The sound of violent retching interrupted my thoughts. I swiveled my head over my shoulder.
I thought I was alone.
“Sweet pea,” Lynette du Lac’s soft voice filled the room like a summer breeze. “Let me get your husband. He should hold your hair back.”
I froze. Husband.
That word shouldn’t stab my heart, not when we’d planned to do it this way.
But he’s mine. He was my husband, not hers. Once again I was reminded I had no idea what had gone on since I left, how Grayson had handled the aftermath of the near desolation.
“Leave me alone,” Lottie’s miserable voice followed.
“If you refuse to get him, then I will,” Lynette cut.
I only had seconds to prepare, before Mrs. du Lac came out of an open stall and froze mid-step when she saw me. A brief moment of humanity slashed across her face—shock, anger—before she straightened her shoulders and applied her cold mask.
She came to the sink beside me, washing her hands slowly, delicately, as if I was nothing. In a dark emerald gown with fine gold detailing, she was every bit the elegant woman I remembered. She reached across me to grab a handkerchief embroidered with the Crowne seal.
“Good to see you finally embracing your role,” she said quietly, drying her hands. “See you don’t forget it.” She smiled at me sweetly, handing me the used handkerchief.
The urge to speak back was so strong it gave me a stomachache. I could tell she knew, because she smiled broader. In the end, I said nothing, and she left, the door shutting softly behind her.
I stared at the used napkin in my hand, hating myself.
Then Lottie groaned, followed by the unmistakable sound of vomiting.
I pulled at the threads of the embroidered seal. The last time I saw Lottie, she wished I would die. The last time I saw Lottie…she’d announced she was pregnant, and Grayson chose me.
Another groan followed, and I went to her. She was on the floor, both arms cradling the toilet, head resting on one arm as a pretty emerald dress similar to her mother’s pooled around her body like water.
Lottie lifted her head. “Mom, I told you to leave me—” She froze.
We both did.
Her, like she’d seen a ghost, and me with the cloth I’d grabbed for her midair, staring at her stomach.
Lottie and I were exactly the same months along, our stomachs rounded similarly. Unlike me, she didn’t have to hide it under an empire waist gown.
The whole world knew she was pregnant.
If anyone found out the baby in my belly was Grayson’s…
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, and thrust the napkin at her. She eyed the cloth like it would burst into a thousand spiders, but then she lurched, head back into the toilet.
I got to my knees, taking her hair in my hands.
“What are you—” she broke off on a lurch, and then for a few minutes, I held her hair.
Soon, Lottie calmed down, and I released her hair as she fell against the ornately carved wooden stall. I did the same on the opposite side. Her face was drained of color, eyes glassy and lips cracked.
Lottie du Lac, the beautiful billionaire heiress. The princess that was always meant to marry my prince. After a minute her eyes found mine, as if registering I was there for the first time.
“The last time we spoke, I wished you would die.”
I nodded…I remembered.
“I do, you know.” Her eyes flitted to mine, red, glaring. Then she blinked, looking away. “I mean, I don’t. I…I—” she broke off, eyes wide as she spun around vomiting into the bowl. I reached for her hair again, but she was finished quickly, and she leaned back against the wall.