Forbidden Fate Read online

  Old Story would have swallowed her voice. Tried to hide. Blend in.

  “Do you think I want this?” I whispered.

  I was about to go upstairs and attend to the love of my life’s wife. I’d probably see him. If there was a hell, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than what I was currently in.

  But the only way I could be free was if my uncle died.

  I lifted my head, my gaze flitting from one icy stare to the next, and raised my voice. “Do you think I want to be here?”

  Everyone stared at me a moment longer, then went back to what they’d been doing. Eating pastries, talking, looking at their phones.

  With the time allotted to me for breakfast, I could have gone out of Crowne Hall and gotten something in Crowne Point, but I had so little time with my uncle, so instead I went to him.

  “Uncle?” I asked softly as I opened the door, in case he wasn’t awake.

  “Sabrina?”

  I paused at my mother’s name. I hadn’t heard it in years. He always used your mother or my sister.

  “It’s me…Story.”

  He sank into his pillows, eyes closed, and nodded.

  “I was wondering if you had time for a poetry reading?”

  “Tomorrow.” He opened one eye, locked on me, then closed it. “I’ll have energy tomorrow. Promise you’ll come back?”

  “Promise.”

  I closed the door quietly, but I stared at the wood. I wanted to press him, to beg him, beg my tired uncle who is dying of cancer to just please read me poetry, but Barn’s voice tore through the moment like ripping paper.

  “What are you doing?”

  I turned, finding her scowl. “I was…”

  “Mrs. Grayson Crowne needs her tea.”

  I looked at my uncle’s door, and she tilted her head, eyes slimming. “Of course.”

  I would quickly give Lottie her tea—Lottie liked jasmine tea made with a flowering bud—and come back down to see Uncle before the afternoon.

  I dreaded my walk to Grayson’s wing.

  Or…their wing.

  I knew as Lottie’s girl I would have to see him, see them.

  I knocked softly on the door, pushing it open with the tea tray. Lottie was already sitting up, but she looked as though she hadn’t slept much.

  “I brought your tea, Mrs. du—Mrs. Crowne,” I quickly corrected. I set down her tray in the spiny silence, arranging the porcelain as I’d done for Miss Abigail. Lottie was wrapped in a silk robe, her hair still in a bonnet, the circles under her eyes dark.

  I looked around as I set the tea out.

  “He’s not here,” she said.

  “I—I wasn’t…”

  “Do you know where he is?” She picked up the steaming tea, taking a sip. I finished setting out the items and stood up, eyes on the ground. “He’s getting a postnuptial agreement drawn up. I’ll get everything. If he so much as puts a finger inside of you, I get everything.”

  I focused harder on my black leather flats.

  I heard the sound of Lottie setting down the tea, the clink of the porcelain on the wooden tray.

  “Grayson and I are going to Asheville to visit my family. I need my things packed. Get started.”

  Asheville? Uncle and I had a poetry reading. I’d barely seen him this morning. The entire fucking point of this hell was to spend as much time with him as possible.

  I lifted my head. “I can’t leave.”

  Lottie’s lips parted like I’d slapped her. The air between us was toxic, even as the salty ocean breathed.

  “You really have no shame,” she said softly.

  I was filled with it. Consumed by it. Once my uncle died, I would leave this place and hide, try to exorcise the demons I’d summoned during my time in Crowne Point.

  “Does Grayson know?” I said the insane thing. The wrong thing. The treacherous, ugly, fucked-up thing.

  Lottie stood up, straightening her back. “Does my husband know what I’m asking my girl to do?”

  I ground my teeth. Instinctively, before I could stop it, my eyes drifted above the glass wall to the lofted second floor, where his bedroom was.

  “Go ahead and cry to him, Story. Who do you think he loves more? The girl he tossed millions at to try and get out of his life, or the girl he’s willing to lose it all for?”

  Her eyes lingered on mine a moment longer.

  “Asheville is warmer than Crowne Point. Pack light layers.”

