His head dropped, as if reading my thoughts.
Grayson pulled my hand to his lips. “What was that about my wife needing to be fucked?”
I curled into his touch. “What was that about my husband fucking me—”
“Ah, am I interrupting?”
He froze with my hand still to his lips, eyes lifting over my shoulder. I looked over my shoulder, though I didn’t need to.
I knew the voice.
Grim Reyes in Crowne Hall, standing beneath Tansy’s massive chandelier.
Seventy-Eight
GRAY
I gently handed Sonnet to Story, then pushed them behind my back, turning to face the head of the Horsemen. “Here to settle your debt?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Not quite.”
So, here to remind me of it then.
He leaned to the side, trying to get a glimpse of Story. “I think we’re beyond this. I’ve had my hand inside your wife.”
“If you’re trying to upset me, it won’t work,” I said easily. “You saved my wife and my child. I’m indebted to you beyond a simple tattoo.”
“That’s good, because this is more than a simple tattoo.” Grim slowly leaned back, gaze locking with mine again.
Tension threaded the silence. We owed him a giant fucking debt, but he had yet to call on it. Instead, he visited every now and then, and I didn’t know how the fuck he got through.
“Whatever the Horsemen need, the Crownes will oblige.”
Grim arched a brow, grinning. “You might regret saying that. Well…” Grim speared his hands in his pockets. “Until next time.”
He turned, disappearing down our sprawling cobblestone driveway.
“How does he keep getting through?” Story asked.
“I don’t know.”
Once Grim left, we’d spend hours trying to figure out how he got in, and attempt to patch the hole. And once again, I was sure, he’d fucking figure out a way to get inside my walls.
It was impossible to keep death out.
I grabbed Story’s face between my palms, drawing her close. “Little wife, there’s a surprise for you in the garden. When you’re finished, meet me in our room.”
Her brows popped. “A surprise? What is it?”
I was going to propose to Story Hale, finally.
For real.
Tonight.
I kissed her softly. “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
I took Sonnet from her, trying to hold back my laugh at the suspicion in her eyes. It was too fucking cute.
“Don’t forget to do what you’ve been putting off for a month, Grayson.”
How the hell did she find out?
Her brow caved at the confusion on my face. “Gemma?”
I rubbed a hand across my jaw. “Oh, right.”
“What did you think I was talking about?” she asked.
I tilted my head in the direction of the garden. She scrunched her nose at me, but with a kiss for Sonnet, left.
Then I went to find my sister.
Gemma was in her wing, on her balcony. Muffled voices trailed out, as though she were in a conversation.
“Are you talking to someone?” I asked.
She gasped, spinning. “Fuck. Creepy motherfucker. How long have you been standing there?” She shut the double French doors that led to her balcony, coming inside. “Why are you here?” Gemma tilted her head at Sonnet sleeping in my arms. “I am not babysitting.”
I looked over her shoulder. The balcony appeared empty.
“I wanted to say…” I dragged my free hand through my hair.
Fuck, why was this so fucking hard?
I could destroy my grandfather, but I couldn’t apologize to my fucking sister.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
She frowned. “Are you concussed?”
I shrugged my shoulder. “I’ve been a shitty brother.”
She looked me up and down, then spun around. She threw pillows off her bed, dumped makeup brushes off her vanity.
“What are you doing?”
She peered into a glass. “Where are the cameras?”
“This isn’t a fucking prank. I’m sorry. And now that grandfather is out, I’ve called off your wedding to Horace.”
Gemma choked on her spit. “Wait, what? You did what? What the fuck?”
“I thought you’d be happy. You’ve complained about your engagement to Horace for as long as I can remember. It’s fucking barbaric.”
“Get him back. Reinstate the engagement.”
What the fuck is happening? “It’s too late.”
“This is what I get for doing something nice? You just fucked me. Royally.”
She left, stomping out of her room.
STORY
The changes inside Crowne Hall were subtler at first.
Like how the air seemed lighter, less ghostly, as if more shadows had given way to light. It was almost like a curse had been lifted from the Crowne family. They were still the uniquely dysfunctional family I’d known for decades. Still spoiled and out-of-touch, but the dark and oppressive energy was lifting.
I think everyone here just wanted to be free to love, even as a family.
I wasn’t sure what was waiting for me in the garden. It seemed empty, then I heard laughter, and I followed it to the servants.
“You didn’t get a memorial,” Jane said.
“And we never said we’re sorry,” they all said.
They parted, revealing a part of the garden that looked new. My uncle’s favorite poems were etched into stone steps. Flowers bloomed around us, and songbirds perched in gilded cages.
I read the words inscribed on the marble bench.
Woodson Hale Memorial Garden.
I swiped uselessly at the tears.
For a few hours, we all sat and shared memories and poems until the sun set and they had to get back to work. I wondered as they left. They couldn’t have done this on their own. Had Tansy helped set up the garden?
I had an hour or so until I had to meet Grayson, and I checked on my Instagram.
I had a following of over 2.5 million now. After “coming out” as a cheater and a liar, it seemed to resonate with a lot of people. Every Dear Atlas was reblogged or reposted. I was getting a lot of emails from publishing houses and agents.
I wasn’t hiding anymore.
I lifted my head, feeling like my uncle was with me in this garden filled with songbirds and poetry. I don’t know if this was what he meant, but it felt like it.
“You can’t hide behind the other side of the tracks forever, Rich GGirl.” I paused at the head of the Horsemen’s voice, turning my head just in time to see Grim pluck a cigarette out of Gemma’s mouth and stamp it out beneath his black boot. “Don’t smoke. You taste better.”
I waited until Grim had left before approaching. When he was gone, she pulled out another cigarette, lighting it with a rose gold lighter and pushing it between her rosebud lips, glaring in the direction he’d left.
“Gemma?”
She looked over her shoulder, flipping her shiny, short blonde hair as she did.
“Hey, Stony.”
I ignored the jab as I sat down beside her. The more I was with Gemma, the more I saw how similar she was to Gray. She wasn’t like Aundi and Pipa. There was a darkness in her eyes, and the perfect spoiled princess act she put on was a shield, an act, an armor.