Suddenly my appetite was gone.
I was so worried about whether I would have a job, I never considered whether my job would welcome me back.
I always assumed my family would be there, waiting for me.
I had about another half second to feel hurt and worry before I was shoved in the chest. The plate flew from my hands, shattering to the marble floor, and I fell with it.
I stared up at my assaulters.
Aundi and Pipa, dressed to the nines, folded their arms, looking at me like I was a bug.
Fifteen
GRAY
* * *
Lottie smiled at the orchid I’d finagled for her. “This is much better than lemon cakes. I, um, I got you something.”
I arched a brow as she maneuvered to hold the orchid and reach into her over-the-shoulder purse. She pulled out a…cake pop?
“It’s the best I could do on such short notice.” She held out the rose gold frosted orb. “It’s also not really a gift, because I just took it off of one of the tables so…” She trailed off on a wrinkled brow, gaze drifting away.
I snatched it from her grip, leaning forward with a grin. “How does Lottie du Lac know I have a thing for sweets?”
She blushed. Shit, I like that. It was hard to get a girl like Lottie to blush. Too much fucking training.
“I don’t, I just…thought you might like it.”
I turned it over.
“I’ll think of you now when I see it.” She lifted the orchid for emphasis, chewing her lower lip. “I’ll put it next to my bed.”
Was she flirting with me?
“Is your bed still covered in Beanie Babies?”
Her eyes found mine, bright and crinkled with a close-mouthed smile. Of course it was close-mouthed. Girls like Lottie were taught young never to smile with teeth.
I pictured Snitch with her rare full-toothed smiles, when her pink tongue pushed against the top two teeth. One I’d just gotten graced with earlier, because she’d found me something new about the girl in front of me, the one who should have my full fucking attention.
“You remember that?” Lottie asked, cheeks full with her smile.
“Yeah,” I said, voice rough. “I remember.”
She looked back at the velvety purple petals. “You were always such a Prince Charming. You remembered the littlest things. Did my homework—”
I cut her off on a barking laugh. “Whoa, that wasn’t supposed to leave your bedroom. You’re gonna ruin my rep, Lottie. What’s gonna happen when people find out Grayson Crowne was doing a girl’s homework for a chance between her legs? I’ll sound like fucking Newt.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “That’s not why you did it.”
I shrugged. Maybe not.
Her dark-brown gaze found mine again. “You’re Prince Charming, Grayson. I don’t know why you pretend to be a rogue.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but silence swallowed us.
So I took the plunge.
“It’s always been you, Lottie,” I said. “You’re it for me.”
Her brow furrowed, and I saw the part of her struggling with what I’d just said. Upset?
Fuck.
It was so hard to tell what these girls felt—well, any of us born into this life…really. Lottie was like my sister—not Abigail. Abigail apparently burned that part of her DNA—the dishonesty, the mask that wove its way into our blood. My older sister, Gemma.
“You left me, Grayson!” she said, upset, but still never raising her voice. After a deep exhale, she followed with, “Do you remember that day at Rosey?”
I groaned. “How could I forget?”
A small smile broke through her frown. “I always thought it was sweet.”
And that right there is why Charlotte du Lac is different.
“The next day I went back to our spot in the book stacks and you’d brought someone else. You were with another girl.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. I was a teenager, embarrassed. I had no fucking clue she was there. I didn’t do it to hurt her.
I did it to prove something to myself.
She exhaled. “So I left after I saw you with whoever she was in that dark room. Can you blame me? After what you did?”
I couldn’t.
“I thought you might come after me, try and win me back…but you chose other girls, then other women. For over a decade. Then when you did court me, for a year you won me over, only to make me relive that horrible moment.”
Suddenly all of this seemed so fucking stupid.
The orchid.
Snitch.
Thinking I could win back Lottie.
From her point of view, I was trash. And I couldn’t say she was wrong. Lottie had the clearest view of me.
I dragged a hand down my face.
“I’m not mad at you, Grayson,” she said softly. “I knew who you were when I considered dating you. You made it perfectly clear all these years.”
But some kind of emotion weighed her words. Caused her to swallow heavily and turn her attention back to the orchid.
I couldn’t know for certain. The stupid mask was too opaque.
Was she sad? Was she…relieved?
“Why did you want to meet me?”
Her eyes met mine, big, but a few shades darker than Snitch’s, and without the green.
Why the fuck am I thinking about Snitch?
She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then changed her mind. “My father told me I might have a wedding to look forward to.”
“Ah.”
That’s why she’s so fucking sad. She knows she has to marry someone she hates.
Awkwardness bloomed. I dragged two hands through my hair as the cellist started up a faster, more urgent song. The low chords vibrated in the air…and I found myself looking around for a distraction.
For a girl with walnut eyes and a soul-deep stare.
“Ask me something.” I turned to Lottie. “Anything, even if it upsets me.”
She looked at me like I was insane. “I’m not going to ask you something that upsets you.”
