I had to trust Lottie, my mother, three kids I’d barely spoken to. Trust that somewhere Story was alive. But if everything went right, tonight two empires would fall, and in their ashes…we would rise.
As my grandfather droned on, my mother clandestinely shooed away servants. His guards had left him—fearful of whatever the triplets had whispered in their ear.
The small window had opened, it was now or never.
I turned, looking DA Miller in the eyes. “We will.”
He raised his drink to me, and went to talk to someone across the lawn just as two of the triplets went on stage.
On fucking stage.
That’s when it started to go to shit.
I put my fingers to my temple. “What are they doing?”
“Tonight, over a decade’s worth of work is realized—” My grandfather paused mid-sentence, spotting Jo.
“Hey, Grandpa,” Jo said. She pointed down at Kell on the lawn, who held up a phone. “Check it out, we’re gonna go so viral.”
“Josephine,” my grandfather gritted.
“Ew. Please don’t call me that.”
For a moment, Jo had Lynette and my grandfather so completely distracted, they didn’t see Charles behind them.
“Okay, it’s a challenge, Gramps. Do it with me.”
My grandfather exhaled, nostrils flared. He started to turn, to look for his guards, maybe, and I was certain in that second everything was going to go to shit.
Then Jo ripped up her shirt.
Flashing our fucking grandfather.
“It’s called the Alabama challenge. Or in your case, the Hapsburg challenge.”
“Oh my—” Lynette covered her eyes, turning away.
My grandfather was stunned, fucking stunned. Then he gripped Jo and yanked her shirt down, thrusting her toward the edge of the stage. I couldn’t hear the words he spoke in her ear, but I could imagine them.
In that split second, Charles reached into his pocket, before spinning the opposite direction and disappearing off backstage.
Did he get them?
“Hashtag Hapsburg,” Jo
yelled as she dashed down the stairs.
My grandfather stared after her like he wanted to burn her to ashes on the spot.
I don’t know why I expected any kind of finesse from three triplets who’d grown up semi-orphaned in a world of excess and debauchery. They were like Abigail at that age…but worse.
Lynette raised the champagne. “Kids,” she said, laughing uneasily. “Always so unpredictable…”
My grandfather continued. “As I was saying…” He droned on about legacies and dynasties, and in less than a minute, the triplets were at my side.
“What the fuck was that—”
Something heavy and weighted fell into my pocket—a coin?