Silence passed, Abigail’s eyes narrowing at me from beneath her thick, feathery lashes. I could tell she was about to press, when her dog, Theo, showed up. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her neck.
“Sweet girl,” he said low. “If you want to celebrate the new year together, time to fucking ditch this place.”
I rolled my eyes as my sister melted into her husband. She wrapped her hand in Theo’s, but paused on me, brow furrowing. “Bye, Grayson.”
I waved her off and took another drink, the whiskey mixing with my sugary sucker, when I saw West.
Talking to Gemma.
I was across the room, grabbing her and thrusting her behind my back before I realized it.
“What the hell, Grayson?” She tried to squirm out of my hold, I tightened my grip on her wrist. West tilted his head, trying to see Gemma.
“The fuck, Grayson?”
“Where is your piece of shit fiancé?”
Gemma blinked slowly. “Probably sliding into some underage influencer’s DMs.”
“He should be with you. Protecting you.”
Her lips parted, and her face was frozen for at least five seconds.
Then she barked out a laugh. “What the fuck?” She laughed for a solid thirty seconds. “Okay, right, sure.” She waved me off before wandering toward the eggnog, still laughing. “Horace protecting me, oh my God, what even…”
West grinned, shark-toothed. “I have to get to know my fiancée sometime, Gray.”
Story was right.
This decision would kill me. Abigail had found her happily ever after, and I would do my fucking damnedest to make sure Gemma didn’t walk down the aisle like Lottie had.
I pushed my cheek out with my tongue. “Where’s Story?”
It was a quarter to midnight, and I still hadn’t seen her come back.
His brow furrowed, and he looked away.
“Where the fuck is she, West?”
He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
I went back to our room, but she wasn’t there. Fuck.
I never should have fucking left her.
I nearly ran into West on my way out. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Looking for my mistress.”
I pushed him out of the way, heart rate rising each second I couldn’t see her. I searched the bathrooms—ignoring the socialites screaming. Searched the whole fucking first floor, and each minute West followed.
I finished the search on the terrace as my mother’s firework show was coming to an end.
“She probably went back to our wing.”
Our wing.
I opened and closed my fist, the urge to hit him overwhelming.