It was also airy enough for summer.
“Anything else, miss?” Ellie asked, once she’d finished. Her eyes were on the floor.
My shoulders fell. “Ellie, please. Please talk to me. I miss you.”
“If that’s all, I need to get back down for Ms. Abigail’s engagement.” She bowed her head and left. Tears filled my throat. Of joy. Of confusion. Of fear. I loved myself in this dress, and I hated myself in it.
When I came out, Grayson was leaning against the wall next to the double doors, on his phone. When he saw me, his phone slipped from his hand with a clang to the hardwood, eyes steel.
“What?” I looked at the dress, thinking I’d somehow already managed to spill something.
“Nothing,” he said, voice choked. He bent down to pick up his phone, and that was all we spoke.
I follo
wed him downstairs, my nerves growing with the orchestra’s music the closer we got to the ballroom. A voice in my head kept whispering: You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be dressed like this. This isn’t where you belong.
I was flying too close to the sun.
Thirty-Five
STORY
* * *
Grayson hasn’t stopped staring at me.
I shifted on the soles of my feet, more and more insecure. “What? Is it my dress?”
Grayson gripped his drink just as a hush overcame the crowd. The double doors opened above us, and Abigail Crowne emerged with her fiancé. Grayson tensed, then turned from me, eyes on them.
The ballroom was beautiful, the freshly cleaned chandelier dripping from the domed ceiling. It was Tansy’s pride, vintage and imported from some long-fallen monarchy—many speculated the Romanovs. It shimmered like the sun.
I was grateful I could again blend in. I wondered if that was why he bought the dress. Did Grayson know how important that was to me?
Abigail descended looking beautiful, ethereal, and so, so sad. Theo was at her back, walking down the stairs like a dead man. Her fiancé? Couldn’t have looked more smug.
Before Grayson, when I was just a servant, I’d thought these people the worst kind of entitled. They had everything, and yet they dared be angry and miserable. Now I saw them for what they really were: trapped.
“Champagne, miss?” I turned to find a server dressed in the black-and-white uniform, staring at the floor. Andrew.
“Andrew, I—” I stopped, remembering Ellie. I wanted to yell at him. Andrew, it’s me, Story. But I was in a silver gown, and he would never look me in the eyes, not here. Maybe not ever again.
I looked around at all the servers.
When this was all over, I couldn’t go back to them.
When this was over…
I glanced at Gray, standing ahead of me, because I was still not his equal.
“What is my place here, Grayson?” I whispered to his back.
Grayson turned around, his eyes locking with mine.
“Why am I still here?” I pressed.
I waited for him to say something like because I own you until Christmas. But a silver thin thread of hope needled. Tell me it means more. Tell me I’m not just a tool, something to use and get over.