“Ew. Please don’t call me that.”
For a moment, Jo had Lynette and my grandfather so completely distracted, they didn’t see Charles behind them.
“Okay, it’s a challenge, Gramps. Do it with me.”
My grandfather exhaled, nostrils flared. He started to turn, to look for his guards, maybe, and I was certain in that second everything was going to go to shit.
Then Jo ripped up her shirt.
Flashing our fucking grandfather.
“It’s called the Alabama challenge. Or in your case, the Hapsburg challenge.”
“Oh my—” Lynette covered her eyes, turning away.
My grandfather was stunned, fucking stunned. Then he gripped Jo and yanked her shirt down, thrusting her toward the edge of the stage. I couldn’t hear the words he spoke in her ear, but I could imagine them.
In that split second, Charles reached into his pocket, before spinning the opposite direction and disappearing off backstage.
Did he get them?
“Hashtag Hapsburg,” Jo yelled as she dashed down the stairs.
My grandfather stared after her like he wanted to burn her to ashes on the spot.
I don’t know why I expected any kind of finesse from three triplets who’d grown up semi-orphaned in a world of excess and debauchery. They were like Abigail at that age…but worse.
Lynette raised the champagne. “Kids,” she said, laughing uneasily. “Always so unpredictable…”
My grandfather continued. “As I was saying…” He droned on about legacies and dynasties, and in less than a minute, the triplets were at my side.
“What the fuck was that—”
Something heavy and weighted fell into my pocket—a coin?
No fucking way.
“That was us motherfucking slaying this donkey.” Charles opened his palm, showing the remaining three coins. “Check out deez nuts.” He stuck out his tongue just as I slammed his hand shut before anyone could see.
“Did we go viral, though?” Jo asked, slurring her words.
“I didn’t record anything,” Keller said, deadpan.
“Dammit, Kell, our parents are dead now. We have to think about our futures. I’m trying to turn this family into something respectable.” She started giggling uncontrollably. “We can’t lose the farm too.”
Fuck.
She’s high.
“Are you all high right now?”
They paused, then burst out laughing in unison.
“Are you high?” Jo lowered her voice to a baritone, apparently mimicking me.
Jesus Christ, I can’t deal with this.
Grandfather had no coins.
He had no staff.
He had no guards.
He had nothing.
Nothing but the power that had grown like a cancer inside of him and metastasized with revenge.
I pushed through the crowd, finding DA Miller standing beside the fountain, two swans splashing at his back.
Miller turned to me. “Hello again.”
I pulled out the coin from my pocket. “It’s time.”
His haughty, East Coast WASP face slipped, and he looked at the gold coin with wonder. “I always thought these were a myth.”
I glanced at the stage, my grandfather had nearly finished with his speech. “It’s time,” I repeated.
He swallowed, blinking, and pocketed it. “Right. Let’s do this.”
DA Miller disappeared toward Crowne Hall, and I searched through the crowd of diamonds and ivory tulle dresses. Lottie was at the edge of the stage, holding a glittery feathered mask to her face.
When she saw me, I nodded.
“Crowne Industries and Du Lac Enterprises becoming one,” Lynette said. “It’s what Arthur would have wanted.”
Lynette and my grandfather raised their crystal glasses. “To a new era—”
“That’s going to be a problem…” Lottie stood up. “Because you don’t have a company anymore, Beryl.”
STORY
“S-sweet pea?” Lynette sputtered at the sight of her daughter. “What’s happening?”
I wondered what had gone through Lynette’s mind all the time her daughter had been missing. She didn’t look happy to see her now…she looked distraught.
Lottie sighed. “You’re about to witness the hostile takeover of Crowne Industries and Du Lac Enterprises…Never in a million years did I think I would help my husband plan a mutiny of my family’s centuries-old business for his mistress. But…” She clutched her tummy. “But, I guess the real reason is we had no say in how this marriage began, but we can decide how it ends.”
“Antionette!” Beryl called for Tansy, finally spotting her resting leisurely against the fountain as swans flapped their wings, water falling off the feathered tips like glitter.
“Where the fuck is everyone, Antionette?”
She shrugged, and took a sip of the night’s specialty cocktail—a phosphorescent vodka that glowed like moon water. I had to admire her in that moment. Even as the world she knew burned down around her, she made sure the night’s menu was perfect.
“It seems everyone has…” She looked around, unconcerned. “Lost their way.”
His brows popped. “Lost their way?”
She shrugged again.
Beryl took a step to her, but someone else stepped in the way.
Grayson.
He hadn’t spoken yet, but I know his profile like the blood in my body. His ridged nose, his plump pink lips.
Oh, fuck.
My chest expanded like a balloon at the sight of him.
I took a step to him before I’d realized it—then dug my fingers into a tree beside me, physically restraining myself.
He thought I’d died. All this time, thinking I’d died? That we’d died. What had that done to him?
The urge to run to him was like the tide dragging me out to sea, but for just a little while longer, I had to stay hidden.
Be the girl behind the girl.
“You probably could have kept Mom under control,” Gray said. “But you did the one thing you shouldn’t have. You threatened her child.”
Dawning slowly spread on Beryl’s features, and he searched frantically around him—for his guards, that weren’t there.
For anyone.
The only people who’d been allowed to stay were a crowd that would turn on him, paparazzi that would descend like vultures.
And they watched eagerly.
“You can try calling security,” Grayson said. “Won’t do shit since they’re probably halfway to Mexico, and by the time you hire new guards, you’ll be in jail.”
When you look at a Crowne, they ruin your life.
When you cross a Crowne…they make sure you wish you’d never been born.
I was never more aware of that than now.
Beryl laughed. “You think it’s that simple? I spent decades—”
“Blackmailing. Threatening. Murdering,” Grayson interrupted. “There’s a whole slew of paparazzi out there, wondering about a poem that paints me as an adulterer.”
Something was building. With the glimmering water and swans and lights, with the smell of fresh night blossoms and salt air that had become ubiquitous with my love for Grayson.
It built and built.