I knew two of the boys specifically. They had the same impeccable features and bored, entitled air of Grayson, but more subdued. Nothing could match Grayson. I’d seen them the most and knew them to be Alaric and Geoff, but I just didn’t know who was who.

I should be getting information about Charlotte, but Grayson wouldn’t let me leave his side.

Not like anyone would notice me.

I might as well be one of the fountains to these people.

And what about Lottie? What about everything I’d been through the past fucking twenty-four hours? She was only just across the fountain, watching Grayson. Charlotte “Lottie” du Lac was a fairy tale princess, with a crown of braids and a dress of flowing white feathers.

I knew the look she wore because I’d worn it myself. It was uncertainty born of heartbreak. She cared about him. I was certain she did.

Gray either was oblivious or didn’t care. Impossible to tell. It looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. With his head down and his suit jacket folded to the forearm, tie discarded, the top few buttons on his black dress shirt undone, he was something out of The Great Gatsby.

“She’s staring at you,” I whispered quietly. “Just go to her.”

No one noticed me lean forward; no one noticed me period. If Grayson heard me, he didn’t acknowledge it.

The models and influencers took selfies; they played a game of rock-paper-scissors for who would go home with Grayson, then posted a video of that game. Grayson just kept staring out at the inky ocean, as if he weren’t even here.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Gray said suddenly.

And like that everyone stood up and left. Gray decreed it, so it happened.

“Save some for the rest of us Playboy Gray,” Alaric-or-Geoff said, chucking a gold leaf truffle at a swan as he walked away. It narrowly missed the swan’s head, but still caused it to flutter nervously.

Curiosity grew in my gut. Was I the only one who knew the truth? No, that’s impossible. But his grandpa thought he was fucking me. If he was anything like his sister Abigail, I would bet his mother didn’t know. Was I the only one who knew Grayson Crowne was a virgin? I thought…I thought I’d just stumbled into a secret that wasn’t meant for me.

No, I was certain he’d told his friends.

Gray eyed me from behind his lit cigarette as a swan feathered its wings behind him in the fountain. I quickly looked away.

I was getting caught way too often.

All the Crownes were here. Gemma Crowne was with her mother Tansy, but Grandpa Beryl Crowne was surprisingly absent. This was one of the few events he attended, usually for his granddaughter, Abigail—Abigail.

My eyes spotted the only woman dressed in black.