Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

There’s a huge weight on his shoulders.

West wrapped his arm around my waist. It was a cool autumn day, with a cold but sweet salty breeze, and the leaves a mosaic of tangerine and citrine. Outside we were the perfect fairy tale. Inside we were off-tune keys, playing the wrong song. We turned to the paparazzi, and West, L

ottie, and Gray smiled. I still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of the thing, smiling through the lies.

“We were fast friends,” Lottie lied through her teeth to some question I didn’t catch.

The plan was to get out ahead of it, the rumors that would surely start once everyone got wind that the Cinderella of Crowne Hall had married Grayson’s wife’s brother. Tansy was the one who’d come up with the spin: Grayson was helping us keep our forbidden love secret, but Lottie was the one who made it iron clad: all we had to do was show some of our old texts.

“Story?”

I blinked back, finding everyone’s eyes on me.

“She asked when we first met,” West said, lips against my ear. I caught Gray’s jaw clench.

“Oh, um…” I rolled my lips. “As teenagers.”

“You could say we were sweethearts,” West supplied. “I always loved her.”

More clicks, furious note writing.

On paper, all our stories were so romantic.

Soulmates, all four of us. An inspiring happily ever after.

Gray’s eyes locked with mine.

Earlier, when we’d come up with the spin, I’d felt myself sink deeper and deeper into the lie as though I was drowning in oil. I did have those texts with West; we did have a history. It made sense. But I’d never hated myself more than those minutes we shared over a lavender custard breakfast.

“Any babies on the horizon?”

Our heads snapped back.

“Oh, we’re trying,” West replied, and everyone laughed.

“A picture with the new sisters. You both could be sisters by blood,” he said. “It would be easy to mix you up.”

Lottie and I let out strangled laughs.

Later we all sat beneath a mosaic of changing leaves, drinking tea. The magazine had changed, but I never would have known had the reporter not introduced herself. It all blurred into a kaleidoscope of questions and pictures.

I snuck a clandestine glance at Grayson, leaning back on his mother’s white antique tea chair, his arm draped around the back of Lottie’s. How did he do it all these years?

His eyes drifted to mine. I quickly looked away just as the reporter spoke.

“Your style is so unique.” She eyed my dark-lace blouse and long cotton skirt. “Are they handmade?”

Gemma’s laughter from yesterday rang in my head. I wore clothes I’d had since high school, while the people around me wore outfits that cost as much as a mortgage payment once and then never again.

I had enough money to buy a new wardrobe, but I didn’t know where to start, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I was never frivolous, and now that I had someone else to look out for, I didn’t think I should start.

“Oh, I…” I never finished, reaching for my tea. A second later I gasped, dropping the cup to the ground with a shatter. Mine was boiling. It burned the roof of my mouth.

I breathed with my mouth open as my tongue throbbed and everyone looked in my direction, waiting for me to say something. Grayson’s eyes narrowed as the second stretched without my explanation.

“I, uh…clumsy,” I managed.

Everyone moved on, talking about nothing as we were photographed looking beautiful and happy. The broken porcelain lay scattered on the cobblestone as, not even seconds later, two darkly dressed servants came to clean it up.