I speared my coat pocket, watching my grandfather across the terrace.
I wasn’t doing anything—I wasn’t. Just leaning against the wall, talking. Her breath heated the silver-tinted sunset and I itched to give her my coat.
I kicked up a leg. “Talk, Snitch.”
“I’ve been so worried about you…” she said, quietly. “We’re being foolish. We promised we would be better this time. Be more careful. We’ve been back not even a day and almost ruined everything.”
I wanted to close my eyes and listen to her husky voice. So goddamn unique, like everything about her. I’d never forget her voice until the day I died.
Instead, I focused on the monsters peppering the terrace, watching us in bespoke pea coats.
She continued. “In Scotland, West told me he would give us everything he had on you if…” she paused. “If I chose him over you. If I slept in his bed. I was supposed to give my decision last night. I can’t. I couldn’t tell him anything unless I talked to you first.”
I wanted to fuck her into the wall.
Fuck that insane idea out of her head.
“I will never let that happen.” I closed and opened my fist, picturing ripping West from his mother and tossing him over the wall. “I will never send you to his bed.”
“What choice do we have? He knows about the coin, Grayson. He acted like he knew so much more than he was letting on while we were in Scotland. And…” She sucked in a breath. “Earlier today, Josephine just pulled me aside and told me I should have found the coin already. I didn’t even know she knew about it. Grayson…” she trailed off. “Everyone seems to know.”
I don’t trust Josephine St. Germaine. Why the fuck did she tell Snitch that? If she did give me those coins, then why the fuck did she choose now to tell me?
But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make sense.
Everyone at Crowne Industries is bought and paid for, and Beryl Crowne’s word is law, but it didn’t used to be that way. It was famous in our family how we nearly lost everything. The string of bad business decisions and bad luck that plagued us, culminating in my father’s death. But somewhere in there, amidst all that bad luck, my grandfather became the sole decision maker of Crowne Industries.
We went from nearly losing the company, to being number one, so no one questioned it.
But maybe we should have, because it all led to the same conclusion: Beryl Crowne as king.
I pressed my palm deep into my forehead, until I saw white. I was beginning to crave power like a new type of drug so I could save her.
Is this how it started for my grandfather? Did he start out a puppet?
Across the terrace, my grandfather watched me with a lifted brow.
I didn’t know what to tell her, so all I said was, “I know, little wife.”
“You do?” She jerked to me. “Grayson, please, let me in. Why do you have so many secrets and thorns?”
She looked up at me through her long lashes, snowflakes had landed like powdered sugar on them.
Maybe she was right. I’m avoiding talking to her, had been using my lips to silence hers. Because I couldn’t lie to her, but I can’t tell her the truth either.
If we can’t run, but staying meant putting her in constant danger…then what options did we have?
“Let me in. Please, Atlas.” Her voice tore as she begged me to tell her the truth.
I was so goddamn scared. It’s a living thing inside me. I wanted to be strong for her, the prince and hero she saw, but everywhere I looked I saw dead bodies.
I saw her.
I was fucking weak, like my grandfather said.
“Tell me your fear, Grayson.” She lifted her hand like she wanted to press a palm to my cheek, then remembered where we were, and dropped it. “I see them wrapped around your heart. You’re doing the Grayson Crowne thing.”
I scoffed. “The Grayson Crowne thing—”