“Good. You’re awake.”
I gasped at the voice. Tansy fucking Crowne leaned in the doorway in a light Chanel suit, watching me. How long had she been watching?
This is a nightmare. I haven’t woken up.
I scrambled to cover myself. My clothing was still where we’d left it by the door, so I could only reach for Grayson’s bomber.
She gave me a tight smile. “If I see something new, I’ll tell you.”
Still I held his jacket tighter.
“What…where…”
“Where is my son?” she asked with a bright smile. “Oh, well, he’s with his family of course.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, piercing it with my top two teeth. He promised not to leave me. Promised.
I told him I loved him, but he never said it back. And the realization sat like a hot lead.
That would be like forgetting the moon.
I stared out the window at the bright, sunny day.
We do forget the moon. For a good twelve hours, it’s as if the moon never existed.
I stared at her shoes and she sighed. “Oh, I think we’ve moved far past that.”
I lifted my eyes, staring Tansy Crowne in her red-brown ones. I had to remind myself to breathe.
“I’m late, you know. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
I bit my tongue, fighting the urge to ask her what the hell she wanted. I knew looking Tansy Crowne in the eyes wasn’t a promotion—it was a sentencing.
“I’ve been thinking about it.” She smiled thinly, rubbing her lip like her son. “If I pay you off, he’ll go searching for you. If I threaten your uncle, it will only last until he dies…” She tsked her tongue like what a shame, too, and I sucked in air. How fucking easy it was to say something so cold.
“You’re lucky, Story.”
Lucky.
She bent down, pushing messy curls out of my face. I was never more aware the difference between us than at that moment. On the floor, naked, alone, while Tansy Crowne, in her bespoke suit and cream leather heels, told me I was lucky.
“We women don’t get much leverage, but when we do, it sticks. You get to be the mistress. You get to look me in the eyes. You get to stay. Because he decided he liked having you in bed. So all I need from you is to learn. No more dressing like you went dumpster diving outside of Goodwill. You’re not a servant anymore. Even our mistresses must wear the weight of the Crowne.”
“I don’t want that,” I blurted. She arched a surprised brow. “I don’t want to be the mistress.”
She laughed—a cold, tinkling sound. “Oh, darling, you don’t get a choice.”
I’d heard the saying “kill them with kindness,” but it was never more appropriate than with Tansy Crowne, who wielded kindness like a dagger. She never yelled at the servants; in fact, we’d grown to shiver when she added words like darling. It generally meant someone was getting deported.
I think the only time I’d witnessed her mask falter was with her daughter, Abigail.
She stood up, giving me a saccharine smile. “I suggest you get dressed, Story Hale. I have to go. I’m late, remember? Late to deal with the repercussions the last person in your position left me. Do you know what happened to him?”
I swallowed.
Theo, Abigail’s love, her bodyguard.
He was…gone.