Chapters (66)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Keep Reading
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sneak Peek
- Find Me
- Books by Mary Catherine Gebhard
- Acknowledgments
“I can be your friend,” I blurted, before realizing how absurd that was. Of all people in the world Lottie would want to be friends with, I was probably the last.
Her gaze snapped to mine. “Even after my friends treated you so badly?”
“I haven’t been a very good friend either.”
We balanced on such a precarious needle.
“I’m sorry,” I said, saying the thing that had been weighing on me every time I did her hair or helped her into a dress. “I wasn’t supposed to be in that room. It should have been you. None of this should have ever happened. It’s all my fault.”
She chewed her lip, looking distant. “Maybe. Or maybe it was fate.”
“But you love him,” I said.
“I do,” she agreed. “I love him more than I thought I could. As much as I know it hurts you, I can’t wait to be his wife. I can’t wait for the wedding night. I can’t wait for him to be mine.”
Our eyes locked. Remorse rippled in her dark irises, but she wasn’t sorry. It was the same way, though I was sorry I’d stolen him, I wasn’t sorry for loving him, the same way I wouldn’t be sorry if I could trade places with her.
We were only sorry that our love had to hurt each other.
“But my grandma always said our fates aren’t a mistake.”
She placed her head against her shoulder, staring out the window.
Fifty-Three
STORY
My uncle’s condition was stable though not great. He was fading every time I visited him, and I kept wondering if each visit was the last. He kept talking about where he wanted to be buried. Here. At the grounds. I think he was starting to lose his mind, and it worried me. No servant had ever been buried at Crowne Hall. That was reserved for the Crownes.
Lottie was too beautiful, too kind—it was impossible to hate her. She let me visit my uncle whenever I wanted. So today I went down to see him with his favorite treat of cookies, but I froze outside the door, a laugh stopping me.
Grayson’s laugh.
I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until it snuck into the cracks and crevices his absence weathered.
“My niece is starting to think I’ve lost my mind, Mr. Grayson.”
“You can tell her you’ll have a nice big plot of land, with a view of the ocean. Shit, we’ll get you a fucking mausoleum if you want.”
“I have. She looks at me with pity. Pity for the old man dying of cancer, who’s losing his wits.” Grayson laughed again and my uncle said, “Who am I supposed to say is making this happen?”
Grayson exhaled, and I imagined him stretching his long arms over his head. “My mother, of course.”
They both laughed.