, in the end…” He sifted through some of them. “You were still a disappointment.”
A stale silence lingered, his disappointment etched in the wrinkles around his mouth. At me. At Theo.
“What are you going to do to him?”
“Do you remember the night you begged me to keep Theo?”
“U-Uh…” It felt like a trap.
“Theo doesn’t have any family, anything to keep him attached to something other than the job. He was the perfect protégé. At least, he was. What can you take from someone who has nothing, Abigail?”
I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth, recognizing that either way I answered, I’d lose.
“You take away what you’ve given them.”
I ran over to his desk, slamming my hands on it. “You can’t send him away. Please.”
I couldn’t lose Theo, not again.
He leaned forward on steepled fingers, eyes narrowed. “I think that’s up to you, princess.”
Princess.
He was calling me princess again, but the warmth had been replaced with an ominous lilt.
“This marriage isn’t a death sentence, Abigail. You can have your cake and eat it too. You just have to remember… you can’t be a Crowne without many sharp points.”
I focused on the meaning behind his words. Beryl Crowne would do anything to keep the Crowne name untarnished. Fear and foreboding strangled my gut.
I swallowed. “I understand. You’re either for this family or against it.”
THEO
I can feel Abigail slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know why, or how to fix it. Tonight will be the first meal she’d have with her grandpa since I’d wrecked that relationship, the first time she’d be in the room with him.
I was in Switzerland, which meant everyone had to dress for dinner. I was in a tux and Abigail was in an absolutely fucking cruel strapless black-and-emerald dress with a slit in the jewel-toned satin skirt that went all the way to her hip.
As I walked behind her to the vaulted medieval dining room of their Swiss castle, the grains kept falling. If I told him the truth, he’d fire me and make sure I never saw Abigail. Not telling him wasn’t an option either.
“Theo!” Her grandfather spotted me, waving me over to him at the end of the table. Abigail watched me warily as I went to him.
He clapped my shoulder. “I think a promotion is in order when this wedding is finished. You’ve been handling her well. Not a peep by the press.”
Abigail eyed me as she took a seat at the table.
Fuck.
“I’m curious, what could you possibly have done to get her so cooperative?” Beryl Crowne asked, digging his fingers into my shoulder.
“Just the usual…” I trailed off.
Beryl’s death grip on my shoulder wouldn’t give. “And did you enjoy your time on the Riviera?”
Abigail dropped her fork, eyes shooting to her grandfather’s. I focused on the meaning behind the words, uncertain why fear clouded Abigail’s eyes, why he was digging his fingers into me like I’d pissed him off.
Don’t date my granddaughters, don’t even look at them, and don’t get any ideas about biting the hand that feeds you.
Did he know?