Forbidden Fate

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

Grayson.

  Me.

  Hours ago, as we’d said our goodbyes behind the altar. I lifted my eyes from the phone, colliding with West. A wedding full of people who’d seen me at my most vulnerable moment.

  “How many people have seen this?” My eyes locked with West’s warm chocolate ones.

  “Only a couple hundred thousand. Don’t get a big head. You’ll be forgotten in the morning.”

  I spun, finding Mrs. du Lac.

  A couple hundred thousand?

  Only?

  She stepped past me to her son, dabbing West’s nose with a silky white cloth. Her floor-length gown flowed across the marble, seeming to repel wrinkles and shadows, the silky cornflower color bringing out the complexion of her skin. Both elegant and intimidating, like her.

  “What a way to ingratiate yourself with our new family,” she said lightly.

  She reminded me a little of Tansy, in that she had that graceful air. She didn’t rush, even as her son bled.

  A couple hundred thousand. Hundred. Thousand.

  They hadn’t seen my face, at least.

  West paused and said, “I was serious about my proposal.”

  Mrs. du Lac threw an unreadable look over her shoulder, before following after him.

  Then I was alone, only the distant sound of music and laughter my company. The quiet grew the longer I stood, until I felt so insignificant I couldn’t breathe.

  A couple hundred thousand.

  I shook my head, walking to the kitchen. I had a moment before Lottie’s next dressing, a few minutes I could spend with Uncle. I went to the pantry, piling up boxes of my uncle’s favorite biscuits. He couldn’t leave his bed, and he’s too prideful to ask. I piled the boxes until I couldn’t see. Until the sharp cardboard edges bit into my biceps.

  A couple hundred thousand.

  I walked in a daze to the servants’ quarters, mind spinning between Grayson and West. Serious about his proposal? Even if West wasn’t fucking with me…I didn’t want revenge against Grayson.

  Maybe I should.

  I just want an answer for why it all fell apart.

  A couple hundred—

  My foot caught, and the boxes went flying, scattering across the marble. I fell to the ground, scrambling to pick them up.

  A couple hundred thousand. A couple hundred thousand. A couple hundred thousand.

  “Ow, fuck.” I caught myself on a sharp cardboard edge and dropped what I’d barely managed to pick back up. Exhausted, I fell to the marble, legs spread like a child.

  I guess it was a good thing the hallway was empty, that everyone was busy with the wedding.

  No one was here to witness me collapse.

  “A hundred thousand,” I whispered aloud.

  A rustling to my left yanked me out of my daze. Someone had bent down to help me. Quickly re-entering servant mode, I scrambled to get on my knees.

  “Oh, please don’t. I can do—” I broke off, voice dying.

  Two big hands joined me, veins throbbing along the golden skin.

  These hands had held me, had bruised me, had been inside me.

  Cautiously, I lifted my eyes.

  One by one, Grayson Crowne piled the boxes as if they were the most precious things in the world. His rose gold hair was wild and messy, like he’d been running his hands through it, and it veiled his face at the angle he was bent.

  His eyes cut to mine like an electric shock.

  I jumped off the floor, running my hands over my uniform, looking anywhere but his eyes. Grayson slowly stood, his back to his wedding, and mine to the servants’ quarters.

  We were stuck between worlds.

  Silence buzzed between us.

  His eyes locked on the locket I wore—the one he gave me—and I shoved it under my collar. He clenched his jaw, then held the boxes out for me, his hand bloody from punching West.

  I yanked them back. I wanted to yell at him, but what would I say? Don’t help me? Only a few hours had passed since he’d told me he loved me, but it may as well have been eons.

  So I just turned on my heel.

  I was almost at the servants’ quarters when Grayson’s cold voice drifted back. “Stay away from West, Story.”

  I stopped short, fingers digging into the boxes until they crinkled.

  “Or what?” I asked, refusing to turn around. “You’ve already done the worst thing you can ever do to me.”

  Left me. Abandoned me. Forgot me. Chose her.

