He shoved a phone in my face, and I squinted at the blaring blue light. It was a news article—multiple articles, actually, all sharing similar headlines.
Gemma Crowne Hard Launches New Boyfriend: Who is the Mysterious New Beau?
Beneath the blocky black print was a blown-up Instagram post—mine. My chin rested on my bare shoulder, eyes at the camera, and you could clearly see my new tattoo. The caption read:
For my new boyfriend…
Oh.
So that actually happened? It wasn’t a dream? For the first time in five years I felt something other than nothing.
Dread.
Guilt.
Excitement.
I shoved Grayson away, swinging my legs off the bed. “You’re the one who said I could date whoever I wanted.”
“That’s…” My brother broke off, looking like one of those cartoon heads about to explode.
“He saved you,” I said—why was I defending this clearly drunk and insane decision? DefendingGrim? Without reason, the words kept coming. “He saved your wife and child. Is the man who saved your daughter not good enough?”
Behind my brother, his wife stood, an inscrutable look in her stony green eyes. It wasn’t judgment, it was more…curious. Story was someone who took in the scene before reacting.
“Whatever he has on you, we can fix it,” Grayson said. “You’re not alone in this.”
“I’m not some endangered woman. I did this. I got the tattoo. I posted knowing what the media would do with it.”
He stepped back, looking left and right, and dragged his finger along his bottom lip for an uncomfortably long time.
Finally he managed, “Why?”
I paused, tripping over my tongue. Why? Because I wanted to have control for once. Because I wanted to makehimsquirm. Because?—
Anyone who looks at you will know you’re mine.
This was all happening too early, without caffeine, and much too hungover.
“Bored. Crazy. Pick one, combine them—I don’t care.”
My brother inhaled audibly. “You know Mom is going to have a fucking heart attack.”
That made me stop.
Her perfect daughter, her last fucking hope, had tied herself to a criminal.
I knew what would happen when she found out, and it wasn’t a heart attack.
I pushed those thoughts away. “Huh, didn’t peg you as giving a shit about whatMotherthinks of my or anyone’s love interests. Guess I forgot how fond she was of Story.”
He worked his jaw. “That’s different.”
I laughed. “Oh, okay. So I get to marry whoever I want,unlessyou don’t approve?—”
“Fuckingmarriage?” That finger on his bottom lip worked overtime, eyes about to pop out of his head.
“At least Mom and Grandpa never pretended to be—” I gestured at him. “—I don’t know, Gray, what were you trying to be? Different? They were always crystal clear about the rules and what would happen if I broke them. She was kind enough to give me my first tampon when she sold me to Horace, so do you have a present prepared for when you put me back in my cage?”
