eyes found mine, and he winked.

  I sucked in a breath.

  Have you ever had a sinking feeling something horrible is about to happen? Something that will change your life?

  My smile flickered, a dying light bulb. “Papa, if we start now we can still hold the swans…”

  Though most of them had scattered because of his yell, a few still lingered. I knew I should stop; s
omething worse was happening than my tradition being ruined.

  “I heard the rumors, Abigail,” Papa said. “I heard them and I didn’t listen. I should’ve listened. Are you so attention starved you would sell out our family name? Your own sister?” My grandpa’s eyes were back on me, his ire hot, unexpected, and before now, unfelt.

  I didn’t know what to do with it.

  I’d heard rumors of my grandfather’s anger, but I’d never experienced it firsthand. I wanted to sink into the crowd and disappear.

  “Weeks before your wedding and the most important merger in our company’s history?” he continued.

  “I don’t understand.” My gaze flickered between my grandfather’s and Theo’s.

  “Cut the shit, Abigail.”

  I swallowed air.

  My grandfather never spoke to me like that. He called me princess, sweetheart, and darling.

  I still couldn’t speak.

  Grandfather held out his hand; a moment later one of his men placed a stack of papers in them. He held them to my face. Front and center, paper clipped as if it had been printed separately: the blackmail bonding photos I’d taken with Gemma, and beneath them, emails printed from my address to make it look like I was planning on sending them to the press.

  I’d never written those emails, and I never would.

  My stomach dropped, my eyes shifted to Theo, a small, wicked smile quirked his right cheek.

  “That’s your email.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And that’s your room.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And that’s your sister.”

  “Yes! But—”

  “I already have one famous slut for a daughter.” He paused, shook his head. “Did you think you could get out of your marriage this way? As if I wouldn’t realize the trick you were playing?” Grandpa raised his voice, and I startled as someone looked over. He smoothed down the sides of his salt-and-pepper hair, regaining composure.

  “I want to marry him,” I said, scrambling. “I want to get married. I’m excited to marry…” I trailed off, heart paralyzed as my grandfather’s eyes narrowed, and I realized I still didn’t know the name of the man I was marrying.