Grayson leaned forward, brushing the hair from my eyes, but his glare was on West. “I didn’t sleep, little wife.”
“Grayson, you should probably get the fuck out unless you want everyone to know you spent the night here,” West said. “I just don’t know if the world is ready for our relationship—maybe go back to my sister. I wonder how she’s doing. Do you even know?”
West was clearly needling him. Any mention of Lottie, Grayson flinched like he was in serious pain.
Grayson rubbed a hand across the blond shadow on his jaw, dragging his bottom lip, eyes dark and jaw tense.
“Fuck off, West,” I gritted. I touched his arm and his eyes found mine. “I read somewhere you’re not supposed to break jaws before breakfast.”
His eyes softened on mine.
Still, I worried.
They don’t let me out of my wing unless it’s to take pictures or smile on command.
How often could Gray do this before getting caught? Before getting all of us caught?
“What’s going to happen when they realize you’re gone? I told you I didn’t want you getting hurt over me.”
I can do this. I can handle West.
And just like that the world dissolved—for about two seconds, then I felt a violent lurch in my stomach. I quickly bolted out of the room to the nearest bathroom, expelling everything from my stomach.
I wasn’t sure who grabbed my hair, or who handed me the handkerchief.
“You need to go, Crowne,” West said to my left—the handkerchief.
“I’m not leaving you alone with her,” Grayson gritted—my hair.
“Are you gonna walk down with us? Maybe you take one arm, and I take the other? Meanwhile Lottie is photographed alone and everyone learns our dirty little secret.”
“Shut up!” I groaned.
And then silence, only the sound of terrible morning sickness. I had a flashback to two days ago, to Lottie in this exact position, head on her arm. Only she didn’t have her husband’s eyes to look into, another man handing her a handkerchief.
She had me.
Her worst fucking nightmare.
“Have you helped Lottie?” I croaked.
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “She hasn’t had morning sickness—”
“Oh no, is she sick?”
Soft as a feather, but cutting as a knife, all three of us collectively froze at Lynette du Lac’s voice. Grayson with his hands still holding my hair back, West with the handkerchief to my lips, and me, my head on my arm.
“Drank too much last night,” West said.
“I don’t remember seeing her drink…” Lynette stared at me, and I wondered what she was thinking, maybe it was the thoughts that had been going through my head.
How Lottie had been in this exact position, but all alone.
When I was a child, I was fascinated with the rose bushes that grew untamed outside my home. Their floral scent was stronger than the salt air, and I always tried to find the prettiest bloom to hold in my palm. One day, I found one deep in the bush, so I dove for it.
I cut myself up to my elbow on the thorns.
That was the tension—the threat—in this bathroom. Bloody, cutting, and hidden under a layer of perfume.
Some kind of wordless communication passed between West and Gray, and they stood to their feet.
Were we caught? Our grand plan over already?
Mrs. du Lac smiled at Grayson. “We were wondering where you’d run off to. You have everyone positively out of sorts.”
Grayson Crowne, the imprisoned prince, who’d ditched his royal guard—again.
“That’s my fault,” West supplied.
Lynette’s brow arched. “Your fault?”
“Grayson is the only one in this whole fucking place who knows how to play Call of Duty.”
“Mmm.” Lynette stared at me until it felt like my lungs would pop with a single pinprick, then she turned back to her son with a smile. “Good to see brothers getting along. Well.” Lynette folded her hands. “Perhaps he should return to his wife. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
“Of course,” Grayson gritted.
Lynette’s stare lingered on me a moment longer, then she left.
We let out a collective breath.
“Good job, Crowne,” West gritted. “It’s barely day one and she’s already suspicious.”
Grayson held my hand, helping me off the floor. West reached for my other to do the same, but Grayson blocked him.
West folded his arms, eyeing us. “We have to announce it’s my baby.”
Grayson laughed, bitter and biting. “Fuck off. And Call of Duty is shit.”
“She’s suspicious, she’s been suspicious, they all are. You know it.”
I wish his words came as a surprise, but all they did was fan the flames inside me. The doubt. The creeping certainty that everyone around me knew more than I did.
I covered my stomach with my hand, as if that would protect my little Meyer lemon.
“They are?”
Grayson looked away.
“You knew?”
“I suspected,” he gritted. “I saw what I thought was Lynette try to trip you. My grandfather…my mother…they’ve said a lot of cryptic, fucked-up shit. I didn’t know for certain. We still don’t know for certain.” Grayson’s glare slashed to West.
West rolled his eyes.
“For how long?”
“Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving.”
The room was spinning.
I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t realize they’d sat me down, until I was looking up into two sets of serious eyes.
“Everyone has known? Has…has fucking known since Thanksgiving? And you didn’t tell me?”
“We weren’t exactly on speaking terms, Story. Then it all spiraled out of control very quickly. Why do you think I wanted to get you the fuck out of here?”
I was so in over my head.
“Lynette tried to trip me?” I lifted my head, his words finally registering through the fog.
Thanksgiving came back in flashes. Grayson running up the steps and grabbing me, me pushing him away, angry that he’d had the audacity because I didn’t understand. I thought it was about him viewing me as his.
And I didn’t give him a chance to explain.
“Your grandfather?”
“Has never been so obvious but…” He and West shared a look. “I think he knows. It would be foolish at this point to assume otherwise.”
“So then does Lottie know? All this time has she fucking known?”
“She’s probably the only one who doesn’t know at this point,” West said under breath. A moment later, I heard him stumble—shoved.
I hugged my stomach harder.
Grayson got to his knees, pulling my hands into his. “Story—”
Grayson broke off as his phone went off. His jaw tensed, clearly wanting to ignore it, but we knew what would happen if he did.
He’d been caught outside the gates by Lynette.
“You have to go,” I said miserably. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Story, look at me.”
I did, as his phone continued to ring and ring. “Neruda.”