Epilogue
GEMMA
Crowne Point whizzed by in a watercolor of blue and white as we headed to my goddaughter’s christening in New York. Winter had given way to a bright, blustery spring with cold blue skies.
I bit my nail, trying to expunge the feeling I’d woken up with this morning. Like the blood in my body was too heavy for my heart. Like a fog had fallen, dulling the world’s colors. Like living was too much effort—
Grim grabbed my hand, pulling it into his lap as he drove with the other hand.
“Give it to me, mi locura,” he said. “Let me feel it.”
Like I’d said before, Grim’s perfect dick didn’t heal my broken soul. Even in my happily ever after, there were still days when gravity felt too heavy.
The difference now was Grim.
I scythed my nails into his skin.
He hissed, nostrils flaring. “Good girl.”
By the time we got to the church, most of the heaviness had dissipated.
Grim parked next to the Gothic cathedral, and I rubbed my thumb over his wrist, where crescent-shaped marks had reddened.
Bloody. I still felt bad, even if he said he wanted it.
This was my pain. I was supposed to deal with it. Not force it on him.
As if seeing the words in my head, Grim snaked his hand around my neck, yanking me into a brutal kiss.
“Thank you,” he said, words heating my lips.
Grim got out of the car and opened my door. Together we stepped out into a cloudless cornflower blue sky. My family was waiting on the church steps. When they saw us, conversation stopped dead in the tracks.
“Gemma!” Story spotted me and waved me over.
Story wore a satin, bottle green cocktail dress that complemented her brown sugar skin, her curly hair glowing in the sun.
My brother held their child as the steepled roof behind them seemed to jut miles into the clouds.
Their daughter, Sonnet, donned the white christening gown that had been in our family for generations.
Hand-sewn Chantilly lace cascaded all the way down to the steps, and a little bonnet covered her carob-colored hair.
Hand in hand, Grim and I headed up the steps.
“I hear you’re the newest Crowne to bring shame upon the family,” my sister, Abby, said as we arrived. Her red-brown eyes glimmered with humor.
“Is that off the rack?” I asked, egging her on.
Abigail smiled. “I got it on sale.”
“Ew,” I said. “You would.”
But we smiled.
Even her husband, Theo, looked good. I was so used to him with bloody knuckles and dark, angry eyes. With an air like he was a second away from snapping and breaking your nose. And yeah, he still had that air, but his red lips tilted up as he held their son in his arms.
His tie was a little askew over his white shirt, but it worked.
“For real, sister, I’m happy for you,” Abby said. “Mom is happy, too, in her own way.” Over Abigail’s shoulder, I found my mother standing with folded arms. She was dressed for a funeral, not a christening. A black, wide-brimmed hat on her head and black sunglasses.
“Maybe,” I said.
She had kept my secret.
“Ready?” Story asked, holding Sonnet out to me. Sonnet peered up at me with big doe eyes, a mix of Story’s mossy green and my brother’s deep Atlantic blue.
“How are you going to explain to her that her godmother is dead?” I asked, eyes still on Sonnet.
“You can explain it,” Gray said. “When you come to visit every month.”
The ceremony was short and quick. Afterward, I exchanged hugs with my family—well, everyone but Mom—and promised to visit soon. As Grim and I walked to the car, I glanced back at them, and something warm and surreal overcame me. Everyone got a happily ever after. Even me, in my own way.
On the drive back we didn’t talk much. Grim held my hand in his, stroking the bare skin. I was excited to get home. It was Tuesday night, and Raze always made tacos while Lock insisted on playing board games.
Zabby had since adopted me as her sister. She’d said she was so excited to have one, since she’d grown up with boys. She couldn’t wait to paint each other’s nails and gossip and watch rom-coms—things that sisters did.
I thought of my own sordid relationship with Abigail. Cutting each other’s hair, finding fresh skin to stab.
Yeah, I’d told her. Because that was the kind of sister I was going to be.
When we got back to the compound, there was no smell of tacos, and we could hear yelling from the garage. Grim exchanged a look with me and gently pushed me behind him. As we rose up the steps, the shouting became clearer.
“Do you know who I am!” I stopped short at the voice. Because that was a woman’s voice, and it didn’t sound like Zabby.
Ignoring Grim’s obvious attempt to shield me, I ran past him and pushed through the door.
“Blaire?” I said, stunned.
Blaire was in the living room, tied to a chair, glaring up at Raze, who towered over her. Wraith sat on the couch, reading as always. Lock tried to defuse the situation, a hand on Raze’s shoulder.
“Gemma?” Blaire’s gaze found mine. “I thought you fucking died. I went to your funeral.”
“I know,” I said wryly. “I saw the selfies.”
“But you’ve, what, been here? Getting gangbanged by the Horsemen?”
“My Horseman doesn’t share,” I said. As if to emphasize, Grim appeared, wrapping a hand around my waist, tugging me closer.
Her mouth fell open. “Your Horseman?”
“What’s going on?” I turned to Raze. “Why is she here?”
“She knows,” he growled, not looking at me.
Blaire glared at him with familiarity.
“Seriously?” I said. “First Wraith and now you? Does every Horseman have a hard-on for my friends?”
“Wraith?” Lock asked. “What do you mean Wraith?”
Wraith looked up from reading, shooting me a death glare.
“Uh… How long is she going to be here?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Who knows.” Lock rubbed his forehead. “This is what we do now, apparently. Kidnap socialites.”
Grim went and dragged Raze away from Blaire. They exchanged muted whispers by the window. Raze seemed about ready to punch a wall. Then Grim exhaled, coming back to me.
“I need to know if she’s staying for dinner,” Lock said. “Raze was too busy kidnapping another famous girl to buy shells. Oh, do you play Settlers of Catan?” He turned the question to Blaire.
“She’s staying,” Raze gritted. “She doesn’t need dinner.”
In response, Blaire spat at Raze’s feet.
Grim came back to me, ushering me toward the stairs. “What’s going on? I can’t just leave her.”
“He won’t hurt her.”
I wasn’t concerned about that. I knew them well enough to know they didn’t hurt people indiscriminately, and never women. Blaire had a mean streak. Her dad was a card-carrying Republican—she knew how to use a gun.
“She stole something of his. He won’t tell me what.”
I looked over my shoulder at Blaire. What could she have possibly stolen? And how did she get access? Lock held up a different board game, asking if she preferred this more. Blaire glared.
“He’s not letting her go until she returns it—and until he can be certain she won’t spill the beans about you,” he added with bitterness.
He continued talking as we went up the stairs and back to our room.
“It was fucking stupid bringing her. He wasn’t thinking.
Can’t exactly get mad at it, though… You know, pot and kettle. ”
Grim shut the door.
His features softened and he stepped to me, cradling my face with his palms. I’ll never get over his touch, like he couldn’t decide between breaking me and putting me back together. People always wanted me because I was Gemma Crowne. Once the novelty wore off, so did their affection.
Every day Grim looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was still here.
“So she’s, what…staying here?” I asked.
Grim gestured for me to turn around. When I did, his fingers found the buttons of my dress, undoing them slowly, one by one, as he spoke.
“Maybe you’ll get a friend from your world.” Grim slid his palm along the now open dress, hand brushing bare flesh.
“This is my world,” I said, spinning around to find a small smile tugging one side of Grim’s lips. He said it to rile me up.
Well…it worked.
His palms cradled my face. “Yeah, Rich Girl, it is.” He crushed his mouth against mine, kissing me into our forever.
THE END