One
STORY
In fairy tales the roles are clearly drawn. The princess waits for the hero, the hero slays the villain, and happily ever after marks the end. But my love story with Grayson Crowne began when I stole his happily ever after, and as our four hearts crossed, all our roles corrupted.
Now I stared at my villain, the boy I once thought a prince.
“What is this place?” I asked.
It was already raining so hard I could barely see beyond the sparkling, black beads. The inky umbrella above our heads did nothing to stop the onslaught of water splashing against my ankles and wrists. We stood before the double doors of a castle, its stony towers vanishing into the black night.
Scotland.
My uncle always wanted me to come here. I have a feeling his vision was a little bit different.
West stared at the doors with a distant look. He’d been quiet during the plane ride and in the ensuing town car. It had been little less than eleven hours since I’d left Grayson, and I was exhausted.
I stayed awake the entire trip, refusing to let my guard down for a second around West, even when he fell asleep. I thought about Grayson constantly. If he’d gotten out of the cuffs. If I never should have put him in them, never should have left. All he had to do was yell and his guards would come. Or…Lottie, still sleeping in his wing.
Still his wife, legally.
I wondered if I’d made a mistake.
If what I was doing was the right thing.
I turned to West. “West, what is this—”
He snatched my chin between his thumb and forefinger. Gone was the distant look, the quiet sleeping boy from the plane.
In his place returned the man I’d first glimpsed in the town car.
I’m a jealous master, Angel, and I’m done sharing you.
“You should really practice speaking only when spoken to, Angel. I can’t protect you if you refuse to understand the rules.”
My heart thumped louder than the splashing rain.
The door beyond us opened, but West’s grip on my chin tightened, forcing me to hold his gaze. The way he spoke wasn’t cruel. In fact, the entire trip from Crowne Point to here…he’d been nice.
As if we were still husband and wife.
As if he hadn’t handed me already drawn-up divorce papers to turn me into the thing I dreaded most.
But I ground my teeth to hold in my words.
This was never about protection.
He clenched his jaw like he could see the words in my eyes, but released me.
“Grab your luggage,” he said, picking up his own black leather carrier and walking through the arched stone doorway.
Once again my heart rose to my throat. This castle was huge. The ride up to it took thirty minutes. We’d maneuvered through secret, sprawling green hills. Then, after dropping us off, the car disappeared back the way it came. No servant to gather our things or even hold the umbrella over our head.
That was wrong.
Just as it was wrong for West to hold his own luggage.
The door slammed shut behind us. The rain pounded against the window, only the refracting drops allowing slim, warped light as our shoes padded on stone down the hallway.
We walked past a room filled with shadows—so we weren’t alone in this massive castle.
I paused, looking into it, trying to glean some kind of information.
West gripped my elbow, yanking me down the hallway and up stone steps until we arrived at a room.
He shoved me inside and I stumbled over shiny, oak floorboards. Nervous, I rubbed my arm, looking around the room. There was only one bed, a queen with a silky, draping canopy—big enough for two, but too small.
“Do you know why I call you Angel?”
I lifted my head. West leaned against the wood doorframe, his features carved in shadow.
I shrugged. I figured it was a sweet nickname he adopted to poke me.
“So many think of angels as perfect, divine, beautiful. But really…” He took a step, and on instinct I took one back. “Angels will do anything for their god.” His eyes shifted from me, to the bed at my back. “Fight. Fall. Bleed.”
Pound. Pound. Pound.
I’m not sure if that was my heartbeat, or if every step he took was magnified in my ears. I took another step back, my knees hitting the mattress.
I stared at his chest, at the silky fibers stretching across the muscles.
Anywhere but his face, but him.
He placed his knuckles under my chin, lifting my gaze. “And I think you would do even more.”
My chest screamed at the gentle touch.
He stepped back, but I could still feel him, knuckles featherlight beneath my chin. My stomach squirmed so I took a breath, holding it tight, as if I could protect the little thing inside it from him.
From this place.
He glanced at my hand a half second, then held out his own. I eyed it.
“Your phone,” he said lazily.
“But—I—”
I promised Grayson I would write him. All I’d managed was to send him one message.
Dear Atlas, I’m in Scotland. I’m safe.
But my data cut out, a message popped up asking me to pay for the international plan, and then West woke. The message never sent.
I couldn’t break my promise.
I couldn’t.
West arched a brow. I don’t know why I bothered; in what universe was he going to let me keep my phone?
I handed it over.
“Can’t have you calling Prince Charming.” He shoved it in his pocket and my heart sank. He folded his arms. Every second was strung out, pulled apart and stretched by the prodding, poking way he watched me.
“You haven’t slept in over eleven hours. Get some sleep, Angel.”
“I—” I swallowed, breaking off. Sleep? Here? With him? “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
His brow knotted. “You’ll sleep in the bed.”
Before I could protest, he turned to leave.
“You’re going?” Was he really going to leave me alone?
He paused, slightly looking over his shoulder back at me. Shadows of raindrops slid down his profile, along his prominent cheekbones and the slight arch in his brow.
“Do you want me to stay?”
I said I would get closer to West, I would get everything he had on Grayson so we could be free…but I wasn’t quite ready to lie at that level yet.
My silence was amplified by the dying rain, the tick-tock of drops falling off the towers and turrets.
“You’re right…I should go to bed.”
His deep voice drifted through the low light. “Am I the villain in your fairy tale, Story?”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
I turned around and focused on the silky canopy draped over ancient-looking wood posts.
Maybe West was like all of us, and his role had been corrupted, but he is the villain.
He had to be.
With everything he has done to me, to Grayson, there was no other role I could put him in. So why couldn’t I say yes?
I heard his footsteps behind me, and I regretted ever speaking. He’d been so close to leaving.
“I’ll be your villain, Angel,” he said softly, quietly. His breath warmed my neck. I stared hard at the sheets, as if he was a monster in my nightmares I could will away by simply wishing to wake up.