across his face. “So then, you won’t give a shit if you tell me all this downstairs, in front of that boy you’ve spent months pining over?”
I schooled my features, fighting back the hard swallow. “Of course not.”
He laughed. “Because if you really wanted me, you would do this in front of your prince.”
I placed my palm on his chiseled cheek. “You are my prince.”
He placed his palm over mine, enveloping my entire hand. The pounding in my chest grew with his inscrutable glare. He slowly pulled my hand from his cheek, keeping our hands locked tightly together.
A cruel, cold smile twisted his soft rose lips. “We’ll see about that, Angel.”
He dropped me, leaving me to finish getting ready as he slammed the doors behind him. A dreadful knot tightened in my gut, and I stared at the double doors until my girl snapped me out of it.
“Miss?” She called to my back, and I turned to her.
She held up two variations of shoes, one silver and the other blue. Both looked fucking uncomfortable.
I chose silver.
In this fairy tale, we all started with the wrong people. And in order to correct that, I’d have to choose the wrong prince for a little while longer.
I had to fight for West. I had to fall for West. I had to bleed for West.
So I could have my real happily ever after.
Forty-Nine
GRAY
The morning of the baby shower, I knocked on Lottie’s door, pushing it open when she didn’t answer.
Something had felt off for a few months now, and some of that came from my relationship with Lottie. I’d been trying to ignore it, but that only made it worse.
If I wanted to be different—better—then like Snitch had said, I had to be better.
Lottie was on the floor in her white pajamas, sun hitting her in slashes and lighting up her pajamas into white gold.
The dress she and my mother had demanded she wear hung in the window, seeming to glow from within.
Lottie stared at it.
“Lottie?”
She jerked to me, eyes growing into saucers, as if I were a ghost.
“Where is your girl?” I asked, looking around the room.
She settled back against the couch with a sigh. “I sent her away.”
I came to her, bending down on the soles of my feet. “Let me help you off the floor.”
“I prefer it down here.”
She kept staring at the dress.
I sat down opposite her, just next to the dress.
“I know you gave Story the password,” I said.
Her eyes slowly found mine. “Did it help? Did I fix it?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I hope so.”
She sighed, looking back at the dress.
“I broke it too, Lottie. We all did.”
Tears started to fall silently, wetting her cheeks; still, she stared at the dress.
“I’m not going to abandon you, Lottie. Or the child. We’ll make it work.”
Her face crumpled and she sniffed. She looked away, embarrassed.
My chest caved, and once again, I felt like garbage. What had I put her through these past couple of months? Every day she must have wondered if I was going to treat her like Josephine, treat our child like the triplets.
I moved forward, grabbing her hands. “We’re not our parents. They don’t have to compete. I know I’ve been horrible—”
She ripped her hands free.
“I need you to leave.” Her face broke and she turned away from me. “Please.”
“We can go down together—”
“I’ll meet you,” she cut me off.
Something was off. Really wrong.
I stood, but lingered. It was almost time to start, and she wasn’t nearly ready.
Lottie, if you could do anything right now, what would it be?
I don’t want to smile for pictures. I want to take off this dress and this tiara.
The conversation we’d had the night of our reception drifted into my mind. Words I’d said to her when I’d been filled with hope that I could be someone for her—someone better.
If she wanted out of this shower, I’d give that to her at least. No matter the consequences. It would be an apology. For the wedding I ruined, for the dream I shattered.
“Lottie,” I asked softly. “If you could do anything right now, what would it be?”
It had the opposite effect I’d hoped. My question was a bullet to porcelain. Lottie didn’t crack, she obliterated. Her sobbing echoed in the large room, her body convulsed, and she fell to the ground.
Horrified, I fell down too, hand on her shoulder.
“Lottie, what is it? Is it the baby?”
Her arm fell limply out, pointing to the door.
“G-g-g—” She stumbled to speak through crying