Then he closed his eyes.
She cried out, hitting her peak while I could still feel his lips, my breast throbbing from his kisses. Bruises would sprout.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
Is this what a panic attack feels like?
I didn’t even realize she’d righted herself. That they were ready to go, until Grayson spoke.
“Come on, Lottie.”
He shut the door once again, leaving me in the black.
Thirty-Seven
GRAY
* * *
Lottie hadn’t stopped grinning since the linen closet, and I felt like fucking slime. This was it. I was finally the Grayson Crowne everyone had always said I was, a callous playboy. The engagement party was over. Only a few shit-blasted men in wrinkled tuxes remained with their poor dates trying to keep them upright, and I ran my hands through my hair for probably the hundredth time. A few hours before, my sister had wandered into the ballroom in a ripped gown and running makeup.
And with that, the party had ended.
There was still no sign of Snitch. She should’ve come out by now. Was she seriously still sitting in there?
Her teary eyes slammed into me like a bullet.
Fuck.
“You could come spend the night at my place,” Lottie said, dragging my attention back. “It’s always empty. You know how it is.”
I did. We were raised without parents, but with more responsibility than anyone.
I smiled softly. “Maybe another time.”
Lottie’s smile wavered but didn’t fall. “I understand.”
Fucking. Slime.
I walked Lottie out to the curving driveway, where her driver was waiting and opened the door for her. She hesitated a moment before getting in, looking left and right like she was trying to work up the courage for something. She kissed me swiftly on the cheek, then hopped into the car, slamming the door shut.
I stared after the sleek black town car, bile rising in my gut.
On my way back to my wing I thought of what I would say to Story. I don’t know if I’ve ever apologized in my life.
A Crowne doesn’t apologize, because they are never wrong. Everyone else is mistaken.
My grandfather’s voice echoed in my head.
I know what Grandfather would do. He wouldn’t even acknowledge what happened. Shit, Grandfather wouldn’t have let Story get away with a third of what I had.
But I felt…wrong.
On paper, we weren’t anything to each other. I didn’t owe her an apology. It’s not like we meant anything to one another. Lottie was who I was supposed to be with. Snitch made that fucking clear.
But those words were starting to feel hollow.