  His hand was suddenly on my shoulder, pulling, as if trying to turn me around.

  “Story…”

  I nearly caved. Nearly let him pull me back, just to see the look on his face, what would accompany such an ache in his voice. But I dug deep for my dignity and yanked my shoulder free, disappearing down to the servants’ quarters.

  I wound my way down the familiar tunnel to my uncle’s room. Some rumors say that the first Crowne believed in magic and built the secret doors and tunnels for ritual sacrifice, others say he built it to hide his mistress.

  Either way, they’ve long been usurped for our purpose: servitude.

  I knocked lightly on my uncle’s door. He was asleep, and I wasn’t going to wake him, so I just sat next to the bed, watching him. He looked so much smaller, frailer.

  My mind drifted to Grayson. I don’t know why he punched West. I could think of a million reasons. It wasn’t like they ever got along.

  A million reasons…and in all of them, none of them should include me. The woman who was most definitely not his wife.

  “You breathe very loudly for someone who isn’t asleep.”

  “Uncle!” I leaned forward. “You’re awake.”

  “It’s hard to sleep through that noise.” He sat up.

  You breathe like Hannibal.

  I exhaled the sad memory through my nostrils. As if my uncle knew.

  “When I die—” he started.

  “Whoa.” I cut him off. “That’s an awful way to start this conversation.” Nausea swamped me at the thought.

  “When I die,” he continued, “promise me you’ll leave.”

  I wished he’d stop telling me he was dying.

  “That’s not happening for a very long time, Uncle.”

  He didn’t respond, but the way he rolled his lips told me everything. My gut sank. The one person I had left in this world was going to leave me.

  He took my hands in his, eyes red.

  My uncle never cried, but the tears were there, on the lids.

  “I promise,” I choked out, the thought of leaving closing my throat. But once he was gone, there would be nothing for me here. No reason to stay.

  He slowly withdrew his hands from mine. “There are things you need to know.”

  “You keep talking like you’re leaving me. You still have so many months left in you,” I said weakly.

  “I’m not leaving you with a fortune. I’ve saved a lot, and it will be enough to leave Crowne Point and to start over, not underneath someone’s foot.”

  “I don’t mind it here…”

  “There is a coin.” He took a raspy breath. “The coin is the most valuable thing I own. Now you own it. It is buried…” he broke off, taking another breath. “It’s buried beneath a poem.”

  “Uncle you’re not making any sense.” I worried his mind was deteriorating with his health. “Maybe you should rest, I’ll read you a poe—”

  “Listen to me, Storybook!” He yelled, and I snapped my mouth shut.

  My uncle never yelled.

  “That coin grants wishes, but only one. Anyone in the Crowne world will understand what it means and does. If you ever need a wish granted, use it. Remember.” He grasped my wrist, and I was again struck with how much weight he’d lost, his fingers skeletal. “You only get one.”

  My brows knitted.

  A coin that granted wishes? Buried beneath a poem?

  Hot tears bubbled up my throat.

  This wasn’t fucking fair. My uncle was the smartest man I knew but he was l
osing his mind. I didn’t want to make him yell again, and I knew that trying to reason with a deteriorating mind was pointless.

  “Why didn’t you use it?” I croaked.

  His grip loosened, and he fell back against the bed, eyes closed. “I did. My wish was to give you a wish.”

  I lifted my eyes, but my uncle had sunk back into his cushions, his breathing steady.

  If the coin had been real, I knew my wish. But I somehow doubted even a magical coin could make him live longer.

  I leaned against the closed door, head spinning with the day’s events. I pulled out my phone and scrolled and scrolled past various blogs and tweets. The video was trending.

  My lungs felt like they were shriveling up inside my chest. What would my uncle think if he knew? And would this really be forgotten in the morning?

  “You’re late.” I quickly scrambled off the door, finding Ms. Barn glaring at me.

  “Just because you’ve slept in Grayson Crowne’s bed doesn’t mean you can lie around and do nothing. You’re Mrs. Grayson Crowne’s girl, and she’s waiting.”

