He’s right next to me.
“Hey, sunshine.”
He bumps me with his shoulder, and it feels like liquid heat is spilling through my stomach. It should beuncomfortable. I should hate it. But as I smile up at him and he grins down at me, it feels like pieces of me are shifting into place.
“You did good.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
I bite my lip to keep my smile from getting too big, and then I startle at the warm press of Tristan’s thumb as he tugs the flesh free.
“Let it out, Bailey,” he whispers. “Be proud. David would be.”
My eyes heat. “You corny fucking sap,” I whisper. “Don’t do me like that.”
His mouth lifts at the edge. “Don’t use my own tricks against me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He taps his finger one more time against my mouth. I didn’t even realize he’d left it there. I blink at him, then look swiftly away, back at the group, and Emory, who is giving me huge eyes.
What the fuck?She mouths the words.
I shake my head before I squeeze my eyes shut, willing these mushy feelings back inside of me.It’s just the girls, I tell myself. I’m finding where I’m meant to be, and I want to savor that.
But as I walk out of the gym later, a tiny piece of my heart admits that where I’m meant to be might be wherever Tristan is.
31
TRISTAN
“Iwant to show you something.”
I eye Grandfather over my cup of coffee on Thursday morning before I slowly set it down. “You want to showmesomething?”
He nods and taps a small silver spoon on the top of his soft-boiled egg in its engraved silver egg cup. Since Aiden announced to the family that he wanted me to step up, Grandfather has demanded weekly breakfasts to “ease the transition.” Really, it just means he pays me the attention he never paid me as a kid.
He lives in the main house, where, as we eat, memories thicken into a dreadful mantle on my shoulders. Everything at Crownhaven has a long history, from the engraved crystal drinking glasses to the portraits on the walls to the meals that are always taken in the formal dining room. When we were kids, Dad sat where Grandfather sits now, and he watched us all eat.
I have distinct memories of kicking my feet against the too-tall chairs and being yelled at for denting the wood.Crownhaven was not made to accommodate children, and neither was my father.
Grandfather, however, appears to be making an effort in his own way, so when he gestures to follow him out of breakfast, I do. The dining room sits closest to the ocean, and we have a long hallway to take before we get to the ballroom, where we detour, past the study, then the massive library, and then the door that leads to the downstairs kitchen that the caterers use.
Grandfather turns the handle and starts down the worn stairs.
“Really? Here?”
His steps are slow and stately. “Really,” he says crisply.
When we get to the gilt-inlaid door at the end of the downstairs hallway, I’m confused. “I thought this was a wine cellar.”
He fiddles with the signet ring on his right hand, where it rests on his cane. “It is a cellar. Of sorts. Your brother has never been here. Only the CEO of Prince Bourbon has access.” He pulls the ring off and holds it up. It gleams dully in the downstairs lights. The crest of House Prince is stamped in gold on the front.
Sparks flare to life inside me as he sets the ring into an indentation in the door, then presses.This is what it means to be a Prince, I think.This is our legacy.
The door is almost four inches thick, and it still swings silently.
“It’s fireproof,” he says before he steps into the cool space and flicks a light. Muted, recessed lighting flickers on, and my mouth parts in shock.
