At the beach, Abigail had stared at me, Theo had stared at me. I felt his mother’s narrow gaze on my back. When Gray had needled Abigail, Abigail had questioned why he wasn’t having me do anything.

I was his servant, after all, right?

Gray popped the buttons on his jeans, exposing a slice of his cut lower abs, the sharp V that hinted at so much more. Again I was blasted with the memory.

That’s it. That’s my girl.

He went into the next room and slammed the door.

“Ass.” I whispered to myself.

Out the window the Mediterranean Sea glimmered like topaz in the sun. I wasn’t surprised we were on a private island—as if the Crownes were the kind of people to stay in hotels unless they had to. They’d once bought—as in, purchased—a five-star hotel because they’d booked a last minute trip during the Olympics, and all the rooms were full.

They’d kicked everyone out.

I still remember the press, the way they managed to spin the story and make themselves the victim.

Gray came out of the adjacent room, and it looked like he was going to leave me without another word, but then he froze at the door.

“Do you think I owe you an explanation, Snitch? Do you think I owe you anything?”

Yes.

No.

This was a trap. There was a razor edge to his words I could cut myself on.

“Well,” I swallowed. “My uncle has always taught me to live with dignity, and now I’ve basically said, fuck it, time to be an ignominious slut. So maybe I do. Maybe I feel entitled to something more than silence.”

Grayson spun, blond brows pulled high into his forehead.

Something was happening between us. Was I really the only one who felt it?

“You’re entitled to exactly what I choose to tell you.”

So choose to tell me something! I wanted to yell it.

Scream it.

Make him bleed it.

But I wasn’t going to say that. I wasn’t going to be the only one offering my heart up for sacrifice.

So I steeled my eyes. “Of course not, Mr. Grayson.”

Something flickered in his stony blue eyes, but he said nothing. He left, shutting the door, leaving me alone in his wing of the palatial French villa.

GRAY

Hours after I left Snitch, I was once again back on our island.

Fucking shit, the island was way too small.

But Snitch’s glare followed me everywhere. So brazen, like everything else about her. I knew every thought, every curse she wasn’t hurling at me, just by her hardened hazel eyes.

Ignominious slut.

Who the fuck talked like that?

“What’s that you’ve got in your hands, Grayson?”

I stopped at my mother’s voice.

I looked at the bag. “Food.”