Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

My lips broke with a smile. A Grayson Crowne smile, Snitch would say. His brow furrowed for a split second. Then he slapped me so hard my ears rang.

I worked out my jaw. “You’ve gotten weaker, old man.”

I shot him another smile, pushing my tongue against my back tooth. He exhaled, like what he’d had to do was a burden.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You don’t tell anyone about that document. You rip it up. You rip up any other copies. You destroy the files. And you grovel to your wife. Then we act like this never happened, and you keep your cock in your pants. I am not about to watch everything I built crumble to ash.”

Grandfather started to walk away.

“And then you kill her,” I said. “Oh, sorry, she has a tragic accident.”

He paused.

“I think I’ll keep those files, Grandpa,” I lied. “If anything happens to Story, I’ll have nothing left to lose anyway. Keep that in mind if you’re ever in the position to book her a car. I think you would have the most to lose if it tragically crashed.”

He lingered by the column a moment longer, head slightly turned, then smiled. “You can’t have her, Grayson. Not even as a fucking mistress. If you do, you’ll lose everything, and lose her in the process. Don’t forget yourself. The only thing keeping her alive is the one thing keeping you apart.” He kept walking, laughing as he said to himself, “Not like his father…”

Twenty

STORY

* * *

We were having some kind of braised small bird. Probably Cornish game hen. Conversation had been stuttering and light. I was seated down the table from West—my new husband—and I knew that wasn’t by accident.

They isolated me across from Gemma, and next to Lottie.

No sign of Beryl.

A stabbing, swift thought pierced me: Grayson would never have let me eat alone. Especially if I were his newly wed. It didn’t matter that Tansy Crowne had insisted upon it under the pretense of girl bonding.

“Is it weird being served when just yesterday you were the one doling out the dishes?” Gemma asked lightly. She rested her soft, pretty chin on a manicured hand as she waited for my response.

I clenched my fork. It was dirty, I noted, while all the others were polished.

I briefly looked around to see if I could spot the servants. I hadn’t banked on living here. The point was to get out. That was why I’d tried sneaking in.

Still, it was an improvement. I had the full force of the du Lac family in my corner. Or…I was supposed to.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes, meeting Gemma’s. “I actually haven’t worked in the kitchen in years.”

I kept her stare so she knew meeting her eyes was no mistake.

Her smirk wavered, and she looked away.

I took the moment to lower my fork to my lap, rubbing it in my cloth napkin, getting rid of the crusted food.

“Should we toast the newlyweds?” Mrs. du Lac said, raising her champagne. She was in the middle of the table, across from me. It was the first thing she’d said since we sat down, though her icy, composed glare had barely left

my face.

“It’s so sudden,” she continued. “So romantic.”

“Could I get a glass of ginger ale instead of champagne? My stomach is bothering me…” Charlotte said so softly I almost didn’t hear her.

“I’ve always been a romantic, Mom,” West said with a laugh.

Her eyes briefly flashed to his. “Mmm.” Her attention turned back to mine. “I just thought you were the Cinderella of Crowne Hall.”