Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(19)

I rest my forehead on the window. Blow a breath out. Watch it fog.

I can’t tell Parsons it wasn’t Lucy who told me without linking myself more formally to his beating. But if I don’t say something—if I don’t tell him it’s not a very well-kept secret; if I don’t tell him Dec told me; if I don’t tell him something to clear Lucy—that bastard will sue her.

I slide my phone into my pocket and go pour another glass.





*



Lucy





I’ve never been afraid to stay at my Estes house alone before. Never. Not once. Until tonight.

Amelia is flying in tomorrow afternoon. I told her she didn’t need to. She said nothing could stop her. She mentioned Charley wants to come out next week, and Mags might come a few days then, too. As if it’s just coincidence and I don’t know they had a pow-wow.

I spend the afternoon making phone calls to my legal team, my family, and my therapist, who’s taken the liberty of leaving me a pep-talk voice mail. I’m still seeing her every third week—she’s here in Estes—but I decide not to call her back just yet. I need to sit with this.

Or so I think.

The doorbell rings just after sunset, and it startles me so much, I toss my phone halfway across the dining room table, causing Grey to jump onto the fireplace mantel.

I peek at the porch through a curtain in the formal dining room and feel my body slacken when I see it’s only Frieda.

Who did you think it would be?

I think about the question after Frieda leaves, having given me some honey from the hives behind their house and confirmed for my mom that I’m okay.

Who did I think would be at the door? Who do I think will be at the door or one of the windows tonight, I ask myself as I sit in the billiards room playing solitaire with shaking fingers.

Not Bryce. But maybe someone sent here by him.

Rationally, it sounds ridiculous that I’m scared he’ll have me harmed or even killed. But fear’s not rational.

I missed a thousand warnings signs with Bryce while we were dating. The way, when we were in high school, he used to clamp his fingers around the nape of my neck, under my hair, and steer me around at parties. The way he only ever wanted doggie-style sex, and he would wrap something around my neck and tug on it and call me “whore.” The way he’d tell me what I should and shouldn’t wear, and sometimes suggest I change my top or pants or skirt so I’d look better. The way, in spring 2014, when things finally started to unravel, he told me he would break off our engagement if the show’s producers didn’t write him into the storyline and let me wear my ring on camera. And finally, the way his personality changed when he started snorting what I thought at first was coke, but apparently was sometimes coke and other times, another drug called ketamine.

Then there was the threesome. It seemed regular enough to me. Sure, I didn’t want it, and he knew that, but didn’t a lot of guys pressure their girlfriends into things like that? Fiancé in my case, but who was counting? When the girl went to the press… I was angry, but it seemed like my mistake, not Bryce’s.

And then that week, the week right after the Fourth of July. Bryce’s father came to Southampton for once, and Bryce didn’t want to see me for two days. I found out he had been out both nights, with other girls. When I confronted him about it, he slapped me. Then he sobbed and dropped down to his knees and told me he slapped me because his father used to hit him. I was still recovering from that, still processing, still trying to get my brain to believe Bryce was a good guy, the night I wanted to snuggle during his party.

The night I learned what real fear meant.

I can’t reason with that fear. I haven’t been able to since it happened. When I saw him this summer at Declan’s house, of course I dropped my glass. And I ran—like I was running for my life. My therapist says it’s normal, and time will heal me, some, at least.

I don’t have too many nightmares anymore, and I usually never look over my shoulder. I don’t feel fear out here in Colorado. Or I didn’t, back when my family and the Parsons had settled, and I thought Bryce was probably just hoping to forget about me.

Now he’s angry.

Now he thinks I’m out for vengeance.

I know how Bryce is. He used to think everyone was out to get him. Out to ruin him. Even me, at times. I should have known, after what happened to him on the beach with Liam… Of course he’s paranoid and angry. He feels betrayed, even though it’s not my fault, what happened. Even though I didn’t tell.

My phone buzzes on the table, and I jump. “Oh shit.”

When I see an unfamiliar number on the screen, my insides turn into a block of ice. My eyes devour the words as my fingers grip the phone.

‘Hi Lucy. It’s Dec Carnegie. Saw the news today. Wanted to check on you and offer my support. If you need anything…’

I let my breath out. My head throbs.

My fingertips are sweaty on the iPhone’s screen. ‘Thanks so much, Dec. I’m doing okay.’ Pregnant and paranoid. Got knocked up at your party. I grimace to myself, then add: ‘Thank you for asking. I hope you’re doing well.’

‘Can’t complain. Give me a yell if you need me.’

I send him the little emoticon with the smilie face blowing a kiss and set my phone down. God, I’ve got to chill out. Xanax or alcohol might have been in my toolbox for a similar circumstance recently, but not anymore.