“Are you still involved with him?” Grayson asked, voice low.
“Involved?” I feigned ignorance, forcing myself to stare at Sonnet. She made one of those adorable baby faces, so new to the world she couldn’t fathom a future where she wasn’t this wide-eyed, happy creature.
“What are you doing, Gemma?” His voice thinned in exasperation. “He kills people. He’s fucking bad news.”
“What areyoudoing?” I countered. “Because you got some happily ever after, you think this family is, like, not fucked up anymore?”
I don’t know when it happened, but the Crowne family once known for its dysfunction and hate had overwhelmingly become…functional. Fucking loving.
Except here I was—very muchnotfunctional, and now trusted with holding on to the tiniest Crowne.
I was lost.
Lost among my siblings and this new, wholesome, and normal family. I was always the perfect American princess to the outside world, but my family knew I was fucked up on the inside. The one with the pill problem. The mean girl.
It didn’t matter, though, because we were all messed up.
Grayson was an asshole, a playboy.
Abigail was an attention seeker, she ruined everything she touched.
Now Grayson was a loving father and husband. Abigail was a mother and wife with a thriving business. And me? I was the fucking same. I still wore sunglasses inside to hide what I did the night before.
A lump stuck in my throat. I swallowed, trying to clear it. I could see it in my brother’s eyes, in the way his brow furrowed as he watched me hold his daughter. I could see the concern in Story’s eyes as she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth.
They were worried.
Fuck them.
“Here.” I shoved Sonnet back into Story’s arms.
“Gemma!” Story called after me. “Wait!”
“Let her go…” My brother’s voice trailed into quiet as I left the room.
When I got upstairs, Blaire and Kennedy were just waking up. Kennedy had snuggled into Blaire at some point. I sat on my chaise, picking off my nail polish.
Godmother?
Pick.
“I stole a pair of your underwear,” Blaire said. “Period came early. They’re mine now.”
“How long have you been awake?” Kennedy asked as Blaire shoved her off.
Pick.
“I don’t want to remember yesterday, today, or tomorrow,” I said.
“Damn, okay,” Kennedy said. “Let’s get fucked up.”
TWELVE
GEMMA
Hours later we found ourselves in Kennedy’s bathroom as a party raged below. With the door shut, the sounds of the party were muffled as if beneath a pillow. The constant thumping of EDM was muted, like a heartbeat hidden in the floorboards.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
