She looked left and right. “No—”
“Do you have any idea what you did? What you’ve caused? If you had just told the truth from the beginning—”
I dragged my hands through my hair.
We wouldn’t be here.
I could have left with her.
None of this would be happening.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I screamed.
She was nine months pregnant and I’d spent those nine months thinking she was pregnant with my baby.
Nine months all but ignoring her.
Being a horrible father.
A disgusting human being.
And hating myself for it.
“You’re disgusting.” I turned away. “I can’t even look at you. I have no idea who you are, but you are not the girl I fell in love with—”
“Did you ever love me, Grayson?” Lottie screamed and any remaining whispers fell dead. She’d gotten to her feet, stumbling down the steps.
“Lottie, sweet pea…”
“Grayson, dear…”
I saw, in the corner of my eye my mother already starting damage control. The press herded out, the ballroom beginning to clear, as the perfect shower my mom spent months planning shattered to the ground.
This marriage they spent even longer propping up, like the dead corpse it was, finally fucking rotted to the core.
“I loved you,” I growled, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her, or myself.
“How could you?” she demanded. “How could you love me? I don’t even know who the fuck I am, so how could you?” Her voice rose even higher, echoing off the domed ceiling.
I ran up to her, as she looked about to faint.
“Get off me.” She shoved me, but her moves were lethargic. I took a step back.
“That’s enough, Lottie,” Lynette trilled. “You clearly need sleep.”
“Stop it,” Lottie said. “He’s not the father. No matter how many lies you shove down my throat.”
Mrs. du Lac’s nostrils flared. “Then who is?”
“Jack! The love of your life, Jack!” She screamed it at her mother and swayed. Suddenly, Snitch was there, holding Lottie. “You fucking know it already, and I know you know it. I told you Grayson couldn’t be the father, I told you what happened, and you told me to say I shoved it up my—”
Mrs. du Lac held up her hand, letting out a stuttering laugh. “Okay, that’s enough. Grayson, Lottie clearly has had too much sun.” Both Lottie and I looked at the overcast sky. “She needs rest. Tomorrow we can forget all about this.”
“Stop doing that. Stop steamrolling over what I say. Stop shoving all the ugliness under the carpet. If it wasn’t for Story, I probably would have lived a lie—”
“You knew?” My glare slashed to Story.
Story looked like she’d been hit with a pie. “I didn’t—”