Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

“Don’t,” I whispered. I tried to step back, but his grip tightened, holding me in place.

This wasn’t okay.

He was supposed to leave me alone. Leave me to hate him.

“You chose to come here,” he said, voice fast and furious. “You could have stayed in Crowne Hall with your uncle. You chose.”

It was my turn to feel slapped. I bit at my upper lip, my heart racing faster than my lungs could gather air.

Are you allowed to feel betrayal when he doesn’t belong to you? Doesn’t matter—still burns my chest. How could he believe that?

Finally I spoke. “Does that sound like something I would do, Grayson?”

“Grayson?” Lottie’s soft voice cracked the moment. Grayson dropped me, and I took a step back. Lottie looked between us.

Behind her, her mother stood with another man I didn’t know.

“I see you’ve located your girl,” Mrs. du Lac said, eyes on me, cold.

I lowered my eyes to the floor.

“Dinner is ready.”

Nine

GRAY

* * *

Mr. du Lac sat at the helm of the table, Mrs. du Lac at the other end, and sandwiched between them was what must have been the most silent, awkward dinner table in existence.

Does that sound like something I would do…does that sound like something I would do…over and over again, Story’s words played in my head.

No.

It didn’t.

So my lovely, pure, innocent wife fucking lied. The lines were drawn clearly by the wedding band around my finger. Yet the protective urge I feel isn’t for Lottie. The betrayal coursing through my blood is on behalf of Snitch.

Fuck.

“Grayson, you’re so quiet,” West said. “I think this is the first time you haven’t forced us all to attend the Grayson Crowne show.”

I lifted my eyes from my dinner knife. Across the table, at the corner next to his mother and conveniently as far as fuck away from me as possible, was West. He grinned.

I played with the knife in my hand.

He really wanted to do this at dinner?

“How’s your eye?” I asked. It was dark, purpling, but not bruised enough, in my opinion.

Lottie knocked her wine to her lap, spilling and staining her dress.

I handed her my napkin.

“Can you not start something with my brother at dinner?” she whispered, and yanked the napkin from my hand.

I settled back into my chair. West’s smile had dropped. The corners of my lips lifted, barely. Bitterly.