Stolen Soulmate (Crowne Point 2)

Six

STORY

* * *

My uncle came to an abrupt stop, eyes landing on me, crouched and shamed before Grayson Crowne’s feet. Sewage filled my veins, and this time I looked at my knees, because I couldn’t bear to see my uncle’s face.

He’d become a blurry Polaroid. His small frame—in a light suit as always—and curly gray hair, cropped close to his dark skin, just out of focus.

What had I become to him? My mother, maybe.

My uncle tried to warn me before he’d brought me in, but I had nowhere to go. My mom was dead. To my dad’s side of the family, I didn’t exist. My uncle was the only living member left.

A moment passed. I could feel my uncle watching me, and then he asked the only question he could: “Mr. Grayson...you called?”

Not Why do you have a servant on her knees? What are you doing with my niece?

Those were questions I would have to deal with, and his unasked questions burned into ruinous answers the longer he watched, the longer I didn’t stand up.

“You should start with the bed. Strip it.”

“Of course, sir.”

More shame swamped me. Grayson didn’t make it sound like we’d slept together, but he didn’t not either.

Grayson placed an untied sneaker beneath my nose. “Tie my shoe.”

“What?” I jerked my head up, meeting his stony blue eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

Grayson swiped a measured hand over his forehead, pushing messy blond hair from his brow, his glare pinned on me. I was once again hit with how devastatingly handsome he was, the kind of looks that ruin.

“When I say jump,” he said.

I bit the tip of my tongue, anger flooding my chest as I leaned forward, and my fingers shook on the laces. That was when I finally met my uncle’s eyes, as I tied Grayson’s shoe.

Shame drenched my soul in oil.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I was doing this for us. So I could stay, so I could be near him. I was doing this because of him. There was more to this than met the eye. I’d stolen something priceless and I had to give it back. He would understand that. He’d instilled me with that value, one my mother conveniently left out.

In the end I looked away.

I tied the final lace, and Grayson pulled his foot back so quickly I nearly stumbled.

“Woodsy?” Grayson asked when he realized my uncle was still there.

Ever the composed one, my uncle straightened his spine and turned from me to Gray. “Mr. Grayson, I will finish my job tomorrow.”

“Sure, whatever.”

A spark of surprise shocked my spine. Sure, whatever to a servant who’d basically just said he didn’t feel like cleaning. I knew they had a unique relationship, but if I ever said that to Abigail, I’d be kicked out faster than I could blink.

I listened to my uncle’s retreating footsteps as nausea grew like a weighted balloon inside me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d depended on the hope I could keep my shame internal and secret until now.

I couldn’t do this.

I couldn’t fucking do it.

What was I thinking?