“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.
“It’s her,” someone said, more loudly.
“Definitely her.”
The cameras kept clicking, and I could tell some were videoing. Her? What did they mean by that?
I knew Grayson and I were already a rumor.
The servants had made that clear by excommunicating me. While the Crownes had stopped the rumor at their gates, and the du Lacs had cut it off at the press, it was still out there. In blurry photos. If we weren’t careful, others would get wind of me, and I wouldn’t be able to live my life.
Hidden. Unseen. The way I’d always been.
I cautiously looked away from the crowd.
“I apologize, Mr. Grayson,” I said quietly, tension threading my words as paparazzi snapped my photo. “I didn’t mean to pick someone over a…Crowne.”
I chose my words like I was picking the best, most precious jewels. It wasn’t that Grayson was jealous; he was furious at me, an untrained servant. “I understand Crownes always come first.”
Grayson snatched a champagne glass and downed it in one gulp, as if what I’d said just drove him to it.
“That’s not what I fucking mean—”
“We always value our guests,” Tansy said, cutting him off. “You’ve done well. Grayson is just tired from giving all of his attention to his newlywed. You know, boys will be boys!”
She finished with a dismissive laugh, but I heard the tension in her words. What she wouldn’t say to a room full of paparazzi.
Silence descended once more.
“What’s your name?” someone yelled, breaking it.
“How did you meet Grayson?”
“When did you fall in love?”
Fear strangled my spine.
I couldn’t speak. Staring into a thousand lenses and phones. How did they know? How could they possibly know?
“Come on,” West said, lifting me off the floor. “I think we should go.” His tux was wrinkled, his fluffy curls in disarray, but he acted like it was nothing.
“I’m supposed to be helping you,” I replied numbly. He shot me a smirk with his now-bloody plump lips.
Tansy immediately launched into damage control, but Beryl stared at me.
Icy.
As did Grayson.
Grayson watched me, Lottie watched me, Beryl watched me. So did a few reporters, even as Tansy played damage control.
We exited under the gold leaf banner that read Couple of the Century.
GRAY
I itched to throw another punch when West put his arm around her like he was an injured deer or something.
It was one fucking punch.
That guy used to win in fight nights at Rosey.
Lottie placed her hand on my elbow. “Grayson, please.” Desperation weighed Lottie’s words. For the first time, I looked outside my anger, at the reception.
My grandfather, whose tux was wrinkled and eyes were hard. Yeah, I’d hear about this all right. Past the press, who would be paid off not to write this story with some other steamier piece, to the crowd. A crowd filled with cameras, vicious smiles, and a desire to sate whatever bullshit following of a few thousand sycophants they had.
A crowd who could not be paid off.
“This wedding is a fucking disaster.”
“It’s all anyone is talking about now.”
“We said lay low.”
“And you punched him.”
Multiple family members were whispering at once. My mother, Mrs. du Lac, my grandfather, her father…all saying basically the same thing: What was I thinking?
Lottie’s mother and mine, her father and my grandfather, stared at me, waiting for an answer I couldn’t give. How the fuck did I explain this? I’d heard West is a rapist. Was I supposed to just let that slide?
But it would devastate Lottie. And I’d already devastated her enough for a lifetime.
I rubbed the back of my neck, finding Lottie’s eyes only.
“Lottie…”
“If you say you’re sorry—” She broke off, then shook her head on a scoff. “You couldn’t even go one hour without making it about her. All that ‘I’m your husband now’ stuff was just bullshit. When she appears, you don’t see anything but her.”
Lottie went back to our table.
I dragged my hands through my hair, watching her leave. I reached into my suit pocket, retrieving a sucker, slamming it into my mouth.
Somehow I’d fucked up everything with Lottie and yet still hadn’t done enough for Story.
“I have been planning this day for years.” I glanced to the side, surprised to find my grandfather hadn’t left with everyone else. “Since before you were born. This was the start of a new era. We’d have not just a kingdom, but a dynasty, a world in which everyone bows to the Crowne."
“Do the du Lacs know that's what you've planned?” I gritted.
“You know I still remember your father’s wedding night,” he responded instead. “It was also very…memorable.”
He was much too calm. This was the time he should be threatening me. Reminding me he could send Story to jail. Instead he reminisced.
“He also left your mother high and dry,” he continued. “Something about a pregnancy. He was so…” Grandfather took a breath, sounding annoyed. “So unreasonable.”
I narrowed my eyes. “The triplets weren’t born until years later.”
“I wasn’t talking about the triplets, Grayson. For her sake, I hope you wore protection.”