I’d once thought Snitch was poison ivy, but getting her out of me was going to be like ripping out thousand-year-old tree roots. If I ever managed to succeed, I would die with it.
I must have stayed between the columns for at least thirty minutes, getting so stoned the gold-and-white wedding started to blur.
I watched Lottie as she made the rounds. She wore the Crowne tiara and glimmered under the chandelier light. Her dress hugged her curves…I remember something being said about hand-cut lace roses.
Whenever she thought someone wasn’t looking, her smile flickered and died.
Sometimes I watch you.
I shook my head, trying to lose Snitch’s raspy whisper.
Lottie was beautiful, perfect, gorgeous—and just a few hours of being my wife was slowly draining her. I kicked off the wall, determined to join her and salvage as much happiness as I could from this wedding.
“I told you to stay the fuck away.” Snitch’s angry whisper perked my ears.
I stopped short. For a second, I thought my ghosts were actually talking back.
I must really be going fucking insane.
Then West spoke, and ice filled my veins.
“You’d rather stay here and work for my sister?”
I looked around, trying to find them.
Why the fuck was she with West?
“What you’re offering isn’t much better,” Snitch hissed.
West laughed.
“You raped me,” she snapped.
I must’ve heard wrong.
This is a nightmare, not a dream.
“Stop fucking saying that!” West growled. “If I raped you, then why did you want me to call you back? Why did you cry over me, Angel?”
An icy calmness came over me as I listened to West dig his own grave. I focused on where I’d heard them. It sounded like they were just on the other side of the column, probably near one of the chocolate fountains.
I’m gonna kill him.
“Pictures!” My mother’s wedding planner appeared before me like a specter. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. A little birdie told me you like to hide. First the bride and groom, then the family, then…”
I could barely hear her. The muscles in my hand fucking hurt from how much I flexed them.
“Grayson?”
If he could breathe after I finished breaking all the bones in his face, maybe I’d let him live.
“Are you okay?”
I always knew Westley du Lac was a fucking snake.
Pot calling the kettle black, maybe. I shook out of it, pushed past the petite woman, but she grabbed my arm.
The fuck? She might not be a servant, but she had no right to grab a Crowne. I stared at her fingers, then slowly lifted my gaze to hers.