“Well, we were waiting for Arthur.” Lynette looked around the room. “Who is supposed to be here.”
“I’ll go see what’s up,” I said.
“Thank God,” my mother said.
It was a lie.
I slipped through the crowd, heading toward my hiding spot.
The theme was fairy tales—because of course it was. The ballroom had been decorated to look like an enchanted forest, and lights seemed to float in the ceiling on their own.
Then I saw her—not Lottie, but Story.
She looked like she belonged in the pumpkin. Diamonds adorned the straps of her airy, pale blue dress, dripping down the open back on her creamy, chestnut skin. All that was missing was a crown.
West dragged her off the steps and through the baby shower. She could barely keep up behind him, tripping over her feet.
He hadn’t changed from the day before, still in a wrinkled suit, the white shirt stained from sleeping on sand—he looked just as off as his sister.
I was already off the wall, ready to rip West apart for dragging Story that way, when he spotted me, gaze zeroing through glittering champagne and white smiles.
He was at my feet within seconds.
My eyes shot to Story.
Did you do it?
She shook her head, brows caved, gesturing with her hand at West’s back pocket. His phone stuck out, haphazard like the rest of him.
West shoved Story forward and I caught her as she stumbled. “Fall, Angel.”
Fifty
STORY
“What the fuck are you doing?” Grayson gripped my elbow, flashing furious eyes to West.
West folded his arms. “Our girl has something to say, Crowne.”
Gray’s grip tightened on me at our girl.
“What was it you said, Angel?” West said, vicious and biting. “You choose me? It was always me? Say it again. Say it with your prince watching.”
Do you trust me? I wanted to say to Grayson. Do you trust that every word I say, is for you not him?
West would think I was fighting and falling for him. But he was not my god, and I would never bleed for him.
“I love you,” I said, my eyes on Gray—only for the briefest moment. Long enough for me to see his icy blue eyes soften. Long enough for me to question if what I was doing was right.
Then I shifted my gaze to West. “I’ve been lying to you. I still feel for you. You’re in my heart. I’ve been lying for years.”
I fought back tears, and in a way, I think it worked in my favor, because West interpreted it for him. The suspicion in his warm brown gaze lessened. I wished I could steal a glance at Grayson, beg him to know these words were for him, even though I had to look at West.
In my peripheral, I saw Grayson take a step toward West—I hoped to get his phone.
“It’s you,” I continued, voice hoarse. “From that first day in Crowne Hall when I secretly watched you, to every day after, it’s always been you—”
“That’s sweet.” West adjusted the disheveled sleeve of his shirt, then reached behind him for his phone. “But you’re full of shit, Angel—”