  Five

  STORY

  * * *

  I went to go attend to Ms. du Lac—No, Mrs. Grayson Crowne—but I stayed outside for longer than I should’ve. Once again, my eyes fell to the bruise on my ring finger. I was supposed to help her into her lingerie. It was my job. I was nothing more than her girl.

  But I’d fucked her husband—and now ruined her wedding because of it.

  The Crownes wedding rituals dated back centuries, before they came to America, and that was one of the tamest. I shuddered, thinking about the ones that used to include me.

  The door swung open and Lottie stopped short. She looked surprised to see me; then her smooth features faded into exasperation.

  “You’re here.”

  I lifted my head. “Mrs. Crowne.”

  “Mrs. Grayson Crowne. I’m not his mother.”

  I pursed my lips, nodding.

  “I’ve been waiting an hour for you,” Lottie clipped. “I barely have any time to get ready before he comes.”

  Before he comes.

  To fuck her.

  His wife.

  Whatever I thought I’d heard in Grayson’s voice was a mirage of my own desires. Over and over again he chose her.

  “If we have to be stuck together, can you just…try a little?” Lottie wasn’t haughty or imperial with her request, like the Crownes; she was beseeching. Of me. A servant.

  I blinked. “I’m sorry. I…lost track of time.” I quickly dashed past her, pulling the ivory lace off the window.

  I wanted to apologize again, but I knew there was no point. I trailed after Lottie back into Grayson’s wing.

  Grayson and her wing.

  Sometime while I’d been away, someone had come and decorated the hollow room with flowers and candles. Who? I wondered. They couldn’t have made my uncle? But then, West had gotten in as well…A distant part of me worried for Grayson. His fortress was slowly eroding.

  Lottie made a noise, and I realized I’d been standing for too long. I quickly got to my knees, placing the soft fabric at her feet.

  “Your foot, miss,” I said.

  I had to go inside myself, numbing to the situation. At least I had practice—it was how I’d lived when my mother was alive.

  “It’s Mrs.” Lottie stepped into the hole I’d built in the fabric.

  “Of course.” I lifted the spidery fabric up her naked hazelnut curves. “I apologize.”

  I adjusted the corset material that pushed her breasts up, made sure everything fit properly, but I didn’t step back right away. My fingers rested on the thin satin bows at her shoulders. I was so close to Lottie I could smell her sweet floral scent, but my eyes had wandered. Silky white roses left a bread crumb trail up to the second floor, and against everything in my body telling me not to, my eyes followed them up to the bedroom.

  I’d taken Grayson’s virginity. Was Lottie a virgin? Would he take hers tonight? Unless…had they already done it? I felt possession grow inside me. This must be that ugly, patriarchal disease men get when they learn women are virgins.

  Now I have it.

  I took Grayson’s virginity, and I don’t want anyone else to touch him. He’s mine.

  Lottie cleared her throat.

  She was just an inch taller than me, and our eyes locked.

  “Are you a virgin?” I asked.

  I stepped back instantly, eyes finding the floor. Oh my god.

  Oh my god.

  A stale silence threaded its way between us.

  “You’re wondering if he slept with me already,” she said at last. “Is it killing you?”

  I swallowed but said nothing.

  It wasn’t killing me, because I was pretty sure all the important pieces of me had already died.

  “Because I know he slept with you,” Lottie said. “The entire fucking world knows now.”

  I crushed a petal beneath my foot.

  “All night I’ve been wondering which of us felt worse…but I think we’re both in the same hell, just different wallpaper.”

  Lottie took a deep breath. “I hadn’t planned for the world to know, but I guess I probably should’ve prepared for that.”

  Planned? Prepared?

  I couldn’t help it. My shock had me lifting my head, and I found her already looking at me.

  “Oh no. Did you think he did that on his own?” she asked softly. “Who do you think gave him permission? He had to get you out of his system someway.”

  My breath rushed out of me, as knowing washed over me.