I was going insane. I was here with the girl I’d been chasing for half my life, and I couldn’t get the nun out of my head.
“Would you, maybe…” Lottie trailed off. “Would you, maybe, like to be my date to your Fourth party?”
I looked back at her. “Lottie, do you even like me?”
I knew that look on her face. Gemma had worn it for over a decade. Forced to interact with a boy you hate, because your parents want something his parents have. Forced to pretend.
She looked back at the orchid.
Another drag of my hands through my hair, and I looked away from this fucking train wreck, when through the arching entrances of the terrace, I saw Lottie’s friends, Aundi and Pipa.
At their feet, Snitch.
“I guess,” Lottie said suddenly. “If I were to be honest. The kind of honesty that gets us in trouble. The kind our parents tell us not to use—”
“Lottie,” I said, already backing away. “I’ll talk to you later. We’ll fix this. You don’t have to marry me.”
“Oh.” Her brows knitted. “Um, okay…”
Sixteen
STORY
* * *
Around us, servants attended to the rich, but they watched me. A few had looks of concern, those that had actually been willing to talk to me about Lottie.
The others watched with hard, unfeeling eyes.
Instinctively I knew whatever was about to happen was because of Lottie’s girl.
“Did you think we were just going to let you get away with it?” Aundi asked.
“People like you have tried to take advantage of Lottie for years,” Pipa said. “They see innocent and they think no one is watching.”
“I didn’t know,” I said. “I really didn’t know she was allergic.”
If I thought anyone might help me, the shreds of that hope scattered in the wind the moment Aundi
bent over, nose almost level with mine. “We’re watching.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing with Grayson Crowne,” Pipa added. “But whatever it is, we’re pretty sure it’s why you gave her that cake.”
I could see a glimpse of the terrace, of low light and guests laughing, but no one was looking my way. And why would they? The party was out there, and Aundi and Pipa all but blocked me.
Not like they would have done anything, if they had seen me.
“What do we do with lying, social-climbing, whores?” Pipa asked.
A cruel smile lifted Aundi’s lips. “Expose them.”
Aundi tore the satin buttons at my back, ripping them open, exposing me from neck to spine. Buttons flew and bounced along the marble floor. I grasped the front of my shirt to keep it from falling open, and she shoved a handful of mini cakes into my hair. Chocolate and vanilla frosting smushed into my curls, raspberry jelly melting down my forehead. I stared at the marble, willing this to end. The cellist still played. A deep, vibrating song.
Beyond her I saw Ellie and a few others exchange a look, then gather closer to us. A hope climbed like a weed in my chest. We lived by a code: fuck with one, fuck with us all. We might not have the privilege to be as brazen as Pipa and Aundi, but we did get our revenge.
Pipa took a bottle of champagne to pour on my head, and I closed my eyes. To stop the burning and count the seconds until this was over.
But then nothing happened, and a shattering crash sounded. Had the servants come to my rescue?
“Grayson—” Pipa started.
“Shut up.”
Grayson’s bitter, freezing voice sent a shock wave of silence through the room.
I opened my eyes, sucking in a breath. His eyes were on mine, asking questions in a language I hadn’t learned to read. Jelly dripped into my eyebrow, and humiliation tore seams in the fabric of my soul. I looked away, finding Ellie’s questioning eyes and the questions of every server watching, every server who’d been about to act for me.
Why was Grayson Crowne stopping this? Why was the Grayson Crowne helping me, a servant?
Then Grayson did something I never would have expected. He bent down, obscuring the view of the other servers as he extended his hand.
My eyes flashed behind him, where servers watched, their warmth dissipating into ice.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
His glare sharpened, and I knew if I didn’t take his hand, my torture would be a thousand times worse than champagne in my eyes. I placed my hand in his big soft one, and he yanked me up.
“You know,” he said, still holding my hand. “I really fucking hate people touching my shit.”
He eyed Pipa and Aundi, cold and callous, a king talking to his servants.
“Grayson.” Charlotte jogged in and looked between me and her friends. “What happened? Aundi? Pipa?”
Grayson still hadn’t let go of my hand, the warmth bled through my wrist, and my heartbeat couldn’t be controlled. His grip was tight but not painful. His hand completely engulfed mine, and the veins on his hand throbbed.
I had no answers for Ellie, for the rest who watched us.
“If anyone so much as looks in her direction…” Grayson continued, ignoring Charlotte. He dragged his ring finger across his bottom lip, thinking about it. “You’re dead.”
He dragged me out of the room by the wrist.
Seventeen
STORY
* * *
Grayson dragged me out of the Hall and inside a small stone shack. Then he dropped me and shook out his hand. I grasped my torn shirt, examining our surroundings. I’d never noticed it before. Inside smelled like salt and stone and moss, and foggy sunlight broke through the ceiling.
I held my shirt up tighter, and Grayson tossed his jacket at me, hitting me in the face. I caught it with scrambling hands. I slid one arm into his jacket. He threw me a glance, then with a frustrated noise yanked my arms into the sleeves.
