Was he a complete psychopath who enjoyed torturing people, or was he just a narcissist addicted to power, who didn’t care about the people he hurt?
At least, I wouldn’t have to think about Beryl Crowne anymore, because Beryl Crowne would have nothing to do with my favorite Crowne, or Crowne Hall, ever again.
Seventy-Two
STORY
Grayson’s eyes found mine across the police sirens and paparazzi flashes, zeroing, predatory—
“What about me, what will become of me, Charlotte?” Mrs. du Lac whined. “Your father is dead—”
“Lottie is welcome to stay, but you—” Grayson’s glare slashed from mine to Mrs. du Lac. “Get the fuck out.”
Lynette’s lips parted.
“Out of my house. Out of my town. Step foot in Crowne Point again—”
“Grayson, I’ve known you since you were a child.”
Grayson swiped the blood at his mouth. “Which is why I’m giving you a head start.”
“You!” Her wide eyes landed on me, narrowing. “You’re the reason for all of this. My daughter has been in love with Grayson Crowne since before she was a teenager. They summered together, holidayed together. Everything was perfect. And then you came—”
“Shut up, just shut up!” Lottie screamed.
Lynette gasped like she’d been stricken. “Charlotte Genevieve du Lac.”
“We all have rust on our hearts. We’re all chipped and flaking because of you. Do you know that I don’t even know what my favorite book is?” she yelled. “My favorite food? I tell everyone it’s Emma because you said proper girls read Austen. I tell everyone I like truffles because you said that they’re sweet and elegant and my food choices reflect on me. I like orchids because you said those were coveted and take work, and the man who marries me should know that.”
“I’m your mother, Charlotte.” Her mouth hung open. “I know what you like better than you do.”
“The things you told me to do…” She swallowed, looking away. “I listened to you. I trusted you.”
“Necessary things, Charlotte.”
“Necessary? I don’t know how I like to be touched because I spent all my time telling my husband to touch me the way someone else likes to be touched. I’m a mother and I have no idea who the fuck I am. You told me to be whomever he wants and I lost myself. I disappeared inside a dark shadow of someone else’s fantasy. I became pregnant by someone who can never love me because of you. I nearly ruined someone’s life. So forgive me if I don’t give a shit about what you think anymore.”
For the first time in my life, I saw Lynnette du Lac speechless. Her perfect, lilac matte lips parted.
Then she blinked, regained composure. “He would have ruined your life.”
“My life was already ruined, Mom. You just wanted to take them down with me.” She inhaled through her nostrils. “And I probably wanted it too.”
“You ruined this family, Charlotte. He’s going to leave you for her, you realize that, Lottie? He’ll leave you and your child. You’ll be nothing.”
“Not nothing! I will be free. You all used me as a pawn. For months. No, years. When I begged you not to make me marry him, you said I would ruin our family. I begged for a divorce and you told me to get a baby. When I told you I cheated on him, you said that if he found out it would destroy a centuries-long reconciliation. It was all lies.”
“You’ve been letting him walk all over you—”
“Did you wonder where I was for over a month? Or did you hope I’d died? What about West? You just continued your life happily without the two children weighing you down.” Lottie tilted her head, as if finally seeing her mom for the first time. “What did he promise you, Mom? What was worth your son’s life? Your daughter’s happiness? Did he promise you Jack?”
Her eyes popped. “West died in the tragic plane crash with your father and I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Liar,” Lottie wheezed. “You liar. You think I don’t know about you and Jack?” she screamed. “You love him. You don’t love me.”
Mrs. du Lac paused, looking around at the gathered crowd. Her gaze shifted, searing into mine. “You’re a mother now. What would you do, if your child’s perfect life was about to collapse under the glass heel of one stupid, flighty girl?”
I stepped closer. “I couldn’t care less about your opinion of me. I think it would be rather odd to put stock in the moral ramblings of someone so clearly devoid of them.”
“It’s time for you to go, Mom,” Charlotte said, voice strong.
“But first.” I handed my trash to Mrs. du Lac. “Could you please throw these away for me?”
Mrs. du Lac sputtered, her nostrils flared, then she lifted her chin and walked through a slew of paparazzi at the gates.
Grayson’s eyes found mine across the police and paparazzi flashes. He pushed through the crowd, when a whirlwind surrounded him—paparazzi, police, greedy partygoers still dressed in their best. They all followed him, glued to his every movement.
Beryl Crowne had just been dethroned, and they saw what I saw, the crown on his head, now straightened.
If he couldn’t get to me, then I’d run to him.
GRAY
Paparazzi swarmed me while I looked for Story. I’d just seen her before they descended. Without any guards, it was a lot fucking harder to get rid of them.
Grayson, how long have you known?
Grayson, how do you feel now that you’re leading the company?
Grayson—
I pushed one out of the way.
Grayson—
And another.
“Grayson.”
I stopped short at one voice saying my name so different than the others. That husky, sweet tone that lived in my blood.
Story stood in the middle of the paparazzi, a fucking vision in white tulle and bare feet. Her wild curls sticking to her face, her plump lips parted.
I shoved the two paparazzi flanking her out of the way.
I wasn’t sure if the pounding in my ears was the sound of my blood, my breathing, or the cameras going off.
Story tilted her neck back to see into my eyes. “Hi, Atlas.”
I crushed her to me, holding her between her shoulder blades.
Breathing her in.
I knew the cameras went off by the heat, and the click click click.
“Who is she?” Flash.
“It’s her—the Cinderella!” Flash.
“Story Hale,” someone corrected. Flash.
I pulled back just enough to pull out the locket she’d given me.
“My wife,” I growled. “She’s my wife.”
She ran her touch all over me, my head, my neck, settling atop my shoulders.
She angled her lips to mine.
I could feel the urge to kiss, it sung in my blood as well.
I snapped the locket into place, holding my palm over the gold. The cold metal sandwiched between her beating heart and my palm.
My heart. Because it always belonged to her.
“Your shoulders look strong, Atlas,” she whispered, fingers curling into the fabric above my shoulders.