Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
GEMMA
The door slammed open, my head pounding with it.
I rolled over, pressing my forehead into my pillow and groaning into the satin fabric. “Fuck you too.”
Without a second to breathe someone grabbed my bicep, yanking me out of my warm, soft bed and into the cold morning. I blinked blearily into earnest blue eyes, so similar in color to mine, if not icier.
Grayson, my brother.
I shoved his hand off me. “Excuse you.”
“What does he have on you?”
I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palm, trying to clear out the harsh morning light.
“Who?” I asked through a scratchy throat.
He shoved a phone in my face, and I squinted at the blaring blue light. It was a news article—multiple articles, actually, all sharing similar headlines.
Gemma Crowne Hard Launches New Boyfriend: Who is the Mysterious New Beau?
Beneath the blocky black print was a blown-up Instagram post—mine. My chin rested on my bare shoulder, eyes at the camera, and you could clearly see my new tattoo. The caption read:
For my new boyfriend…
Oh.
So that actually happened? It wasn’t a dream? For the first time in five years I felt something other than nothing.
Dread.
Guilt.
Excitement.
I shoved Grayson away, swinging my legs off the bed. “You’re the one who said I could date whoever I wanted.”
“That’s…” My brother broke off, looking like one of those cartoon heads about to explode.
“He saved you,” I said—why was I defending this clearly drunk and insane decision? Defending Grim? Without reason, the words kept coming. “He saved your wife and child. Is the man who saved your daughter not good enough?”
Behind my brother, his wife stood, an inscrutable look in her stony green eyes. It wasn’t judgment, it was more…curious. Story was someone who took in the scene before reacting.
“Whatever he has on you, we can fix it,” Grayson said. “You’re not alone in this.”
“I’m not some endangered woman. I did this. I got the tattoo. I posted knowing what the media would do with it.”
He stepped back, looking left and right, and dragged his finger along his bottom lip for an uncomfortably long time.
Finally he managed, “Why?”
I paused, tripping over my tongue. Why? Because I wanted to have control for once. Because I wanted to make him squirm. Because—
Anyone who looks at you will know you’re mine.
This was all happening too early, without caffeine, and much too hungover.
“Bored. Crazy. Pick one, combine them—I don’t care.”
My brother inhaled audibly. “You know Mom is going to have a fucking heart attack.”
That made me stop.
Her perfect daughter, her last fucking hope, had tied herself to a criminal.
I knew what would happen when she found out, and it wasn’t a heart attack.
I pushed those thoughts away. “Huh, didn’t peg you as giving a shit about what Mother thinks of my or anyone’s love interests. Guess I forgot how fond she was of Story.”
He worked his jaw. “That’s different.”
I laughed. “Oh, okay. So I get to marry whoever I want, unless you don’t approve—”
“Fucking marriage?” That finger on his bottom lip worked overtime, eyes about to pop out of his head.
“At least Mom and Grandpa never pretended to be—” I gestured at him.
“—I don’t know, Gray, what were you trying to be?
Different? They were always crystal clear about the rules and what would happen if I broke them.
She was kind enough to give me my first tampon when she sold me to Horace, so do you have a present prepared for when you put me back in my cage? ”
Grayson’s fingers curled hard into his palm, blanching the knuckles. He took deep, uneven breaths through flared nostrils, jaw clenched. Story placed her hand on his shoulder. His entire body tensed, then relaxed. He turned to face her, the muscles in his back rolling with the movement.
They spoke low, too low to really hear anything. I did catch I will fucking end him before…
Then Story handed their child, Sonnet, to him. “It’s a nice day out.”
“I know what you’re doing,” he growled.
She smiled. “Is it working?”
He didn’t answer, but kissed her on her forehead. I rolled my eyes.
He glared at me, Sonnet in his arms. “If you think he’s living in our house, you’ve really lost your fucking mind.”
I shot him a smile. “That’s cool, I can go live with him.”
His jaw clenched so tight the muscle in his cheek popped.
“Grayson,” Story murmured, and Grayson left.
Then it was only Story and me.
She tilted her head.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what lecture the maid who ruined my brother’s marriage is going to give me.”
“No lecture.” She leaned against the wall, ignoring my obvious attempt to rile her up, stony eyes seeing too much. “You once told me he was both your villain and your hero.”
I reached for the cigarettes inside my nightstand, then stopped.
Don’t smoke, Rich Girl, you taste better.
The moment she spoke of came rushing back.
It was right after our grandfather went to jail, when Grim had saved us and taken my brother’s contract.
Story saw me talking to Grim. Story saw everything when we were trapped at the compound.
The memory fluttered like autumn leaves in my mind. Colorful. Fragile.
Someone once told me the villain and the princess have a relationship too, even if it’s unwanted. Is he your villain? Or your hero?
I rubbed my eye, head throbbing. “I don’t remember that.”
“I’ve also been talking to Abigail and apparently this has been going on since before she left here.”
“Cool, sounds like you know everything, so I don’t know why you’re even here, babe.”
It was a minute before Story spoke again. “I never thought your brother and I would end up together. He was engaged. We were from two totally different worlds. Everything we wanted hurt others.”
I looked up, meeting her gaze.
“Grayson thinks Grim has something on you, that he’s forcing you into this,” she continued.
“You don’t?” I asked.
“I think I know what it’s like to want someone, even though it could ruin everything. I think maybe there’s a world you want to be in, but feel stuck in another. When you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.”
Honestly, if any other person tried to have this conversation with me, I’d call bullshit. Story wasn’t like any other person in my world. She was, like…the kind of person you could tell a secret to and not have to wonder who was going to hear it next.
I stayed in my bed after she left.
It wasn’t until the sun fell again that I got out, took a shower, and threw on a different pair of clothes. My mother never came by, and I wasn’t sure if I should be happy about that, or worried.
I resisted the urge to rub my aching neck.
Because of the fucking tattoo.
A twisted kind of tingle spread in my gut. The kind I used to get when I shoplifted. I’d done something wrong. I knew I was going to be punished for it. For some messed-up reason, I felt alive because of it.
The icy, brackish winter air drifted into my room, my curtains fluttering.
He’d come.
I picked up a matchbook, toying with the fragile wood.
Snick. The flame lit.
I stared at Grim through the small, passionate flame. “The Reaper comes to visit, but I don’t have any more souls to give him.”
“You really fucked me, Rich Girl.”