“What are you doing?” I whispered. “Why aren’t you with Lottie? Why did you save me?”
“I didn’t save you.” Bitterness tinged his tongue as he tightened the jacket around my shoulders. “I don’t like people taking my car for a joyride, either.”
He’d chosen me over Lottie. Again.
Each time he showed me a scrap of affection something inside me grew. Something bad. Something that shouldn’t be.
He buttoned the jacket up so much more carefully than the fury in his eyes would have me expect.
I chewed my lip and he froze, eyes locked on the action. The air ignited.
“You’re mine now. Anyone who bothers you answers to me.”
My heart pounded like a drum.
My mouth dried, and I licked my lips.
His words felt ancient and primeval. I wanted so badly to ask what they meant to him.
So instead I asked, “What is this place?”
“Dovecote. Some bullshit medieval thing my great-great-grandmother built to try and play at being a real queen.”
I studied him, a question lurking in my gut. This place was easy to miss. Ivy crawled over the outside. It was on the east end of the Hall, the more historic part of Crowne Hall, where some of the old stone walls still stood.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Too many assholes inside.” His fingers tightened on his jacket.
“Friends,” I corrected sardonically.
“Yeah,” he said without any humor. “In this world, those are friends.”
I lifted my head, tilting my neck back to look into his blue eyes. Friends…They don’t know his favorite food. They don’t know he’s a virgin. What the hell do they know? Does anyone know the real Grayson Crowne?
“I always thought loneliness was the most addicting drug,” I whispered.
His eyes pinched at the corners, and I just wanted to lift the weight from his shoulders. So I pressed my palm to his cheek. He didn’t stop me.
Maybe it was this place.
Seconds passed and Gray gave me nothing. Awkwardness and insecurity bled into my body. I was about to drop my hand when he pulled me closer by the jacket.
Barely.
Just a tiny fraction of an inch.
“What do you know about Pablo Neruda?” he asked, the sudden change in subject jarring.
“He’s a poet.”
His eyes dug into me, forcing the real answer out.
My palm slid from his cheek to his shoulder, and again he didn’t stop me. I was touching Grayson Crowne, holding on to him, as he held me close by the jacket.
“My uncle read me his poem ‘I Do Not Love You’… and I became obsessed after that. I actually wanted to be a poet for a while…” I trailed off, feeling naked, wishing I could take it back. I cleared my throat. “You use that pen because of him, right?”
His jaw quirked, silence pressed, and I waited for a lie.
“Someone once told me the story. I guess it stuck.”
His eyes were so raw, stripped. I knew there was more to it, but I didn’t push. He still held the lapels of the jacket, his jacket. It was like the very dust in the air had stilled for us.
“I know what it’s like to have the world on your shoulders and have no one see the weight.”
And with that, the moment splintered.
He cleared his throat, dropped me, and stepped back. Whatever I’d seen was gone.
“What could someone like you know about my fucking life? If you tell anyone I gave you my jacket—”
I curled my fingers, palm lingering in the air where I’d held him. “Even if I did tell, no one would believe me.”
Eighteen
GRAY
* * *
Later that night I tried to sleep, but Snitch’s stomach wouldn’t stop fucking grumbling. I stared at the ceiling as another round of monster growls started up.
“You still haven’t fucking eaten?” I asked.
“When would I have?” her husky voice snapped back. “
When I was being assaulted with cake, or when I was being gambled, or with all my free time in between?”
I moved my jaw.
Touché.
I hopped off the bed and went downstairs to grab the black-and-gold rotary phone that dialed the servants. After placing an order, a few minutes later there was a knock on my door. Woodsy appeared with a tray.
“Late, sir,” he said.
I shrugged, taking the tray. “Sorry to wake you.”
I all but dropped the tray in her lap. She sat up, eyeing the silver-capped food with suspicion.
“What is this?”
“Scraps.” I hopped back on the bed. “Eat up.”
“Omaghaaa,” she moaned. “This is amazing. I love Italian.” My entire body froze at that noise, rigid. Suddenly all I could imagine were the different ways I could make her moan. I slowly looked at her. Snitch had a little bit of red sauce dripping from her lips.
Fuck.
I shifted, hard again.
She spotted me watching and quickly swallowed, wiping her mouth.
“Eat your food quietly. This isn’t a fucking slop house.”
When she thought I wasn’t looking, she rolled her eyes.
Fucking rolled her eyes.
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling.
“Where did you first read Neruda?” she asked, shoving a huge bite of spaghetti into her mouth.
Woodsy. He gave me my first green pen on a particularly shit day. Told me to write out anything I couldn’t control, because green is the color of hope, and maybe fate would hear my hopes.
“School.”
As I waited for Snitch to eat, a weird warmth spread in my chest at knowing she was fed. That I was keeping her fed.
“I’m finished. Thank you.”
“Next time don’t wait until you’re starving. If you need food, if you need to shower, if you need more nun clothes, if you need a damn horse, if you need anything, tell me.”
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