Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

“Grayson, you’re not smiling,” Lottie whispered miserably.

I affected the smile. The famous Grayson Crowne smile, the one no one knew meant I was miserable.

No one but Snitch.

We took photos until the reception blurred into glittery gold. Until I didn’t feel the muscles at my cheeks twitch. The bodies next to mine were interchangeable, so I didn’t pay attention to the arm landing on my shoulders until he spoke.

“Hey, bro,” West said, the smile in his voice like oil.

My blood went

cold.

The music died.

I craned my neck slowly, meeting his dark brown eyes. It seemed to happen in slow motion. He smiled and made jokes with the photographer, joked with his dad and my mom.

As everyone—my mom, grandfather, sister, Lottie and her brother, parents and grandparents—posed for a family photo, I threw a right hook, crunching into West’s jaw.

It was a sucker punch, but I still felt pretty fucking good when he landed flat on the marble floor.

“Brother-in-law,” I corrected.

Three

STORY

* * *

I swear everyone was staring at me. Whispering. Snickering. I knew the servants were going to do something, get back at me somehow, and the hair on my neck was stick straight. It didn’t make sense that the elite would be watching me though.

The room crashed silent.

Then the sound of cameras went off, like a thousand bugs clicking their wings.

I lifted my head in time to see West fall into Beryl Crowne, and Beryl hit the marble. Grayson stood over Westley, shaking out his hand. I knew what that meant better than anyone

He looked like the boy I used to watch. The arrogant Playboy Gray.

But wilder. Messier.

I don’t know what preceded it, and I know I should’ve stayed away, but I ran over.

Beryl was already on his feet, adjusting the lapels of his black tux, but West was on the ground, blood coming out of his mouth and nose. I dropped to my knees.

I knew what it meant if this kind of incident continued unchecked or spiraled. You could never blame a Crowne; you rarely blamed a guest. But someone had to be blamed, and it was always a servant. If someone like Beryl Crowne was affected in the incident? The blame would burn like acid.

“I think that’s her,” someone said.

Her?

“What the fuck?” Grayson said. “Him? You’re choosing him?”

Another slamming silence, followed immediately by more clicks and bright lights, this time directed at me. Everyone was staring at me.

Choosing him.

Did he have any idea the consequences of his choice of words? I wouldn’t look him in the eyes. And while seconds passed, it felt like an hour as I tried to navigate the thorny, sharp maze he’d just erected for me.