presents with us—my only memory of him on Christmas morning was to make sure I knew Santa didn’t exist, so I knew who put those presents under the tree: not some “fat fucking socialist”—his hard work.
He didn’t give a shit where I was, he only wanted to know how I’d slipped my guards again.
“It’s an interesting story, isn’t it?” West looked to me, grinning wide like the cat that ate the fucking canary. I remembered the confusion on Story’s face as I’d left her with Josephine, obviously wondering why West wasn’t betraying us.
Truce.
That was the proposition he’d posed last night, but I didn’t buy it for a second.
West turned from me, to my grandfather. “I don’t know if you’ll believe it.”
Around us, du Lac men and Crowne extended family sat on old leather wingbacks, their feet propped up, snowflakes falling past seven-foot windows onto the beach.
You know how unpredictable the weather can be.
As my grandfather waited for an explanation I had no answer to, what I’d overheard with Story sprinted back and forth in my mind.
My father died in a car accident on a perfectly sunny day.
My grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “Try me.”
How long have you known, Story?
I don’t think Story had any idea what she was saying to him; I think she was just trying to stand up for herself.
And fuck, any other time I would have cheered her on. But once again, I had that feeling I was missing something vital. I was outmanned. Outgunned.
What if she’d confirmed something in his mind?
Something deadly?
“Grayson saved my ass.” West put his arm around my shoulder again, his garish suit blinding my fucking eyes. While the morning dress code was always somewhat lax compared to the evening, West took that to the extreme. He wore a bright red suit with Christmas trees and snowflakes, complete with a matching tie.
West continued. “I switched up some presents—nearly sent them addressed to the wrong girl. But Grayson handled it for me—he’s pretty good at juggling women. Isn’t that right?” West squeezed my shoulder; I tamped down the urge to elbow him in the gut.
“Right,” I gritted.
My grandfather watched us for what felt like an hour, then set his cigar down without ever lighting it.
“It’s always good when brothers-in-law get along. See you both tonight then.”
Giving us an ambivalent smile, he left to join an extended uncle across the room.
With my grandfather just out of earshot, West grabbed my hand and said, “You smell just like Story.”
I shoved him off, rubbed my eye.
Don’t punch West.
At least, not in public.
Again.
“The fuck are you doing?”
West exhaled. “Now you’re pissed because I didn’t betray you? I’m not the fucking bad guy here.” He paused at my glare. “Fine, I’m not the worst guy here.”
“Not the highest bar.” I dragged a hand through my hair, pushing strands out of my eyes and narrowing on him. “You could just sink me now. Take over the company. You don’t need a coin for that.”
“I could.” He nodded. “I promised her I wouldn’t.”
I laughed. “You suddenly a good guy, West?”
He worked his jaw. “I’d still be under my father’s thumb.”
There it is.
“I wonder if you know what that feels like. To have everything and nothing.”
I have all the luck in the world…
I rubbed my jaw, hating the feeling of commiserating with fucking West.
“I want Story. I’ve wanted Story since I was thirteen and my father has…” he trailed off and folded his arms.
“So what the fuck do you want, West? What’s your big fucking wish?”
“I want what you want, Grayson. I want my happily ever after. I want to win her over. I want her to love me. I want your child to call me daddy. Then I want to fill her with more babies who call me daddy. That’s my endgame. That’s always been my endgame. Who’s the real monster here, Grayson?”
At that moment, my grandfather looked over and raised his glass to me.
“You,” I said without hesitation, but my eyes were still on him.
Everyone broke for dinner, and again I was forced to watch Story leave without a word to her. She stared at me as West pulled her toward their wing. I stayed, leaning against the wall, staring at the spot like she was a ghost I could summon with strong emotion.
It would be hours until I saw her.
The smell of salt air mingled with gingerbread being baked in the kitchen. I rustled the coins in my pocket. I’d been thinking for a while now—there was a way to get