Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point 4)

After he explained all I had to do was prove I’d been to Scotland—a ticket, a photo, something—I left, using the little time I had to myself to wander.

It felt like everyone was watching me as I walked down Main Street. I shook off the feeling, tugging my pea coat around my body.

I missed this.

Just being free to walk wherever, whenever. I needed the space to walk, to clear my head. My little Meyer lemon was nowhere near the size of a lemon anymore, growing inside of me and ready to pop soon. All of this was for her, for Grayson, and for the family I never had. So she could grow up out of the shadows, with a father who loved her and a mother she could be proud of.

But my uncle was the only person in my family whose opinion I cared about. What did it mean that he died with a vision of my future that was so different than reality?

I hadn’t left Crowne Hall…

My wish hadn’t come true.

Josephine was dead.

Josephine said I should have found it and my uncle said I should have found her. Everything seemed to point to Scotland… I felt like I’d made it to the end of a mystery book, but the middle had been ripped out. There was a vital piece of information I was missing.

I rubbed my forehead, trying to work the problem out, when something caught my eye across the street.

It was a quaint magazine stand, the wood painted white and blue to match the nautical theme of Main Street. Standing in front were two women, staring at me and talking behind their hands. When they saw I’d looked back, they froze like deer in headlights, slamming the magazine in their hands back on the stand, and rushing down the street.

But they looked back.

Morbid curiosity had me walking across the street to the stand. One story dominated almost every magazine. I stared at them until the bright, yellow words blurred. Until the car Grayson had secured for me stopped

“Miss?” the driver said. “You were supposed to call when you finished. We’re late.”

I kept staring, even as he shepherded me inside the car.

It wasn’t my face, all blown up and glossy, that made my blood curdle.

It was the headline.

Forty-Three

GRAY

It was an hour past the time Story was supposed to return. The sun was drooping in the sky, a hazy orange glow across the party. Another scandal had broken. I wasn’t sure what—didn’t generally give a shit—but it was obvious by the excited whispers and looks.

Chum had fallen to the sharks.

And West hadn’t stopped glaring at me.

“Where did you tuck away my mistress?”

I dragged my hand across my jaw. I wanted to give Story

space to heal…but he was getting too fucking comfortable.

Story stumbled into the garden. She grasped the trunk of a cherry blossom tree, looking left and right with wide eyes.

Something was off.

Wrong.

West and I saw her at the same time, both making a beeline to get to her first.

“What’s wrong, little nun?”