Chapter 50
FIFTY
GEMMA
Despite the cold, the party was held in the garden.
I think my mom saw it as the ultimate power play—control of the elements.
My mother also saw the garden at Versailles and thought she could do better.
A deeply manicured lawn, exquisitely mowed into horizontal stripes.
A cobblestone path, reminiscent of old England, wove through rows and rows of flowers that would bloom in the summer, but were now just frost-blanketed stalks of green.
And beyond the center of everything, where the party continued in full force, was the hedge maze.
Swaths of elegantly dressed partygoers streamed into the maze, disappearing behind green-black leaves.
Heat lamps designed like blown-glass hearts were strategically placed to keep guests from freezing.
Crystal chandeliers were suspended from bare winter trees with invisible wire.
People mingled around a massive stone sculpture spelling out 200 Years.
It appeared to be marble and, knowing my mother, it was.
Portraits from the earliest Crowne members up to now lined the edge, creating a makeshift boundary. I stared at my portrait. It must have been rendered off an old photo, because I still had long hair. I stared at my America’s Princess smile drawn in oil, feeling like I was looking at a stranger.
“We should get into position,” Raze said as silence fell like dominoes, heads turning one by one to see Gemma Crowne with the four Horsemen at her back.
Across the party, I studied people whose opinion had once meant so much to me.
Blaire and Kennedy watched, brows furrowed.
Grayson and Story stared, concern etching their eyes.
The glitterati stared with a hunger reserved only for scandal.
I paused at the center, where my mother stared back, ice in her eyes. And in that moment I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care what she thought. I didn’t care what the world would post on social media.
It was like I could see the effigy they’d raised of me, the object they used for jealousy or hate.
For so long I’d been hostage to another’s perception because I didn’t know who I was and I definitely didn’t have confidence to stand in it.
Now I could easily light that effigy on fire.
It had nothing to do with me.
I scanned the crowd, this time ignoring the faces staring back at me. Where was Vander?
“I don’t see him,” I said.
What if he wasn’t here?
Then all of it would be for nothing—
“Gemma.”
Before I could think, Grim gripped my face and crushed his lips against mine. In the back of my mind, a small voice reminded me where we were. Everyone was watching. If they’d had doubts before, those were in cinders.
Any thought was quickly burned away by the hunger in his lips. His thumbs dug into my cheekbones, lips hurried, breath fast, all the fear Grim refused to let himself feel bleeding into my lips.
He pulled back too soon, still holding my face. I was dazed, lips buzzing. The space between us filled with some kind of magic.
“Time to go find dear old Dad and let him think he’s won,” Grim said. “Stay here,” he added, voice soothing, rubbing circles with his thumb against my cheek. “I’ll find you after.”
With that, he and the rest of the Horsemen disappeared from view. I entered the party, trying not to think about where they were, what they were doing. For hopefully the last time, I put on my Gemma Crowne smile, and I pretended.
I grabbed a flute of bubbly gold champagne and I mingled. I laughed at jokes. I asked how so-and-so was doing. No one brought up Grim. If our world was good at anything, it was ignoring the elephant in the room.
My gaze drifted toward the hedge maze. Lanterns flickered along the edge of the maze, ending at the leafy maw that disappeared into velvet and shadows. Wraith and Raze would be inside it by now—
“Gemma Antionette Crowne.”
My name hissed from my mother’s lips. There was still a part of me that clung to her opinion. That felt like her unhappiness wasn’t just my fault; it was my burden.
I sucked in a deep breath and turned. “Hey, Mom.”
“Do you have any idea what you put me through?” She gripped my hand. “We can still fix this. I’ve hired crisis PR, the prince still—”
Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the mention of the prince, the man responsible for all of this. More likely it was the mention of having PR. A normal mom would be concerned for their daughter. By outward appearances I’d run off with (or been taken by) a criminal.
I tore my hand out of her grip.
“What I put you through?” I asked, voice rising. “The last time you saw me I was dragged across a bloody body, but you’re worried about PR?” I paused, needing a breath. “What if I’d died?”
“Not here.” She lowered her voice as all around us people turned to look.
Good.
“Who fucking cares?” I yelled, gesturing at the garden. “Why are their opinions more important than my happiness?”
My mother blinked, stunned. But even still, with a wave of disappointment in my gut, I knew that didn’t equate to understanding. She was stunned by me standing up for myself, by me being me in public, not because the words I’d said affected her.
“I really thought you needed me,” I said. “I thought I was saving you. I let that hold me hostage for over a decade. But you’re…”
She was fine.
I didn’t think that the times I’d found her passed out on the floor were preplanned, that she’d set out to manipulate and control me. But I did think she knew the effect it had on me, and felt a guiltless comfort in the control it gave her.
“It’s not about happiness,” I continued. “It’s not even about safety. Grayson and Abigail broke your rules and are the happiest of anyone in the family. Why are you clinging so hard to this?”
My mother’s face dropped. For a split second I saw her. The young girl she was before she was married. Then the expression calcified.
She was smaller than me, closer to Abigail’s height, but those lost few inches took nothing away from her steely anger. When she spoke next, she didn’t lower her voice, wanting the world to hear.
“You are nothing without this family,” she said. “Without us—without me—you will deteriorate. You don’t exist without me.”
For the first time, her words don’t hurt. I saw it so clearly now. She wasn’t talking to me, she was talking to herself. I felt weightless at the realization.
So I laughed.
My mother blinked, features twisting into a hundred different emotions. Then without another word, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.
I set my empty flute on a passing waiter’s tray—
Vander.
I’d found him, far from the hedge maze and across the garden, heading toward the stairs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I was walking before I realized, pushing through the crowd to reach him. Grim’s voice echoed in my head, telling me to stay put. But I had to do something. I couldn’t just let him leave.
I got to him as he neared the top step. I reached for his arm from the bottom, stopping him.
“Leaving so soon?”