Ice water doused my veins. I’d gotten lost in him again, lost in what his touch promised but his actions never kept. I took a step back, eyes finding the floor.

“Anything else, Mr. Grayson?”

“The fuck did I say about calling me that?”

“Why, what are you going to do, Mr. Grayson?” I met his eyes, goading him, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

Sadness, sorrow, from my uncle.

Anger, from being strung along.

“Mr. Grayson,” I said, tears fire in my eyes. “Mr. Grayson—”

His eyes flamed, and I thought he was going to punish me, but he pulled me into a hug, so tight I couldn’t breathe. Suffocated in his suit, in the dreamy smell of him that felt too much like home.

And I fell to pieces, getting snot all over his nice suit.

He gripped the back of my head tight. “Fucking hell, Story.”

“He’s dying.” I sobbed, over and over again.

He gripped me tighter, and for a moment I let myself give in to his comfort.

But he was still marrying her.

This didn’t belong to me. I was stealing him. I was doing everything my mother taught me to do.

I pushed him off, swiping my eyes and staring at the floor.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

I changed the subject. “Why am I dressed like this?”

“I thought you could use a distraction. And I needed a date.”

“As your mistress,” I said glumly.

“As my lover, as my girlfriend, as the girl I want by my side, as the girl I want everyone to know belongs to Grayson Crowne.”

My heart jumped at his words, but still, “You promised to tell Lottie. I’m not going to do this anymore. I can’t.”

Yet I’d still put on the dress.

I’d still come to the room.

Who of us was I lying to?

“I’m not marrying Lottie,” he said.

Even more hope, even more pounding in my chest. “You’ve said that before, Mr. Grayson.”

“I spoke with my grandfather and my mother. I’ll tell Lottie tonight.”

It ricocheted through me. He’d told them. Had he really told them? I slowly lifted my eyes, meeting his earnest ones.

“And they just accepted it?”

“I made them accept it.”

I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t. It was too much like a happily ever after, too much like a dream come true.

He gripped my hands. “I need a date tonight, Story.”

“You’re really not marrying her?”

“There will be a lot of paparazzi, tonight, Snitch. The whole world will see who I really want. Can you handle that?”

Forty-Eight

STORY