Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

“Oops, was I not supposed to say that?” She rolled her eyes, clearly not upset about spilling the beans.

“Listen,” she continued, not giving me a minute to think about what she’d just said. “The first secret they learn is the most violating.”

Abigail Crowne was the most infamous Crowne. She’d been the center of scandal after scandal, even more so than her brother. If you searched her name, her naked body was the second thing to pop up.

At least Grayson’s body had somewhat hidden mine, so no one had seen me naked, but her? Everyone had seen her.

“I’ve hidden my whole life,” I said. “I don’t know what to do now that everyone sees me.”

She sat beside me. “Just remember to wear your CROWNE.”

“My what?”

She laughed. “It’s a stupid acronym our mother had the nanny teach us as children. Cross your legs, Remember to smile, Own the room, Wear your best, Never apologize, and Eat your vegetables.” She paused, knuckle to chin. “The last one really only applies if you’re five.”

She smiled. “But really, I’ll impart a lesson that took me my whole life to learn: be honest with yourself. Then whatever they say can’t hurt you. We’re all so busy trying to be what everyone wants us to be, or what we think we should be, so we shit ourselves worrying they’re going to discover the truth, who we actually are.”

She spun me around, a smile on her face.

It was the most skin I’d shown in years. My shoulders. My breasts. My knees. My hair.

“No one is going to recognize you.”

I touched the soft green chiffon. “Should I be on the lookout for any pumpkins?”

Twenty-Seven

GRAY

* * *

“You keep staring at the door.”

“Just wondering when Abigail is getting here.”

Lottie kissed me on the cheek, and I jerked away like I was burned.

Everything you do with Lottie, West gets to do to me.

Hurt marred her face.

“I…think I’m getting sick.”

Lottie stared at me with another question in her eyes I knew she wouldn’t ask. Then she gripped my hand, affecting her own smile. Empty.

“Maple-glazed turkey?” A servant wearing a feathered headdress atop his regular black-and-white uniform asked. Feathers imported from the finest birds of Africa, my mother would boast.

One time, a magazine did what my mother would call a hit piece on us.

“The Crownes aren’t just harmlessly oblivious, they’re a symbol of a larger problem, of those who stubbornly continue the ignorant, tasteless, and traumatizing traditions…”

How dare they try to take away our traditions? she’d said. We’d been doing this as far back as the eighteen hundreds. Where would it stop? Next they’d come for the very stars on the American flag.

Interesting enough, after that article came out, the Crownes started the biggest Native American college scholarship in the country. Now that’s all anyone talks about come Thanksgiving.

Through the massive arched entryway draped with autumn leaves, Story appeared. I dropped the turkey I’d taken, the glaze streaking the marble floor.

“Grayson? Are you okay?”