And I could breathe.
“You won’t have to worry about your drink shaking for some time,” Grayson said after a moment. “My grandfather is gone.”
“Gone?”
“In Switzerland. He always leaves after the Holidays…” Grayson trailed off.
I knew that.
Everyone knew that.
Beryl Crowne was only in Crowne Point for the Holidays, the Swan Swell, and major events such as weddings and funerals. Any other time you saw him here…Pray.
Yet.
It didn’t seem right. Too easy.
I remembered the conversation I saw Gray have with his mother, the worried look in his eyes.
“So is this good news?” I asked.
Grayson smiled tightly. “Yeah. Good news.”
Twenty-Eight
STORY
Is a secret the same thing as a lie? With Grayson and West working together, I don’t have to hide the phone Grayson gave me, and I can text Grayson freely.
And I do.
But I still haven’t told him about my letters. Why don’t I tell him about the letters? What is wrong with me? It was on the tip of my tongue, to tell him yesterday, but I just stopped. I imagined him reading what I wrote and I got scared.
Stupid, and foolish, and scared.
The sound of porcelain shattering drew me from my thoughts. At first I thought I’d imagined it, then another crash sounded, followed by a plaintive, “Please, sir.”
I bolted up. It sounded like it was just outside my room. I pulled open my double doors, again met with the wall of guards.
“Please!”
Through the sliver of their muscled bodies, I saw Arthur du Lac on top of a Crowne servant. I looked at the guards, their stone faces staring at me.
They weren’t going to do anything?
But then of course not, the kinds of guards hired to keep girls locked inside towers weren’t exactly chivalrous knights.
I worked my jaw, pretending as if I was going to shut the doors…then bolted. I lifted my heavy, velvet train and rushed through the little sliver, aiming for Arthur. The guards yelled. They tugged on the fur hem. I heard a rip, the plush fur barely slipping through one of their meaty hands.
Their heavy footfalls slammed at my back. I only had seconds.
I shoved Arthur and he fell, hitting his head on the white marble fireplace. I got too much satisfaction from that.
Then Dumb and Dumber snatched me.
The moments that followed were like stiff ice cracking along a frozen lake. The servant frozen where Arthur had left her, Arthur on the ground, and me, imprisoned between two oafs.
“Go!” I yelled