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Carrying the stack to the desk, I settle in the wingback chair and get comfortable. I pick up the top book, the gold title sparkling in the low light of the lamp that sits to my right. Flicking open Cinderella, I’m astounded to find the same scrawled handwriting on the first page, just like I did in the copy of Red Riding Hood. Confusion takes hold of me because why would the books be in Lycan’s house and not my grandmother’s? Surely, she would have wanted to keep them safe.
My Princess,
The clock struck midnight, and I had to leave. There wasn’t a moment I didn’t watch you this evening, and it was magical knowing you’re mine. The gala will forever be our place. Taking you to your father’s office while people danced and laughed, was nothing short of intoxicating.
I’ll forever be drunk on you, my darling Grace.
One day, I will put a ring on your finger. Until then, we will forever love from afar.
Your Prince
Conall
Shutting the book, I settle back, needing a breather before I flick open the next book, finding once again a note, much like the last two I’ve read. Each one speaks of their love, their tryst, and their want and need for each other.
My chest tightens at the last one, where he tells her that he’s leaving. It’s a goodbye letter, one that drips with agony from every inked word. By the time I shut the pages, they’re blurry through my tear-stained lashes.
“I thought I would bring you something to drink, Miss Bardot,” Gray says as he makes his way inside carrying a tray with a cup and pot of tea. When he sets it down, I wonder briefly if he knew about my grandmother and Lycan’s father.
“Thank you, Gray. Are you no longer working at my grandmother’s home?” I question when I realize he should be there, not here.
He smiles. “I do. She doesn’t need me today, so I’m here with Mr. Shaw.” Affection graces his tone when he speaks about Lycan. He hovers for a moment before continuing, “Mr. Shaw, Lycan.” A grin creases his expression as he remembers something with a faraway look on his old, wrinkled face. “He’s a good boy. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. His brother…” Gray shakes his head, his thoughts taking over, but his admission sending my curious nature into a spiraling tornado, and soon enough, I’m about to burst with more questions.
“His brother?” I prompt, hoping the old man can offer some answers.
He’s silent for such a long moment I’m almost certain he’s not going to respond, but then he focuses on my face, taking me in. “You look just like her when she was younger,” he remarks, his tone wistful in remembrance. “She loved Conall so much.” The sadness in his voice makes my chest ache, my heart beating wildly against my ribs.
“Are you talking about Grace? My grandmother?” Once more, I urge with a gentle push of questions, and finally, Gray nods.
“She was one of the most beautiful women to grace this home. For years, they spent time together, falling in love, and I was convinced the curse was coming to an end.”
“The curse?” I want to shoot to my feet, to grab the old man by the shoulders and shake the information out of him, but I bite down on my tongue to keep my excitement at bay. I want to know more, to learn about the affair, the relationship they had.
“There is darkness once a Bardot and a Shaw come together,” Gray tells me earnestly. His voice scrapes against his throat as he admits a truth I’m sure I’m not meant to know yet. “It may be an old wives’ tale,” he says. “But I believe that whenever love comes between your families, something bad happens.”
“Something bad?” This time I straighten, making my way to where he’s standing. As if the moment is lost to him, Gray shakes his head before turning to leave. “Wait, please? What happened with my grandmother and Mr. Shaw?”
He’s about to answer when the deep, rumbling baritone of my fiancé breaks through the heavy silence. “Thank you, Gray, that will be all.”
The older man moves quickly, leaving me with Lycan. He doesn’t seem angry as he walks toward me, unbuttoning his suit jacket before shrugging out of the sleek, black material. Left in only his light grey shirt with dark pants, he looks slightly disheveled with a tie hanging from the pocket of his slacks.
“What have you been up to, little red?” Lycan asks, his gaze tracking the books, where I’ve been perched for the past hour, and a bit, and the tea Gray brought for me moments earlier.
“Reading.”
A dark brow arches in question as he regards me with amusement. “You’re a bad liar.” He steps up closer to me. “I’m sure you’ve discovered the stupid little love notes my father left in the books,” he says. “They’re useless when the person you’re writing them for doesn’t give a shit.”
