I’m bad. He’s right. Grayson deserves better.
I wasn’t going to let West know that I still had a hard time viewing that night as rape. That there was a stupid piece of me aching for him to be kind. For his soul to be as sweet as the milk chocolate color of his eyes.
So I could rewrite that night, rewrite those brutal memories.
I shoved him with all my force and ran.
Ran until I reached the terrace. Laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses spun around me. I ran and ran, down the steps. My shoes got caught in the sand, so I kicked them off, toes curling in the cold sand.
A few feet from the iron ocean, I fell. The cold meant the beach was empty. Everyone was either on boats or inside Crowne Hall.
I chewed my lip raw, tears falling and blurring the glimmering fireworks. I felt dirty. Wrong. My lips belonged to Grayson, but now I know what West tasted like.
Cherries.
West tasted like cherries.
“Why are you crying, new girl?”
Thirty-Six
GRAY
Maybe I was asking too much, maybe there was a corner of her soul she doesn’t want me inside.
I don’t fucking like that.
I want to burrow inside every part of her. I crushed another sucker between my teeth.
“Is everything okay?”
I jerked my head up at my sister Abigail’s voice, then dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling.
“Did you hit your head?” I asked.
We might not outwardly loathe each other anymore, but asking me how I’m doing? The fuck?
“You seem…” She waved a hand at me. “Like someone kicked your puppy.”
I looked at my sister in her glittering gold dress. Somewhere her dog, Theo, was getting her something to eat. She was smiling. Happy.
A Crowne happy.
Abigail was my grandfather’s favorite. He might have tried to marry her off to an asshole, but for a Crowne, she was shielded from most of this world.
Both of my sisters were.
She thought our life was the usual rusted glitz and glamour; she had no idea the real darkness of this world. Neither of my sisters do—and they never would, not if I have any say about it.
I raised my phone. “Slid into some chick’s DMs and she’s being a bitch about it.”
Abigail wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting. What about your wife? Or…”
I arched a brow. “Or?”
She lowered her voice. “The girl you really love. The one I stole mother’s dresses for.”
I shrugged, looking at my phone. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about.”