  The letter.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised Lottie knew we’d slept together; it was exactly what I’d come to expect from the rich.

  Still, I felt dirtier than before, when I’d only been a cheater. Now I was used. Stupid, too. I grasped my hand, rubbing my ring finger. Every good thing about that memory stained and tarnished and ruined.

  I turned on my heel, ready to get out, end this night as quickly as possible.

  “Where are you going?” Lottie asked to my back. “I need my girl.”

  “I’ve already dressed you. What else do you need, Miss du Lac?”

  Her nostrils flared. “Mrs. Grayson Crowne.”

  I clenched my jaw, but this time I didn’t say sorry. I just stared back.

  “What do you need, Mrs. Crowne?”

  She glowered. “It’s my wedding night. What do you think?”

  My blood temperature dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

  She blinked and looked away.

  “You’re supposed to be my girl.” I realized tears had filled her eyes. She honestly looked terrified. “You stole my girl’s spot. You stole my spot. You can’t even do this? Do you think I want—” She broke off on a sob. “You’ll come and get the sheets.”

  Just as the door opened behind us.

  GRAY

  * * *

  Snitch was talking to Lottie when I came to her. It was some kind of perverted fantasy, seeing my girl before my wife.

  Lottie lifted her eyes to mine. “Remember what I said.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Crowne,” Snitch said, and bowed her head and left.

  My head swiveled to follow her down the hall. I wasn’t sure if she was wearing her locket. I didn’t fucking like that. Didn’t like when she’d tried to hide it from me.

  “Sure you don’t want to chase after her?” Lottie asked.

  Shit.

  Caught.

  “Lottie—”

  She put up a hand, turning away. “This is the worst wedding night in the history of wedding nights.”

  At least Snitch was gone. For a horrifying second, I thought it would be her taking the sheets.

  “I don’t want her as my girl anymore. I don’t care that her uncle is dying. I don’t care if her whole family is dying. I can’t do this anymore. Why can’t we just pay for them to live somewhere else?”

  “This is their home,” I said
. “It’s…his home. He’s been like a father to me.” I gripped her hands. “If it was just Sn—Story, I would do what you ask, believe me.”

  It burned coming out, the idea of kicking her out onto the streets.

  I knew it was better for everyone. Safer for Snitch, even, with my grandfather around. But I still couldn’t stomach the thought of never seeing her again.

  “That old man is the only father I’ve ever known,” I continued. “I can’t abandon him when he only has a few weeks left to live. Story is his only real family.”

  Her jaw clenched until the muscle popped.

  If my wife had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have given a shit over my explanation. So what? Kick him out.

  Instead she fell down, defeated.

  “You know we can’t suppress everything. If you google her name, do you know what pops up now? Cinderella stories. She’s like a folk hero on the internet. Forums are dedicated to her. They call me the wicked wife. I’m the villain.”

  Lottie stared abjectly at the floor.

  “When I pictured my wedding night, there were sweet kisses, and tender passion. Instead I let my husband fuck someone else, and now the whole world knows how little he wants me.”

  I got to my knees in front of her. “Let me make it up to you.”

  “The longer she stays, the worse it will get. So I guess I’m praying for someone to die now. Is that who I am?” She looked up at me, eyes wet.

  I thumbed the tear about to fall off her cheek.

  “Every day for the rest of our life, I’ll prove to you that I’m a worthy husband.”

  I won’t be my father.

  I won’t abandon my wife.

  I won’t put Snitch in danger.

  I slid my thumb from Lottie’s cheek, into her curls, cupping her neck, forcing her to feel my earnestness in my grip. “I’ll give you a baby, I’ll give you a life, I’ll give you the world.”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I can’t stop seeing you two together. It was one thing to imagine it.”

  I gripped her tighter, pulling her closer. “You are my wife. My loyalty is to you.”

  “I want to believe you. But you threw a punch for her on our wedding night, Grayson,” she whispered.

  “Lottie, you were my first love. You will be my last love. I just need time. Can you give me that?”