He’s in my bloodstream.
Tears bubbled in my eyes, hot and fucking uncontrollable. I ripped open my bedside nightstand, determined to smash all the suckers, when my eyes narrowed on the bottle left on top. Prenatal vitamins.
When did he manage to leave that? Was Grayson insane? Did he want the entire world to know I was pregnant?
“Angel?”
I slammed the bottle into my drawer too fast, and caught my fingers.
“Ow, fuck.” I grasped my hand, but moments later West was there, taking it into his, examining the throbbing red tip. He thumbed tears that had fallen before I’d slammed my finger, a question in his eyes. I looked away.
“Thanks for letting me sleep in my own room,” I said, anything to kill the butterflies in my stomach.
His brow furrowed, jaw tight with some emotion.
“Story Hale, I want you to want to be in my bed.” His eyes dropped to my lips, and the air shifted, charged.
I swear he wanted to kiss me.
My own eyes dropped to his lips. Lips I’d never kissed, not even when we’d had sex. I’d imagined it, imagined what those plump, kissable lips would feel like against my own. Would he be rough? Tender?
His eyes met mine, waiting for something I couldn’t give.
My lips parted, but no words came out.
A second later, he said, “I think you’re fine.” He stood back up, like nothing had happened, but I’d been blown over by a hurricane.
There was a sandstorm in my chest.
West was being too nice, and it made me feel…wrong. Wrong that Grayson had been on the floor last night. Wrong that I’d been craving him. Wrong that I’d just thought about kissing West.
Wrong.
It felt as if I was both cheating on the husband I’d promised I didn’t love, and the man I’d promised to hate.
“I wish I could stay and spend the day with you,” West said, “but I have work.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just spend the day here.” Hiding. Pretending I’m not in Crowne Hall. That this isn’t my life.
“Angel…You’re a du Lac now.”
My eyes met his. “So?”
“They’re expecting you in the sunroom. I won’t force you to go, but the harder we push, the more they push back.”
He checked his watch and, without another word, left me to ruminate on waiting for me in the sunroom. No bells on the wall to let me know they needed tea or cucumber sandwiches, but my husband telling me to meet my…in-laws.
In a daze I went to my closet.
I knew what they would be wearing, and none of my nun clothes would be appropriate. Still, I pulled out a white lacy blouse and black skirt.
Downstairs, women sat in sateen chaises and chairs around Tansy Crowne. The sun was soft, and it looked like a Victorian painting. I paused in the doorway, feeling like I should lower my eyes and wait to be called in.
“Story,” Tansy called for me. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
One by one their heads turned, gaze falling on me.
The only seat available was on a chaise next to Lottie. With knots in my stomach, I took it. They resumed the conversation, ignoring me with an ease only the rich could. They spoke of the impending holidays, of Thanksgiving a few weeks out.