  Eight

  GRAY

  * * *

  Lottie’s family lived in an estate in Asheville, North Carolina. It was built in 1895 by Victor Paul du Lac and had been in the du Lac family ever since. The entire du Lac estate originally covered more than one hundred thousand acres, but now it was down to a humble seven.

  Spending the weekend with Lynette and Arthur du Lac after my sex tape had just rocked their daughter’s wedding had to be at the bottom of the things I wanted to do for our fucking honeymoon. But Asheville had been planned for as long as the engagement.

  Lottie and I climbed out of the car first. Behind us, in her own car, Story did the same. Traveling with Story had been fucking hell. Every minute I saw her, I remembered coming into Lottie’s hand, picturing Snitch.

  Snitch’s foot caught on the cobblestone, and without thought, I grabbed her elbow.

  She clenched her jaw. “Thank you, Mr. Crowne.”

  She bit out her safe word. I could see the words in her head. All the shit she wouldn’t say. I wanted it. I missed it like fucking air.

  Call me on my shit.

  She eyed the sucker in my mouth, and my grip tightened. I wondered how she was handling everything. While the du Lacs had stopped the video on traditional media, we were all over the internet. After my first scandal, I didn’t go online for a month. The only thing that got me through it was poetry.

  She said I had a mask…Story was stone. I couldn’t fucking read her. It was driving me insane. I wanted to pull her aside. Demand she let me in.

  Rip the pain from her perfect lips.

  “There’s a servant entrance around back,” Lottie said, cutting through the moment like a knife. I quickly dropped her, swiping my hand across my pants.

  “Follow them to my room and bring me back my house shoes.”

  Snitch mumbled a “Yes, Mrs. Crowne” and followed two servants through the archway into the home. They weren’t dressed in a traditional maid uniform, as Mother would insist on, but in dusty gray-blue uniforms you might see the maids wear at hotels, complete with starched white collars.

  “I thought you agreed you weren’t bringing her.”

  Lottie didn’t look at me. “She said she wanted to come.”

  I don’t want to believe my wife would lie to me. That I was corrupting sweet, pure Lottie.

  But I can’t believe Snitch would willingly leave her uncle.

  “I still don’t see why you wanted to bring her.”

  “Let me get my girl back and I wouldn’t,” Lottie sniped.

  I arched a brow at Lottie. Lottie never sniped. “You don’t think it’s going to raise questions, cause more drama, when she’s here?”

  Lottie flexed her jaw.

  “I just—”

  “You really have no idea all the things that I have to do on my own, do you?” She spun on me, eyes flared. “What’s expected of me? Do you think I wanted this? You asked me to have your mistress as my girl.”

  “She’s not my—”

  “Pumpkin!”

  Lottie’s glare lingered on me a moment longer; then she swiped it away with a serene smile, turning to her father. Chills ran up my spine.

  I knew that smile.

  My mother wore that smile.

  “Daddy!” Lottie returned Mr. du Lac’s hug with a stiffness I knew too well.

  All warmth drained from Mr. du Lac’s body when he turned to me.

  “Grayson,” he said. I noted how he didn’t extend a hand to me, but I wasn’t surprised Mr. du Lac already wasn’t very fond o
f me, and punching his son and humiliating his daughter at her wedding…sure didn’t help.

  I inclined my head. “Mr. du Lac.”

  Arthur du Lac was tall like his son, with the same hot chocolate complexion as his children, and as with everyone in this world…he had too much goddamn power.

  He gave me a stiff smile, then returned his attention to his daughter, as my mother and sister’s town car pulled up behind us. My grandfather would join us later, for the holiday only, of course.

  Two servants appeared, opening the doors for them. My mother stepped outside.

  “Lynette,” my mother said, giving a cursory glance to the estate. “Your house is lovely, as always.”

  Tansy Crowne and Lynette du Lac did not get along. Their rivalry went back decades to when they were teenagers.

  “Do we get our own bags or…” my mother asked, taking off her riding gloves and looking around expectantly.

