Unknown was the most exclusive club in the French Riviera, one my sister Gemma and I frequented each year. One most everyone in our circle frequented. Like everything else, Charlotte had always been the exception.

Only a few knew its location and how to get there. It was as much a tradition to party there every year as it was for Mother to force us on the island for “family time.” You needed a boat to access it and power to know its location.

I dragged my hands through my hair. What a fucking mess.

“Charlotte, I can get you out of this. You don’t have to marry me, not if you don’t want to.”

Lottie looked at the floor, working her mouth. When she finally met my gaze, there were fucking tears in her eyes.

“Lottie…” I went to her, thumbing the tears out of her eyes. “This is fucked. I’m not going to force you into this. Is there someone else?”

Her mouth dropped. “No one. There’s no one. That’s not it.” She swallowed, looking away.

“Whatever it is, we’ll fix it,” I said. “You don’t have to marry—”

Lottie seized my face between her palms. Her hands were colder than Snitch’s, I thought absently, before realizing what the fuck was happening. The way she stared at my lips with a determined look on her face.

She crushed her lips against mine.

With Snitch still on my lips, she kissed me.

Why the fuck did it feel wrong? Why couldn’t I stop thinking of Snitch. Lottie’s kiss was too light, too tender. Not the gasping, breathy, desperate thing that Snitch gave me.

I’d been waiting for this fucking moment for years, and Snitch was still between us. So I pulled away, but our foreheads were still pressed together. She blinked up at me, her eyes dark and bright.

“That was…unexpected,” I said.

“I really want to make this work,” she said quietly.

Of course she would. Charlotte du Lac was the epitome of high society. She would never not do as she was told. Never not face her impending nuptials with anything save class. Even if it was to the man of her nightmares.

She arched a brow. “But am I too late?”

Immediately Story’s face popped into my head.

“No,” I said instantly. “Fuck no.”

Charlotte smiled, a beautiful, bright Charlotte du Lac smile. The kind that had brought all the boys at Rosey to their knees.

“What about the servant?” Lottie asked, breath ghosting my lips.

Story, something in my chest yelled. Her name is Story.

“No one.”

I pressed Lottie against the wall, determined to exorcise Snitch from my thoughts and taste buds. I kissed Lottie until she gasped, until she fisted my shirt. I dragged her lip out, biting, punishing—

“Ow!” Lottie gasped, and I stepped off.

I tangled a hand in my hair. “Sorry. Shit.”