“What are you waiting for?”
I slammed my lips against hers. Apologizing with a gentle tongue, demanding her forgiveness with bruising teeth and lips.
Atop a table of broken cakes and promises, at an engagement party that never should have been, surrounded by the bright flash of paparazzi, I kissed my real love, my true love.
We broke apart, foreheads pressed, and I grinned against her lips. “Forever and always, I choose you, Story.”
Fifty
GRAY
* * *
Story asleep in my bed, on my chest, this was something I could get used to. I traced small patterns on her shoulder blade, thinking of the night before.
I shouldn’t have taken your virginity that way. I shouldn’t have ghosted you.
I should be mad. From the very beginning, I’d only asked for one thing, not to lie, and she’d lied about being a virgin. But that…didn’t feel like a truth I was owed. It was one I wanted to earn.
That was the truth between her and West. He was a fucker, a cockhead, who’d ghosted her after taking her virginity.
So I’m not mad, I’m…hurt? Hurt she couldn’t trust me?
Fuck.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand to my left, and my grandfather’s name popped up.
I’m downstairs. Come now, or I’ll go upstairs and wake her.
I slid out of bed, making sure Story stayed asleep, and descended the stairs, finding him in my study. He was behind a desk I rarely, if ever, used, facing a large, golden-latticed window with a view of my private beach.
“You really shouldn’t sleep with the bride before the wedding,” he said coldly.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the papers by now.”
“I have,” he nodded, turning around. “Have you? The great thing about marrying a du Lac is we get to decide what they say…”
I folded my arms over my naked chest, glowering.
“I’m not marrying Charlotte du Lac,” I said. “Sorry if my message last night wasn’t clear enough.”
My grandfather’s jaw twitched. “Bad joke, Grayson.”
“I’m marrying Story Hale. She’s a servant—”
“I know who she is!” he all but screamed.
I shut the door behind me, hoping I hadn’t woken Story. Rarely had I seen my grandfather lose his composure. He was stone, even when facing the potential collapse of Crowne Industries.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” I said. “You can’t excommunicate me like you did with Uncle and Abigail. Who will run the company? Who will give you heirs?”
“You’re just like your fucking father,” he hissed underbreath. “Always thinking with your dick.”
“I am nothing like him. He didn’t have the balls to say no to you.”
“Just like him, you’ll listen when I say you are not special because you came from your mother’s twat. Who will give me heirs? Your sister? The bastards? The nieces and nephews? Who will run the company?” Grandfather placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward. “There are two bastard twins in boarding school who spend every summer and vacation at the company. You know how it goes.”
I’d been prepared for this eventuality the moment I chose Story.