  “Of course we don’t have the pomp and circumstance of Crowne Hall, but our humble home can manage to get your luggage and take them to your rooms.”

  Like magic, more servants appeared, chipping at the mountain of luggage for the weekend stay, piled high before the sprawling patchwork green lawn and thousand-gallon fountain that marked their humble estate.

  We followed the du Lacs inside.

  My mother and my sister followed their luggage up to their rooms, and then it was just Lottie and her mother and I alone in their grand foyer.

  Lottie took off her sunhat and held it in her hands. Mrs. du Lac narrowed on the action.

  “Where is your girl?” Mrs. Du Lac asked. “Your girl should be getting that for you.”

  Lottie shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “Uh…”

  Snitch still hadn’t returned. Was she lost?

  “You don’t know?” Mrs. du Lac arched a brow.

  “No, I—”

  “She doesn’t listen to you?”

  Lottie paled. “She listens to me. I just…I gave her the morning off. After traveling, you know.”

  “You gave her the morning off?” Mrs. du Lac’s barely noticeable brow lift let us know that she did not approve.

  “Lottie is being humble,” I said, wrapping my arm around her waist. “She forgot to mention it wasn’t her decision. It was mine.”

  This was what a husband did. Defend his wife. Stood by her side.

  Mrs. du Lac’s gaze slowly, deliberately, landed on me. “How thoughtful.”

  Mrs. du Lac left and Lottie quickly shoved herself off me. Betrayal etched her features, lips parted. She looked like she was going to talk, but then she swallowed and shook her head, following after her mother.

  STORY

  * * *

  Lottie had told me to follow the servants and bring back her house shoes, but I was lost. The du Lac servants had taken me inside the home, and that was it. They weren’t like Crowne servants with our rigid codes.

  The du Lacs were a different breed of rich people. If Crowne Hall was stuck in the Victorian era, then the du Lacs never left the Gilded Age.

  “Angel?”

  I stiffened at the voice and kept walking, as if that would stop a guy like West du Lac. A moment later, his hand encircled my bicep, and he tugged me back.

  “What are you doing in Asheville?”

  “I’m here until the Crownes go home.”

  He quirked a brow. “You’ve never been to my neck of the woods before.”

  You never brought me.

  I shrugged.

  He dropped me and looked around, mischief lighting up his eyes. “I guess I owe you a tour.”

  I’d always seen West at Crowne Hall, so even when we were teenagers, he dressed nicely, whether it was a suit or expensive designer clothes. Today he wore a cutoff shirt and athletic shorts, as though he’d just been working out.

  The sight twisted my stomach.

  It was…oddly intimate.

  “I’m working.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m so late. I can’t find Lottie’s room.”

  His brow furrowed, then he gripped my wrist.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’re in the wrong part of Du Lac Manor. Let me show you, and if I happen to give you a tour along the way…”

  I tugged my wrist free. “She’s probably out there waiting for me!” I dragged two hands over my face, clammy, stomach filled with knots, as ridiculous tears clogged my throat. Picturing Lottie waiting there had my heartbeat rising. I just wanted to do my job and not give her any more reasons to hate me.

  Give me any more reasons to hate myself.

  His smile dropped, and something like concern filled his face. “How are you doing?”

  I paused.

  He was the first person to ask me that. Suddenly it was all too much. My throat thick, from the onslaught of emotions. West du Lac was the first person, the only person to ask me how I was doing.

  He lifted my chin so I was looking into his eyes.

  “I haven’t been online,” I answered honestly.

  “That’s good,” West said. He dropped my chin and took a step back. Allowing me space to breathe.

  I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t going to cry in front of West fucking du Lac.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

  Why are you pretending to care?

  West leaned against a window with folded arms, the lush, checkered green lawn behind him. It was dark in this room, a muted dark—the only light glaring from the one diamond-paned window at his back.

  “Let me show you Du Lac Manor, Angel.”

  “I can’t leave.”

