Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

His smile dropped, and something like concern filled his face. “How are you doing?”

I paused.

He was the first person to ask me that. Suddenly it was all too much. My throat thick, from the onslaught of emotions. West du Lac was the first person, the only person to ask me how I was doing.

He lifted my chin so I was looking into his eyes.

“I haven’t been online,” I answered honestly.

“That’s good,” West said. He dropped my chin and took a step back. Allowing me space to breathe.

I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t going to cry in front of West fucking du Lac.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

Why are you pretending to care?

West leaned against a window with folded arms, the lush, checkered green lawn behind him. It was dark in this room, a muted dark—the only light glaring from the one diamond-paned window at his back.

“Let me show you Du Lac Manor, Angel.”

“I can’t leave.”

He laughed. “Angel, you’re not at Crowne Hall anymore. No one keeps track of the maids. They go missing all the time.” I wasn’t sure why, but that didn’t fill me with ease. It made me feel worse.

He smiled. “You can do anything with me.”

GRAY

* * *

“You need to wear a suit. My mother wants me to wear a gown.” Lottie exhaled, rubbing her right eye. She looked in the mirror, holding up a dress, lips pursed. “This would be a lot easier if I had a girl…”

It was on the tip of my tongue to bring it up, but I knew any mention of Story was bad, would be misconstrued. So I lifted myself up on Lottie’s ivory dresser, pulling one leg up. I stared out her window overlooking the acres of patchwork lawn.

It’s been two hours and still no sign of Story.

She was probably just learning the layout. Being showed where she’d sleep.

But worry ate at my chest.

I couldn’t help but wonder if she was getting fed, if she was sleeping properly. I can’t be the one to make sure of those things now, and she needs someone to do it.

Story has millions of dollars now. Enough money to sleep like a queen, but she chooses to sleep like a servant. All for her uncle.

She called me Atlas, so then what is she? Story Hale only knows how to sacrifice. She doesn’t know how to choose herself.

Lottie lowered the dresses, looking over her shoulder at me. “Don’t get father talking about Great-Grandpa; he won’t quit until you’ve heard all about how the estate brought Châteauesque architecture to North Carolina.”

“Lottie, I’ve been to dinner before.”

Why was she so nervous?

“One more thing,” Lottie said. “Try not to punch my brother at dinner.”

“No promises,” I joked.

Silence passed, but all she said was, “You look kind of like the boy who used to do my homework.”