Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point #4) - Mary Catherine Gebhard Page 0,2

twisting and creeping and scraping.

Why don’t you call him over? He can fuck your ass while I fuck you.

I can still feel him inside of me.

I sat up, throwing my sheets off the bed. Too hot. Too cramped.

Leaning off the bed, I pressed my hand to the cold window, staring out the rain-dappled glass into the dewy morning.

I could feel our child growing in me every day, moving so light it was almost like butterfly wings. I felt connected to Grayson.

What was he doing this very minute? Was he looking out at the salty, Crowne Point sky? I spread my palm along the glass, picturing him through the cracks between my fingers.

I wished I could be with him, helping him find the coin that would save us, but if I had stayed, he would have lost everything.

So I guess my path was here.

“Whatever our souls are made of…” I whispered. His and mine are the same, I finished the line from Wuthering Heights in my head.

“Story Hale.”

I scrambled back on the bed at the voice, banging my head against the dark oak headboard.

In my doorway stood a woman who looked about mid-forties, in a perfectly fitted gray suit. Behind her an older woman, dressed in the starched blue uniform of the du Lacs, came carrying a set of tea.

The first woman followed the tea into my room. She sat at a small table next to another arched window. Freshly cut wildflowers had already been placed in a skinny vase. As the tea was set out, the woman looked up at me expectantly.

I got out of bed, warily sitting opposite her. Our table groaned with any slight movement, cracks ran as branching veins in the porcelain tea cups. I don’t think anything here was newer than a century.

“I’m here to discuss your options.” She reached down into her briefcase and pulled out two folders.

“My what?” I asked.

“Your options,” she repeated, stressing the word as if I knew what the fuck it meant. “The du Lacs have a very nice mistress package.”

She lay out the three folders neatly beside the tea.

We have a very competitive mistress package.

Tansy’s words rang in my head, but I was still no more clear than I was that day on what she meant.

“After you complete training, you will have access to the du Lac mistress stipend.”

“Training?” I asked.

“Usually it takes months,” she continued. “You have two weeks. And usually mistresses accompany an engagement, which are worked out in the prenup. Your case is most unusual… Past employment?” She stared at me expectantly, pen in hand.

“I, uh…”

I dragged my bottom lip between my teeth.

I couldn’t see any visible reason not to tell her where I used to work. It was public knowledge, after all. I just had this sinking feeling in my gut.

Training. Options.

“Past employment?”

“I…worked at Crowne Hall.”

“A servant?” She did a double take. “Uh, well…” She blinked, shaking her head slightly. “Option one includes all the usual. Your house, your monthly allowance. There are no stock options, but your children will be acknowledged and written into the will.”

My head buzzed as she went over each page, what I was entitled to, and what I wasn’t. It was like we were discussing which college to attend.

“Option two includes everything. The house, the allowance, stock options—generous, but your children will not be written into the will. I assume we’ll be going with option one—”

“No!” I cut her off. “No children will be written into the du Lac will.”

It came out before I could stop it.

“I mean…” I rubbed my neck, looking for some excuse, and coming up empty.

Silence hung sour in the air.

“That’s unusual for a du Lac,” she said after a moment. “Most du Lac men write their children into their will and give them their last names.”

The du Lacs don’t care about bastards. No one will think twice if you have mine.

It suddenly felt too. Fucking. Real.

If we had to tell the world my child was West’s for a little while…I could handle that. I could work past the knots in my stomach. But that was always because I had hope. Hope of getting out.

How would we ever untangle ourselves if his name was on the birth certificate?

If they made me give our child his last name?

“I think…” I swallowed. “Just maybe not option one.”

Her brows skyrocketed. “That’s…” She glanced at the papers. “Well…moving on. The wife generally sets the rules, but as he is unmarried…” She exhaled and scribbled something in the margins. “To be filled