Stolen Soulmate (Crowne Point 2)

She smiled. “You do. Good.”

Forty-Three

STORY

* * *

I spent a week accompanying my uncle to appointments at the hospital, trying to avoid everything Crowne, while secretly hoping Grayson would reach out.

He never did.

Now, on the small square TV in the corner of the wall, I watched him and all the Crownes at the pier at Crowne Beach. Abigail wore the Crowne family tiara, an heirloom that supposedly went back centuries. Her fiancé had his arm around her, and she looked absolutely miserable. Blurred in the background were Gemma and Gray.

Always blurry…

I exhaled a sigh.

“Story?” my uncle asked.

“Humm?”

“The Popsicle.”

“Oh!” I handed it to him, though now it had melted down my wrist.

I stared at the TV. Was that what was so fucking important he had to leave without a word? Some family function at the pier? I’d been trying to work it out for a week, trying to understand his silence. Hoping it wasn’t the truth that hung ugly in the air.

I’d been used by Grayson Crowne.

It bit like tiny insect bites into my chest. Because what if it was important. Still, I had to be in the shadows.

I get to be his mistress. That was how his mother had worded it. More and more I felt like I was running a marathon, and once I got to the finish, I’d have to face the truth. Grayson and I could only end one way.

He came into focus a little bit more, and I saw he wore the jacket I’d held to my chest days ago. A sharp pang hit me.

Had he come back for me?

Uncle and I talked for an hour or two about nothing until he was hungry again, and I had to go on a food hunt. He looked so bright and happy, and I could forget the black cloud inside my chest, because Uncle was getting better.

The hospital was beautiful, paid for by Crowne money, and was set close enough to the beach to have a view of the ocean. Summer was basically over. The leaves would turn soon, and in a few more months the year would end.

Christmas.

There was only one vending machine on his floor, and apparently it ate quarters.

I kicked it.

“Stupid machine.” I kicked it again.

“Did you try paying?”

What was

Grayson doing here?

I fought every nerve and need in my body and bones to turn around, instead walking down the sterile hallway, fast. I was gripped by the wrist, spun around. I stared at his chest, at another white T-shirt that cost more than college tuition.

“Let me go,” I said.