  He laughed. “Angel, you’re not at Crowne Hall anymore. No one keeps track of the maids. They go missing all the time.” I wasn’t sure why, but that didn’t fill me with ease. It made me feel worse.

  He smiled. “You can do anything with me.”

  GRAY

  * * *

  “You need to wear a suit. My mother wants me to wear a gown.” Lottie exhaled, rubbing her right eye. She looked in the mirror, holding up a dress, lips pursed. “This would be a lot easier if I had a girl…”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to bring it up, but I knew any mention of Story was bad, would be misconstrued. So I lifted myself up on Lottie’s ivory dresser, pulling one leg up. I stared out her window overlooking the acres of patchwork lawn.

  It’s been two hours and still no sign of Story.

  She was probably just learning the layout. Being showed where she’d sleep.

  But worry ate at my chest.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if she was getting fed, if she was sleeping properly. I can’t be the one to make sure of those things now, and she needs someone to do it.

  Story has millions of dollars now. Enough money to sleep like a queen, but she chooses to sleep like a servant. All for her uncle.

  She called me Atlas, so then what is she? Story Hale only knows how to sacrifice. She doesn’t know how to choose herself.

  Lottie lowered the dresses, looking over her shoulder at me. “Don’t get father talking about Great-Grandpa; he won’t quit until you’ve heard all about how the estate brought Châteauesque architecture to North Carolina.”

  “Lottie, I’ve been to dinner before.”

  Why was she so nervous?

  “One more thing,” Lottie said. “Try not to punch my brother at dinner.”

  “No promises,” I joked.

  Silence passed, but all she said was, “You look kind of like the boy who used to do my homework.”

  I turned away from the window. “What am I missing?”

  A flicker of a smile. “A joint.”

  An idea popped into my head. It had been years, almost a decade, but I wondered… I pulled open Lottie’s drawer beneath me and rooted around until my hand met the small ziplock baggie.

  Holy shit.

  I lifted it out, pulling out a lighter and a joint. It was probably dry as shit, but whatever.

  Her mouth dropped open, and she scrambled
to me.

  “You hid these in here?” She got to her knees, looking around with her arm. “What else did you hide?” Her eyes found mine from the floor.

  I exhaled smoke with a grin. “Cameras.”

  She slapped my knee. For a minute, the air was light. So of course it fucking shattered like glass.

  Outside, I finally spotted Snitch.

  With fucking West.

  “I have to wear a suit?” I asked, tone careful, watching them walk the white stone paths along the fountain.

  “I think I’ll wear the dove dress,” she said. “So anything dark gray…” Lottie continued, telling me what would match, what her mother would expect. Snitch tripped, and West caught her elbow.

  My vision blacked.

  Lottie’s voice faded into nothing.

  I stamped the joint out against her windowsill like I used to, absently noting there was still a charred mark.

  I didn’t realize I was standing until Lottie spoke. “Did you hear me? What are you doing?”

  I’m about to go put your brother in the ground.

  “Uh…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Gonna get dressed, go to dinner, I guess.”

  “We still have an hour before then.”

  “Then why don’t you show me what’s changed around here?”

  Lottie’s face fell a little. “Nothing’s changed.”

  I looked for something to lift the mood, spotting the perfect thing on her bed.

  I lifted up a Beanie Baby. “Yeah, you’re still addicted to Beanie Babies.”

  “Only this one.” She snatched it from me and shoved it under her pillow. “I don’t really like keeping them around.” As Lottie always did, she tried to hide the melancholy in her voice. Maybe I should have let her.

  “Why?”

  “I always bought them when I felt unloved, unappreciated, unwanted. I guess it’s a little pathetic how many I had. It’s like a shrine to how little I was loved.”

  I stared at the pastel-green stuffed animal. “So why keep that one?”

  “I bought it the day after you kissed me.”

  Disgust filled me. I’d been about to leave, for what? To go find Snitch. I rubbed my forehead, feeling like an asshole.