“Look at me, Story.”
I did. I glared at him, at his beautiful blue eyes partially obscured by his constantly untamed blond hair.
“How did you know where I was?” I gritted.
He shrugged with one shoulder. “We have eyes everywhere. But I wouldn’t need them to know you were visiting Woodsy.”
I glared harder. “Not everywhere.” His smile dropped.
It was hidden by fog now, only the very top of the decrepit Ferris wheel that marked the one place the Crownes didn’t touch in Crowne Point: the underworld. Once Crowne Park, now known as Horsemen’s Wharf, it was run by the four eponymous boys known as the Horsemen.
“You don’t fucking go there, ever,” Gray growled.
I ripped my wrist out of his. “You left me.”
For a week, my throat choked.
You didn’t just leave me in the morning, you left me alone for a week.
To wonder.
To fight back tears.
His jaw clenched. “Something happened.”
“You had a week. A week. I don’t care what you have to say.”
I shoved him, but he gripped my forearms, forcing me still. “I didn’t have a fucking choice.” I tried to shove him off, but his grip was steel.
“My mother was planning to ship Abigail off to her new family. Was gonna lock her up or some fairy tale villain shit.”
I swallowed a gasp, freezing completely.
“I came for you the minute I could,” he said gently. “I came here for you and Woodsy. I haven’t even seen the guy since I got the news.”
His eyes ached, and I believed him. Believed he’d been pulled in every direction, had bricks upon bricks piled on his shoulders.
“I left you a note.” His eyes found mine. “I waited for you to text me or call me.”
“I didn’t get it. Your, um, your mother found me that morning.” I’d planned on being so angry when I told him, angry for abandoning me and leaving me to be found alone by Tansy Crowne.
Now I couldn’t, not when he looked at me with such open, honest eyes.
Grayson grimaced. “What did she say to you?”
Oh, darling, you don’t get a choice.
I looked away. “Nothing. She said something about sleeping in her house…” I quickly looked for something to change the subject. “Which I take to mean you didn’t tell her. You didn’t tell any of them. I’m still your mistress.”
He gripped my shoulders. “I’m going to tell her.”
“I’m not going to be the girl you cheat with. I’m not going to be that girl, Grayson. What we did…it can’t happen again. Not until you break it off.”
“I’m not going to be that guy,” he growled. “I’ll tell her.”
That didn’t fill me with any happiness, any sort of reassurance. I’d heard a revolving door of men tell my mother that for years.
I’ll tell her tomorrow.