Grayson hadn’t chosen me—over and over again he hadn’t chosen me.
I nearly lost my breath when I saw what was hanging in his closet.
Once again it was like Gray knew me down to my marrow. The dress was me. It went all the way up to my neck and down to my wrists, but the sleeves and neck were a sheer material embroidered with hundreds of little blue dots. I was covered, and uncovered, at the same time. It was a gorgeous cornflower blue that looked great with my dark skin, and the skirt flounced along with the neckline. I felt like I belonged in a fairy tale, as a nutcracker princess.
When Gray saw me, he swallowed a noise in his throat, and my belly twisted into knots. He stood off the couch and came to me, dressed to kill in a perfectly tailored black suit that somehow looked both disheveled and intentional.
“I’m regretting this dress,” he said, twisting my lip between his fingers. Though he dragged my lip between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes hadn’t strayed from my body. Soaking me up. Swallowing me whole.
“Why?” I croaked.
Slowly his eyes found mine, burning. “I was getting used to keeping you all to myself.”
Ice water doused my veins. I’d gotten lost in him again, lost in what his touch promised but his actions never kept. I took a step back, eyes finding the floor.
“Anything else, Mr. Grayson?”
“The fuck did I say about calling me that?”
“Why, what are you going to do, Mr. Grayson?” I met his eyes, goading him, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.
Sadness, sorrow, from my uncle.
Anger, from being strung along.
“Mr. Grayson,” I said, tears fire in my eyes. “Mr. Grayson—”
His eyes flamed, and I thought he was going to punish me, but he pulled me into a hug, so tight I couldn’t breathe. Suffocated in his suit, in the dreamy smell of him that felt too much like home.
And I fell to pieces, getting snot all over his nice suit.
He gripped the back of my head tight. “Fucking hell, Story.”
“He’s dying.” I sobbed, over and over again.
He gripped me tighter, and for a moment I let myself give in to his comfort.
But he was still marrying her.
This didn’t belong to me. I was stealing him. I was doing everything my mother taught me to do.
I pushed him off, swiping my eyes and staring at the floor.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
I changed the subject. “Why am I dressed like this?”
“I thought you could use a distraction. And I needed a date.”
“As your mistress,” I said glumly.
“As my lover, as my girlfriend, as the girl I want by my side, as the girl I want everyone to know belongs to Grayson Crowne.”
My heart jumped at his words, but still, “You promised to tell Lottie. I’m not going to do this anymore. I can’t.”
Yet I’d still put on the dress.
I’d still come to the room.