“Slipped on the ice?” My mother rubbed her neck. “Unfortunate.”
You know how unpredictable the weather can be.
Story had so many questions in her eyes but I couldn’t meet them.
A sad, bored version of “My Favorite Things” continued to play from a string quartet somewhere. Gold and silver and white ornaments glittered along the tinsel dotting the stone railing.
My mother in her final Christmas dress of the evening, chatting with Lynette like they’d been friends for decades and not bitter rivals. My grandfather and Arthur, sharing a scotch underneath a string of evergreen.
All while Josephine was carried off the terrace.
They all had agendas, both intertwined and conflicting, like thorny vines forced to grow together, pricking each other and bleeding, yet unable to grow upward without their support.
My grandfather, a megalomaniac who would tear down anything and anyone for a scrap of power. My mother and Lottie, whose motives hide under the banner of family to advance their own egos. Lottie’s father, too much like my grandpa, but without any finesse—it made him dangerous and sloppy.
They were all narcissists, so what really united them? Was it really to close the centuries-long divide between them? I didn’t fucking buy it.
Would I be subjecting Story to a worse fate? On the run, never safe, never able to pursue her dreams, always hidden. Having to hide her name, her identity, her very self.
I promised Woodsy I wouldn’t let her disappear.
Fuck.
“What an unfortunate end to an otherwise lovely evening,” Lynette said.
My mother tilted her head on a smile. “It was lovely, wasn’t it?”
“There might still be time for tea…”
Slowly everyone disappeared inside for a quick tea before bed. With West’s arm tight around her waist, Story did the same.
Against every muscle in my body, I stayed. I knew if I followed her, I’d rip her out of his hold.
I’d throw her out of this house. The salty winter was safer than this prison of a castle.
“Fuck.”
I slammed my fist into the wall, plaster and stone falling around my knuckles.
“Grayson?”
I lifted my head, turning to find Story watching me with wide, walnut eyes.
“Everyone is busy with tea… With Josephine,” she ended on a whisper. “No one noticed me come back. Am I crazy, or was that not an accident?”
Not crazy, not even a little. I wrung out my wrist as she stepped to me, pulling my fist into her hands.
“I know you didn’t like her—”
“So you think I wanted her dead?”
Her brow caved, hurt. “No. I was going to say I think this must be very painful and confusing.” She held my fist tight as I worked my jaw—because she was right, as always.
She slid her hand down the stubble along my jaw. “Let me in.”
“I’m supposed to save you, Story, not send you back to the villain.”
“Me staying with West was always the plan. I’m more worried about you, and what they’re doing to you.”