My heart cracked, crumbled, disappeared into the wind.

I stayed outside the room, holding the tin of cookies, for thirty minutes, maybe an hour. Just listening to him talk with my uncle, at the happiness in my uncle’s voice and the ease in Grayson’s. I hadn’t realized a smile had found its way to my lips until the sound of a chair scraping against the floor wiped it off.

“See you tomorrow, Woodsy.”

Tomorrow? How often did he come?

Seconds later, Grayson walked out of my uncle’s room. It was only the back of him, but it was enough to send my heart into shock. In a brown leather jacket that brought out the gold in his messy hair. Grayson with dark-blue jeans that hugged his ass too well. Grayson with his big, messy heart.

He kept walking, hadn’t noticed me or didn’t care. But I couldn’t leave it be. I set the tin of cookies down to come back to later.

“Are you ever going to talk to me?” I asked his back.

Gray froze, two heartbeats marking the hope I had that he would turn around; then he kept walking, heading for the stairs.

“You promised!” I yelled. “You promised you wouldn’t ignore me. You promised you wouldn’t just disappear.”

I followed him like the ghost I was, up the winding staircase the led out of the servants’ quarters.

“I spend all day listening to how much your future wife loves you. How much of a good kisser you are. How much she can’t wait for her wedding night. I almost threw up.”

We wound and wound, me at his back—all that was missing was a fucking candle in my hand.

“You know what sucks the most? I can’t hate her. She’s too kind. Too beautiful. Too pure.”

I slumped against the wall, falling down to the stairs.

“Was I just a game to you too?”

I put my head in my hands. Things I didn’t want to acknowledge surfaced, riding a merry-go-round in my head. A bet. Bragging rights.

My hands were pried from my face, and I was staring into Grayson’s deep pools of blue. He held on to my hands, soft.

I missed the way he held me. I missed the way his kisses consumed me. I missed the secrets he whispered in the dark.

“I miss you,” I whispered, weak. “Your bruises have faded, Mr. Grayson.”

For a single, shining second, Grayson was back.

My Grayson.

I don’t know why he’s doing this. I don’t know why we’re apart, but I see the crushing weight on his shoulders. I pried my hand from his, pressing it to his cheek.

“My Atlas,” I whispered. “If your heart is stone, does it crack and weather?”

His eyes cracked, and I saw everything, every emotion I thought I’d dreamed up.