With another resigned exhale, I went to go find Grayson.
“One more thing, Story.”
I turned back. Lottie faced me with a tense jaw, and if I saw right, fear in her eyes.
“I will forget everything that happens before he puts on the ring, but once we’re married, if you fuck my husband, I don’t care if your entire family is dying and this is the only place that can save them. I’ll put you all on the streets. I’m not going to be my mother. Do you understand?”
“I won’t be my mother, either, Ms. du Lac.”
She frowned, not understanding what I meant, but maybe understanding my intention, because she nodded.
“Mr. Crowne?” I asked, voice like sandpaper.
My fingers trembled with the note in my hand. The paper was thick and silky, rich feeling. I stared at the rose petal floor, not daring to look him in the eyes.
“Mr. Crowne, your fiancée has sent me to give you something.”
I could feel his eyes. I could feel the eyes of the crowd at my back. I saw his bow tie, his sharp angular jaw. His slight Grayson frown that served only to make his lips more luscious.
Back to being a blurry Polaroid
Then his hands were on mine, warm and strong, taking the letter.
Too brief.
Too swift.
His warmth gone.
I listened to the crinkle of paper as he opened the letter. His thick thumb grazed the edge of the silky paper.
I remembered too easily how his fingers felt on me.
In me.
It felt like forever that I stared at the rose-petal-dotted floor. The music was starting up, what sounded like a string trio playing popular songs as more people were being ushered inside. Then all at once Grayson crushed the piece of paper and tossed it to the floor. He grasped my wrist, pulling me away from the altar.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, throwing a look over my shoulder, at the quickly disappearing faces of the crowd.
He dragged me behind the flowery veil partitioning the antique room.
“You don’t get to touch me!” I yanked myself free the minute we were hidden. “I just dressed your fiancée in her wedding dress. A dress you either sent to me or sent to fuck with me. It was written in green.”
I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry. But my lids burned fire.
Except as Grayson stood opposite me, he stared holes into me, a look that had been absent from his eyes, his face, for over a month. And it made me question again, question everything.
“I hate you,” I said, but the words held no heat. “I hate you with everything I have.”
My head was still down when Grayson took a step toward me, and lifted the locket from my collarbone with his pointer finger, raising my chin with it. His eyes throbbed with determination. “My honest little nun, lying really doesn’t suit you.”
We were barely hidden by our light-soaked flower wall, and I wondered if the guests could see us, two shadows of a love that never should have been. The soft sound of a wedding about to begin drifted to us, guests chatting, the trio starting a song.
“Fine.” I hung my head. “I can’t say I don’t love you.”
Weak.
That’s what I was: weak.