“Thank you?” She looked away on a laugh, a breathy, indignant sound. “You want a thank you? What the hell are you doing?”

“Being romantic, doing the right thing.”

“You just confirmed all of their suspicions. Grayson Crowne is fucking his maid. His maid is his mistress.”

“I…shit…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I didn’t look at it that way.”

“Do you want to know what your mother really said to me before Italy? She told me I was your mistress. She said I was lucky. Now I had leverage. She all but welcomed me into the Crowne family!”

She threw up her hands and turned from me, facing the wall.

“Story.” I placed my hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. “Story, look at me.”

I turned her by the shoulder and found her eyes red, tears running. Fuck.

“What happened? Where were you today?”

All I wanted to do was tell her what happened between my mother and grandfather.

I’d told them.

The wedding was off.

But I’d never seen her this way. I’ve seen her cry, yeah, but she was unhinged. Hysterical. And it was freaking me the fuck out. I want someone to punch. Need someone to hurt.

She swiped at her tears, snot. “I’m beginning to think she’s right. This only ends one way.”

“Shut up.” I gripped her chin. “Tell me the truth. Where were you today?”

She wiped her eyes. “I’m going to see my uncle. You should go back to Lottie. After all she is your fiancée, right?”

She didn’t wait for me to respond, turning to leave.

Forty-Seven

GRAY

It was a goddamn sleepless night waiting for Story. I should’ve told her I broke off my engagement hours ago, but it didn’t seem like the right moment, with her on the verge of tears and all.

At around five in the morning, I said fuck it and got up to go get her.

I walked the winding steps to the servants’ quarters and knocked on the dark oak door that marked Woodsy’s room. He was already sitting up in bed, and made a shh motion with his finger, pointing to a corner.

Story was asleep on the chair.

I came in, shutting the door lightly behind me.

I came for Abigail, but there was so much I needed to say to him.

“You promised I could die first,” I said quietly.

He shrugged with a smile. “Seven-year-olds are easy to trick.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I bit the skin at my thumb, hating this.

“Whatever you want. You can have it. The best doctors, anything.”

He shook his hand. “I’d like to spend my last hours here.”

“You can be buried in the family plot.”

He laughed, then coughed. “Don’t promise the moon.”

“But you’re family.”

“All I need to know is when I die, she’ll be taken care of.”