Pretty sure.
I had reasons for keeping my distance, great fucking reasons. They all seemed pretty inconsequential as West’s red lips collided with hers.
“Grayson!”
I snapped out of it. Lottie placed her hand on mine, and I realized I’d been picking at my lip. That was the copper taste in my mouth.
“Do you want to go back? I think we’ve well put our time in.”
“Why is your mother up there?”
She followed my line of sight. “I don’t know? Probably giving some kind of interview about her lucky son. Grayson? Let’s go back.”
I didn’t like the look in her eyes. I didn’t like how close Story was to the two-floor staircase. One misplaced foot and she could go tumbling down it.
Mrs. du Lac took a step toward Story, and I saw the clandestine heel she slid beneath Story’s ankle. She didn’t so much as look at Story, and if I hadn’t been paying attention, no one would have noticed.
That was all I needed to see. I was running up the steps, ignoring Lottie calling at my back, sprinting until my lungs gave out. I yanked Story’s wrist, pulling her violently toward me just as Mrs. du Lac lifted her foot.
Story fell into my chest, and I anchored her. Safe.
Then the paparazzi turned their attention to us.
Story looked at me, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?”
What could I say?
Your mother-in-law was about to trip you down the stairs because she suspected you’re pregnant with my baby?
“Gray.” Lottie’s voice was at my heels, harsh. “Let her go.”
My heart wouldn’t stop pounding. If I’d been a second late, Story would be at the bottom of the staircase. Reluctantly, I let her go.
“She looked like she was about to slip,” I explained.
“You saw that from how many feet away?” Lottie asked.
If I explained what I saw, I’d have to say why I knew Mrs. du Lac had done that, and spill the beans about Story.
I wiped my hand across my mouth as Mrs. du Lac
dragged her sparkling gold champagne to her lips, a warm smile on her face, attention elsewhere. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure.
Maybe I hadn’t seen what I thought I saw.
Mrs. du Lac walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
“Let me go.” Story’s raspy yet firm voice pulled me out of the moment, and I looked down, realizing I still clutched her in my arms.
Let her go.
The rational voice in my head repeated it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t fucking let go. It felt right to hold her against my chest, to wrap my arms around her and protect her from this fucking world.
“Grayson,” Lottie said in an insistent tone.
Paparazzi were furiously flashing photos, and our guests were taking their own. I knew I was feeding into the gossip we were desperately trying to kill.
It was like ripping off skin, but I released her. The distrust in her eyes was a shard of glass in my heart. She looked at the floor, cheeks heated, and quickly moved to leave.